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NATURAL THEOLOGY;

/g/ «»' ^Lfl

^ ^ EVIDENCES

»

OF THE

EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES

OF

THE DEITY,

COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES OF NATrrii:

/"' 're' ' '^.^ . ^ '^

BY i' ■

WILLIAM PALEY, D.D.

LATE ARCHDEACON OF CARLIfLE,

THE FOURTEENTH EDITION.

LONDON

PRINTED FOR J. FAULDER ; LONGMAN AND CO.; CADELL
AND DAVIES; J. RICHARDSON; J. WALKER; WILKIE
AND ROBINSON; J. NUNN ; F. C. AND J. RIVINCTON ;
CRADOCK AND JOY; C. LAW; AND R. BALDWIN.

Printed by S. Hainiiion, WeybriHc^e.

1813.

TO

THE HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D.

LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

My Lord,

The following Work was
undertaken at your Lordship^s recommen-
dation, and, amongst other motives, for the
purpose of making the most acceptable re-
turn that I could, for a great and important
benefit conferred 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 itie in possession of so liberal

A 2

IV DEDICATIOlSr.

a provision in the Church, as abundantly to
satisfy my wants, and much to exceed my
pretensions. Your Lordship's munificence,
in conjunction with that of some other ex-
cellent Prelates, who regarded my services
with the partiality with which your Lordship
was pleased to consider them, hath since
placed me in ecclesiastical situations, more
than adequate to every object of reasonable
ambition. In the mean time, a weak, and,
of late, a painful state of health, deprived
me of the power of discharging the duties of
my station in a manner at all suitable, either
to my sense of those duties, or to my most
anxious wishes concerning them. My ina-
bility for the public functions of my profes-
sion, 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 entitled your
Lordship in particular to call upon me for
the only species of exertion of which I was

DEDICATION. V

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 refer, either to the supreme im-
portance of the subject, or to any scepticism
concerning it with which the present times
are charged, as I do to its connexion with
the subjects treated of in my former pub-
lications. 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, the evi-
dences of Natural Religion, the evidences of
Revealed Religion, and an account of the du-
ties that result from both. It is of small
importance that they have been written in
an order the very reverse of that in which
they ought to be read. I commend, there-
fore, the present volume to your Lordship\s
protection, not only as, in all probability,
my last labour, but as the completion of a
regular and comprehensive design.

Hitherto, my Lord, I have been speakinp;

VI DEDICATION.

of myself, and not of my Patron. Your Lord-
ship wants not the testimony of a Dedica-
tion ; 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 opportu-
nities which it has afforded me, of observing
your earnest, active, and unwearied solici-
tude, for the advancement of substantial
Christianity; a solicitude, nevertheless, ac-
companied with that candour of mind, which
suffers no subordinate differences of opinion,
when there is a coincidence in the main in-
tention and object, to produce any alienation
of esteem, or diminution of favour. It is
fortunate for a country, and honourable to
its government, when qualities and disposi-
tions like these are placed in high and influ-
encing stations. Such is the sincere judge-
ment which I have formed of your Lordship's
character, and of its public value : my per-
sonal obligations I can never forget. Under
a due sense of both these considerations, I

DEDICATION. VU

beg leave to subscribe myself, with great
respect and gratitude,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's faithful

And most devoted servant,
^"t/^Tr''' WILLIAM PALEY.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1.

PAGE

STATEof the Argument 1

CHAPTER n.

State of the Argument continued 8

CHAPTER in.

Application of the Argument . • 17

CHAPTER IV.
Of the Succession of Plants and Animals . . • 49

CHAPTER V.

Application of the Argument continued .... 55

CHAPTER VI.
The Argument cumulative 75

- CHAPTER VH.

Of the MECHANICAL and immechanical Parts and
Functions of Animals and Vegetables • . . • 78

X CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIIT.

PAGE

Of MECHANICAL Arrangement in the human
Frame, — Of the Bones 92

CHAPTER IX.

Of the Muscles . 122

CHAPTER X.

Of the Vessels of Animal Bodia ...... 147

CHAPTER XL

Of the Animal Structure regarded as a Mass . . 185

CHAPTER Xn.
Comparative Anatomi/ 211

CHAPTER XIH.
Peculiar Organisations 241

CHAPTER XIV.

Prospective Contrivances 252

CHAPTER XV.
Relations 261

CHAPTER XVI.
Compensation 275

CHAPTER XVII.

The relation of animated Bodies to inanimate
Nature 291

CHAPTER XVIII.
Instincts 299

CONTENTS. XI

CHAPTiilR XIX,

PAGE

Of Insects 319

CHAPTER XX.
Of Plants 345

CHAPTER XXI.
Of the Elements 368

CHAPTER XXII.
Astronom]/ 378

CHAPTER XXni.
Personality of the Deity 408

CHAPTER XXIV.

Of the natural Attributes of the Deity .... 441

CHAPTER XXV.

Of the Unity of the Deity 449

CHAPTER XXVI.

The Goodness of the Deity 454

CHAPTER XXVII.
Conclusion 535

NATURAL THEOLOGY*

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 for ever : nor
would it perhaps be very easy to show 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.

2 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

and for no other, viz. that, when we come to
inspect the watch, we perceive (what we could
not discover in the stone) that its several
parts are framed and put together for a pur-
pose, e. g\ that they are so formed and ad-
justed as to produce motion, and that motion
so regulated as to point out the hour of the
day ; that, if the different 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 an-
swered 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 contain-
ing a coiled elastic spring, v/hich, by its en-
deavour to relax itself, turns round the box.
We next observe a flexible chain (artificially
wrought for the sake of flexure), communi-
cating 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

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. S

size and shape of those wheels, so regulating
that motion, as to terminate in causing an
index, by an equable and measured progres-
sion, 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 be-
ing 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 substance, the hour could not be
seen without opening the case. This mecha^
nism being observed (it requires indeed an
examination of the instrument, and perhaps
some previous knowledge of the subject, to
perceive and understand it ; but being once,
as we have said, observ^ and understood),
the inference, we think, is inevitable, that
the jwatch_jnus^_Jha^^ had ajnaker : that
there must have existed, at some time, and
at some place or other, an artificer or artifi-
cers who formed it for the purpose which we
find it actually to answer : who comprehend-
ed its construction, and designed its use.

I. Nor would it, I apprehend, w^eaken the
conclusion, that we had never seen a watch
made; that we had never known an artist

B 2

4 STATE OF THR ARGUMENT.

capable of making one ; that we were alto-*
gether 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 ex-
quisite 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 ? Igno-
rance 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 concerning a human agent,
or concerning an agent of a different 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 irregu-

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

larity of the movement, or whether we could
account for it or not. It is not necessary
that a machine be perfect, in order to show
with what design it was made : still less ne-
cessary, where the only question is, whether
it were made with any design at all.

III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any un-
certainty into the argument, if there were a
few parts of the watch, concerning which we
could not discover, or had not yet discover-
ed, in what manner they conduced to the
general effect ; or even some parts, concern-
ing 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 re-
main in our minds as to the utility or inten-
tion of these parts, although we should be un-
able to investigate the manner according to
which, or the connexion by which, the ulti-
mate eflfect depended upon their action or
assistance : and the more complex is the ma-
chine, the more likely is this obscurity to
arise. Then, as to the second thing sup-
posed, namely, that there were parts which
might be spared, without prejudice to the

6 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

movement of the watch, and that we had
proved this by experiment, — these superflu-
ous 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 be-
ing told that it was one out of possible com-
binations 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 confi-
guration might be the structure now exhi-
bited, viz. of the works of a watch, as well as
a different structure.

V. Nor, fifdily, 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 situation. 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

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 7

that the mechanism of the watch was no
proof of contrivance, only a motive to induce
the mind to think so :

VII. And not less surprised to be inform-
ed, that the watch in his hand was nothing
more than the result of the laws of metallic
nature. It is a perversion of language to as-
sign any law, as the efficient, operative cause
i 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, according to which that power
j acts. Without this agent, without this
i power, which are both distinct from itself,
\ the law does nothing ; is nothing. The ex-
pression, " the law of metallic nature,'' may
sound strange and harsh to a philosophic ear;
but it seems quite as jjustifiable as some
others which are more familiar to him, such
as " the law of vegetable nature/' " the law
of animal nature," or indeed as " the law
of nature" in general, when assigned as the
cause of phaenomena, in exclusion of agency
and power ; or when it is substituted into the
place of these.

VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer
be driven out of his conclusion, or from his
confidence m its truth, by being told that he
knew nothing at all about the matter. He

» STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

knows enough for his argument : he knows
the utihty of the end : he knows the subser-
viency and adaptation of the means to the
end. These points being known, his ignorance
of other points, his doubts concerning other
points, affect not the certainty of his reason-
ing. The consciousness of knowing; little,
need not beget a distrust of that which he
does know.

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 unexpected property of
producing, in the course of its movement, an-
other watch like itself (the thing is conceiv-
able); that it contained within it a mechanism,
a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a
complex adjustment of lathes, 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.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 9

I. The first effect would be to increase his
admiration of the contrivance, and his con-
viction of the consummate skill of the con-
triver. Whether he regarded the object of
the contrivance, the distinct apparatus, the
intricate, yet in many parts intelligible me-
chanism, by which it was carried on, he would
perceive, in this new observation, nothing but
an additional reason for doing v/hat 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 property
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 farther property, the
crown and perfection of all the rest.

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 Ho cause at all to
the second ; in no such sense as this was it the
author of the constitution and order, either

10 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

of the parts which the new watch contained,
or of the parts by the aid and instrumentahty
of which it was produced. We might possi-
bly 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
independently of it, and arranged by intelli-
gence, an effect is produced, viz. the corn is
ground. But the effect results from the ar-
rangement. The force of the stream cannot
be said to be the cause or author of the effect,
still less of the arrangement. Understanding
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 w^atch, which our observer
had found, was made immediately by the hand

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 11

of an artificer, yet doth not this alteration in
anywise affect the inference, that an artificer
had been originally employed and concerned
in the production. The argument from design
remains as it was. Marks of design and con-
trivance 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 different. We are now ask-
ing for the cause of that subserviency to a
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 design without a designer ; con-
trivance, without a contriver; order, without
choice ; arrangement, without any thing ca-
pable of arranging ; subserviency and relation
to a purpose, without that which could intend
a purpose ; means suitable to an end, and ex-
ecuting their office in accomplishing that end,
without the end ever having been contem-
plated, or the means accommodated to it.j
Arrangement, disposition of parts, subservi-
ency of means to an end, relation of instru-
ments to a use, imply the presence of intel-
hgence and mind. No one, therefore, can

12 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

rationally believe, that the insensible, inani-
mate 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 instrument, dis-
posed its parts, assigned their office, deter-
mined their order, action, and mutualdepend-
ency, combined their several motions into one
result, and that also a result connected with
the utilities of other beings. All these pro-
perties, therefore, are as much unaccounted
for, as they were before.

IV. Nor is any thing gained by running
the difficulty farther back, i, e. by supposing
the watch before us to have been produced
from another watch, that from a former, and
so on indefinitely. Our going 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 sup-
plied by this supposition, nor dispensed with.
If the difficulty were diminished the farther
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 to-
wards a limit, there, by supposing the num-

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED, IS

ber of te^ms 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 series.
There is no difference as to the point in ques-
tion (whatever there may be as to many
points), between one series and another ; be-
tween 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 experi-
ment), because, by increasing the number of
linksjfrom ten for instance to a hundred, from
a hundred to a thousand, &c. w^e 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 infinite. This very much
resembles the case before us. The machine
which we are inspecting, demonstrates, by its
construction, contrivance and design. Con-
trivance must have had a contriver; design,
a designer ; whether the machine immedi-
ately proceeded from another machine or

14 STATE OF TFIE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

not. That circumstance alters not the case.
That other machine 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 approach towards a diminution of this ne-
cessity. It is the same with any and every
succession of these machines ; a succession of
ten, of a hundred, of a thousand ; with one se-
ries, as with another ; a series which is finite,
as with a series which is infinite. In what-
ever other respects they may differ, in this
they do not. In all equally, contrivance and
design are unaccounted for.j^

The question is not simply. How came
the first watch into existence ? which ques-
tion, it may be pretended, is done away by
supposing the series of watches thus pro-
duced from one another to have been infi-
nite, and consequently to have had no such
jirst^ 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 unorganised, un-
mechanised substance, without mark or in-
dication of contrivance. It might be dif-
ficult to show that such substance could not

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 15

have existed from eternity, either in succes-
sion (if it were possible, which I think it is
not, for unorganised bodies to spring from
one another), or by individual perpetuity.
But that is not the question now. To suppose j
it to be so, is to suppose that it made no dif-
ference whether he had found a watch or a j
stone. As it is, the metaphysics of that ques- (
tion have no place ; for, in the watch which we
are examining, are seen contrivance, design ;
an end, a purpose; means for the end, adapta-
tion to the purpose. And the question which 'I
irresistibly presses upon our thoughts, is, I
whence this contrivance and design ? The,
thing required is the intending mind, the
adapting hand, the intelligence by which that
hand was directed. This question, this de-
mand, is not shaken off, by increasing a num-
ber or succession of substances, destitute of
these properties ; nor the more, by increasing
that number to infinity. If it be said, that,
upon the supposition of one watch being pro-
duced from another in the course of that
other's movements, and by means of the me-
chanism within it, we have a cause for the
watch in my hand, viz. the watch from which
it proceeded ; I deny, that for the design, the
contrivance, the suitableness of means to an
end, the adaptation of instruments to a use

16 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

(all which we discover in the watch), we 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 phaenomena, still less any series
of causes either finite or infinite. Here is
contrivance, but no contriver ; proofs of de-
sign, but no designer.

V. Our observer would farther 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 manifests a more ex-
quisite skill) between the making of another
watch with his own hands, bv the mediation
of files, lathes, chisels, &c. and the disposing,
fixing, and inserting of these instruments, or
of others equivalent 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 Jirst examina-
tion 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 understood its

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. J 7

mechanism, and designed its use. This con-
elusion is invincible. A second examinatioa
presents 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 perceive in it a system or
organisation, separately calculated for that
purpose. What effect would this discovery
have, or ought it to have, upon our former
inference ? What, as hath already been said ^ V^'^^^^ ^
but to mcrease, beyond measure, our admi- c^^^^*^,;, >«^^a.
ration of the skill, which had been employed l^^^^t^,^.J2l
in the formation of such a machine ? Or shall ^^' '^^t^ '*'' '^
it, instead of this, all at once turn us round ^^^///^^^ ^^>
to an opposite conclusion, viz. that no art ox^^ /^^^'^^J '
skill w^hatever has been concerned in the busi*
ness, 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.

CHAPTER HI.

APPLICATION OF TH^ ARGUMENT.

This is atheism: for ^x^-^j indication of
contrivance, every manifestation of design,

c

18 APPLICATION Ot THE ARGUMENT.

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 sur-
pass the contrivances of art, in the complex-
ity, subtility, and curiosity of the mechanism:
and still more, if possible, do they go beyond
them in number and variety ; yet, in a mul-
titude of cases, are not less evidently mecha-
nical, not less evidently contrivances, not less
evidently accommodated to their end, or suit-
ed 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 sin-
gle thing with a single thing ; an eye, for ex-
ample, with a telescope. As far as the ex-
amination of the instrument goes, there is pre-
cisely 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 re-
fraction of rays of light are regulated. I
speak not of the origin of the laws them-
selves; but such laws being fixed, the con-
struction, in both cases, is adapted to them.
For instance ; these laws require, in order to

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENt. 1^

produce the same effect, that the rays of light,
in passing from water into the eye, should be
refracted by a more convex surface, than
when it passes out of air into the eye. Ac-
cordingly we find that the eye of a fish, in
that part of it called the crystalline lens, is;
much rounder than the eye of terrestrial ani-
mals. What plainer manifestation of desigr^
can there be than this difference? What could
a mathematical-instrument-maker have done
more, to show 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 excellence of his skill and
art, for in these all comparison is indecorous,
but to testify counsel, choice, consideration,
purpose ?

To some it may appear a difference sufficient
to destroy all similitude between the eye and
the telescope, that the one is a perceiving or-
gan, 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 di-
stinct vision, that an image or picture of the
object be formed at the bottom of the eye,

c 2

'20 APPLICATION OP THE ARGCMENTo

Whence this necessity arises, or how the pic-
ture is connected with the sensation, or con-
tributes 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
concerned in the inquiry. It may be true,
that, in this, and in other instances, we trace
mechanical contrivance a certain way ; and
that then we come to somethino' which is not
mechanical, or which is inscrutable. But
this affects not the certainty of our investiga-
tion, srs far as we have gone. The difference
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 stopped ; either the mechanism becom-
ing too subtile for our discernment, or some-
thinp- else beside the known laws of mecha-
nism taking place; whereas, in the automaton,
for the comparatively few motions of which
it is capable, we trace the mechanism through-
out. But, up to the limit, the reasoning is
as clear and certain in the one case, as in the
other. In the example before us, it is a mat-
er 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 shown. Whatever affects

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 21

the distinctness of the image, affects the di-
stinctness of the vision. The formation then
of such an image being necessary (no matter
how) to the sense of sight, and to the exer-
cise 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 aris-
ing from the image may be laid out of the
question ; for the production of the image,
these are instruments of the same kind. The
end is the same; the means are the same.
The purpose in both is alike; the contriv-
ance for accomplishing that purpose is in both
?dlike. The lenses of the telescope, and the
humours of the eye, bear a complete resem-
blance 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 lens ; namely,
in the eye, at the exact place where the mem-
brane is spread to receive it. How is it pos-
sible, under circumstances of such close aflfi-
nity, and under the operation of equal evi-
dence, to exclude contrivance from the one ;
yet to acknowledge the proof of contrivance
having been employed, as the plainest and
dearest of all propositions, in the other ?

22f APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 differ-
ent colours, thereby tinging the object, espe-^
cially the edges of it, as if it were viewed
through a prism. To correct this inconve-
nience, had been long a desideratum in th6
art. At last it came into the mind of a saga-
cious optician, to inquire how this matter was
managed in the eye; in which, there was ex-
actly the same difficulty to contend with, as
in the telescope. His observation taught him,
that, in the eye, the evil was cured by com-
bining lenses composed of different substances,
i. e. of substances which possessed different
refracting powers. Our artist borrow^ed thence
his hint ; and produced a correction of the de-
fect by imitating, in glasses made from differ-
ent materials, the efl'ects of the different hu-
mours 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 ef-
fectual means of attaining that purpose?

But farther; there are other points, not

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 2S

SO much perhaps of strict resemblance be-
tween the two, as of superiority of the eye
over the telescope ; yet of a superiority
which, being founded in the laws that regu-
late 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 secondly, 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 dif-
ficulties present 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 appropriate mechanism is introduced :

I. In order to exclude excess of light, when
it is excessive, and to, render objects visible
under obscurer 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

24 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

too small, can enlarge its opening ; when too
strong, can again contract it ; and that with-»
out any other assistance than that of its own
exquisite machinery. It is farther, also, in
the human subject, to be observed, that this
hole in the eye, w4iich we call the pupil, un-
der all its different dimensions, retains its
exact circular shape. This is a structure ex-
tremely artificial. Let an artist only try to
execute the same ; he wdll 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. 6. 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, of the
eye, and of objects which are placed at a
considerable distance from it, that, for exam-
ple, of as many furlongs (I speak in both cases
of the distance at which distinct vision can
be exercised). Now this, according to the
principles of optics, that is, according to the
laws by which the transmission of light is re-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 25

gulated (and these laws are fixed), could not
be done without the organ itself undergoing
an alteration, and receiving an adjustment,
that might correspond with the exigency of
the case, that is to say, with the different in-
clination to one another under which the
rays of light reached it. Rays issuing from
points placed at a small distance from the
eye, and which consequently must enter the
eye in a spreading or diverging order, can-
not, 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
w ith rays proceeding from objects situated at
a much greater distance, and which rays ar-
rive at the eye in directions nearly (and
physically speaking) parallel. It requires a
rounder lens to do it. The point of concourse
behind the lens must fall critically upon the
retina, or the vision is confused ; yet, other
things remaining the same, this point, by the
immutable properties of light, is carried far-
ther 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 mat-
ter by changing, as the occasion required,
his lens or his telescope ; or by adjusting the
distance of his glasses with his hand or hivS

26 A rPLI CATION OF THE ARGUMENT,

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 was effected (for if the known laws
which govern the refraction of light be main-
tained, some alteration in the state of the
organ there must be), had long formed a sub-
ject of inquiry and conjecture. The change,
though sufficient for the purpose, is so minute
as to elude ordinary observation. Some
very late discoveries, deduced from a labo-
rious and most accurate inspection of the
structure and operation of the organ, seem
at length to have ascertained the mecha-
nical alteration which the parts of the eye
undergo. It is found, that by the action
of certain muscles, called the straight nms-
cles, and which action is the most advan-
tageous that could be imagined for the pur-
pose,— it is found, I say, that whenever the
eye is directed to a near object, three chan-
ges are produced in it at the same time, all
severally contributing to the adjustment re-
quired. The cornea, or outermost coat of
the eye, is rendered more round and promi-
neni: ; the crystalline lens underneath is push-
ed forward ; and the axis of vision, as the
depth of the eye is called, is elongated.
These changes in the eye vary its power over

APPLICATION OF THfi ARCUMiENT. 2}^

the rays of light in such a manner and degree
as to produce exactly the effect which is
wantedj 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 another, which is the case
when the object is placed at a distance. Can
any thing be more decisive of contrivance
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 first 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 constructed
upon strict optical principles; the self-same
principles upon which we ourselves construct
optical instruments. We find them perfect
for the purpose of forming an image by re-
fraction; composed of parts executing dif-
ferent offices : one part, having fulfilled its
office upon the pencil of light, delivering it

28 APPUCATION OF THE AKGUMENT.

over to the action of another part; that to
a third, and so onward: the progressive ac-
tion depending for its success upon tlie nicest
and minutest adjustment of the parts con-
cerned ; yet these parts so in fact adjusted,
as to produce, not by a simple action or ef-
fect, but by a combination of actions and
effects, the result which is ultimately wanted.
And forasmuch as this organ would have to
operate under different circumstances, with
strong degrees of light, and with weak de-
grees, upon near objects and upon remote
ones, and these differences demanded,. accord-
ing to the laws by which the transmission of
light is regulated, a corresponding diversity
of structure ; 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 tablet, 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 adapted, we find its several parts
capable of being occasionally changed, and a
most artificial apparatus provided to produce
that change. This is far beyond the com^
mon regulator of a w^atch, which requires the
touch of a foreign hand to set it: but it is
not altogether unlike Harrison's contrivance

AMPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. '29

for making a watch regulate itself, by insert-
ing within it a machinery, which by the art-
ful use of the different expansion of metals,
preserves the equability of the motion under
all the various temperatures of heat and cold
in which the instrument may happen to be
placed. The ingenuity of this last contriv-
ance has been justly praised. Shall, there-
fore, a structure which dliFers from it chiefly
by surpassing it, be accounted no contriv-
ance at all ? or, if it be a contrivance, that
it is without a contriver !

But this, though much, is not the whole :
by different species of animals the faculty w^e
are describing is possessed, in degrees suited
to the different range of vision which their
mode of life, and of procuring their food, re-
quires. Birds^ for instance, in general, pro-
cure thei/ 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 a
great distance; a power of which, in birds of

Sf> APPLICATION OP THE ARGtn^IENT,

rapine, surprising examples 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 adjust-
ment of the eye to different distances de-
pends. The one is a bony, yet, in most spe-
cies, a flexible rim or hoop, surrounding the
broadest part of the eye ; which, confining
the action of the muscles to that part, in-
creases the effect of their lateral pressure up-
on the orb, by which pressure its axis is elon-
gated for the purpose of looking at very near
objects. The other is an additional muscle,
called the marsupium, to draw, on occasion,
the crystalline lens back, and to fit the same
eye for the viewing of very distant objects.
By these means, the eyes of birds can pass
frcrm 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 ob-
served upon the figure of the crystalline com-
pensating 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 natural and indolent state, ap-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. Si

pear to be adjusted to near objects, in tbrs
respect differing from the human eye, as well
as those of quadrupeds and birds. The of*
dinary shape of the fish's eye being in a much
higher degree convex than that of land ani-
mals, a corresponding difference attends its
muscular conformation, viz. that it is through-
out calculated for Jlaftenmg the eye.

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

In the ee/, which has to work its head
through sand and gravel, the roughest and
harshest substances, there is placed before
the eye, and at some distance from it, a trans-
parent, 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 the eyes of different
kinds of animals, we see, in their resem-
blances and distinctions, one general plan laid
down, and that plan varied with the varying
exigences to which it is to be applied.

There is one property however common,
I beheve, to all eyes, at least to all which

32 APPLlCATIOxV OF THE ARGUMENT,

have been examined*, namely, that the optic
nerve enters the bottom of the eye, not iri
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 never reflect without won-
der 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 contains, are all preserved;
are all discriminated in their magnitudes,
positions, figures, colours. The prospect
from Hampstead-hill is compressed into the
compass of a six-pence, yet circumstantially
represented. 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 di-
stinctly perceived throughout its whole pro-

* The eye of the seal or sea-calf, I understand, is an excep-
tion. Mem. Acad. Paris. 1701, p. 123.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 33

gress ; for it is only by means of that per-
ception 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. Besides that con-
formity to optical principles which its inter-
nal constitution displays, and which alone
amounts to a manifestation of intelligence
having been exerted in the structure; besides
this, which forms, no doubt, the leading
character of the organ, there is to be seen,
in every thing belonging to it and about it,
an extraordinary degree of care, an anxiety
for its preservation, due, if w^e 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^, hol-
lowed out at their edges. In some few spe-
cies, as that of the coatimondi^f*, the orbit is
not bony throughout; but whenever this is
the case, the upper, which is the deficient
part, is supplied by a cartilaginous ligament ;

* Heister, sect. 89. + Mem. R. Ac. Paris, p, 117>

34 APPLlCATIOiN OF THE ARGUMENT.

a substitution which shows the same care.
Within this socket it is imbedded in fat, of
all animal substances 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 lid.
Of the superficial parts of the animal frame,
I know none which, in its office and struc-
ture, is more deserving of attention than the
eyelid. 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 intelligi-
ble, more appropriate, or more mechanical?
If it be overlooked by the observer of nature,
it can only be because it is obvious and fa-
miliar. 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 under-
standing, we sometimes neglect the strong-
est observations, being taken up with others,
which, though more recondite and scientific,
are, as solid arguments, entitled to much less
consideration.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 85

In order to keep the eye moist and clean
(which quahties are necessary to its bright-
ness and its use), a wash is constantly sup-
plied 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 en-
tered the nose, it spreads itself upon the in-
side 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 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 constant lotion to the eye.

It were, however, injustice to dismiss the
eye as a piece of mechanism, without noticing
that most exquisite of all contrivances, the
nictitating membrane^ which is found in the
eyes of birds and of many quadrupeds. Its
use is to sweep the eye, which it does in an
instant, to spread over it the lachrymal hu-

D 2

36 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

mour; 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 admi-
rable, though not quite so obvious, is the
combination of two kinds of substance, mus-
cular 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 mus-
cles, one pulling* forward and the other back-
ward, 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 ten-
don 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 advantage, not only of being sq«

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. S?

cure, but of being out of the way ; which it
would hardly have been in any position that
could be assigned to it in the anterior part of
the orb, where its function lies. When the
muscle behind the eye contracts, the mem-
brane, 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 ef-
fort) ceases to be exerted, the elasticity alone
of the membrane brings it back again to its
position'^. Does not this, if any thing can do
it, bespeak an artist, master of his work, ac-
quainted with his materials ? " Of a thousand
other things,^^ say the French Academicians,
*V we perceive not the contrivance, because we
understand them only by the effects, of which
we know not the causes : but we here 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-f-.^'
In the configuration of the muscle which,
though placed behind the eye, draws the nic-
titating membrane over the eye, there is, what
the authors, just now quoted, deservedly call

* Phil. Trans. 1796.

t Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals, by the Royal
Academy of Sciences at Paris, done into English by Order of
the Royal Society, 1701, page 249.

38 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

A

a marvellous mechanism. I suppose this
structure to be found in other animals; 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 mus-
cular form, would have been sufficient, if it had
had power to draw far enough. But the con-
traction, necessary 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 mus-
cle makes an angle. This, so far, answers the
end ; but, still farther, it makes an angle, not
round a fixed pivot, but round a loop formed by
another muscle ; which second muscle, when-
ever it contracts, of course twitches the first
muscle at the point of inflection, and thereby
a'ssists the action designed by both.

One question may possibly have dwelt in
the reader's mind during the perusal of these
observations, namely, Why should not the

APPLICATION OF THB ARGUMENT, 39

Deity have given to the animal the faculty of
vision at once ? Why this circuitous percep-
tion ; the ministry of so many means ; an
element provided for the purpose ; reflected
from opaque substances, refracted through
transparent ones ; and both according to pre-
cise laws; then, a complex organ, an intricate
and artificial apparatus, in order, by the
operation of this element, and in conformity
with the restrictions of these laws, to pro-
duce an image upon a membrane communi-
cating with the brain? Wherefore all this?
Why make the difficulty in order 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 pro-
posed; could not a simple volition of the
Creator have communicated the capacity?
Why resort to contrivance, where power is
omnipotent? Contrivance, by its very defi-
nition and nature, is the refuge of imperfec-
tion. To have recourse to expedients, implies
difficulty, impediment, restraint, defect of
power. This question belongs to the other
senses, as well as to sight ; to the general
functions of animal life, as nutrition, secre-
tion, respiration ; to the oeconomy of vege-
tables ; and indeed to almost all the opera-
tions of nature. The question, therefore, is

-10 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

of very wide extent; and amongst other an-
swers which may be given to it, besides reasons
of which probably we are ignorant, one answer
; is this: It is only by the display of contriv-
ance, that the existence, the agency, the wis-
dom of the Deity, could be testified to his ra-
tional creatures. This is the scale by which
we ascend to all the knowledge of our Crea-
tor which we possess, so far as it depends
upon the phaenomena, or the works of nature.
Take away this, and you take away from us
every subject of observation, and ground of
reasoning ; I mean as our rational faculties
are formed at present. Whatever is done,
God could have done without the interven-
tion 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 pileased to prescribe limits
^ to his own power, and to work his ends with-
in those limits. The general laws of matter
have perhaps the nature of these limits ; its
inertia, its re-action ; the laws which govern
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

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 41

magnetism, of electricity ; and probably
others, yet undiscovered. These are general
laws ; and when a particular purpose is to be
effected, it is not by making a new law, nor
by the suspension 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 suited to the exigency which results
from them, that the purpose is at length at-
tained. As we have said, therefore, God pre-
scribes limits to his power, that he may let in
the exercise, and thereby exhibit demonstra-
tions of his wisdom. For then, i. e, such laws
and limitations being laid down, it is as though
one Beino; should have fixed certain rules ;
and, if we 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 represent-

A

42 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

ed under this view; because the Deity, acting
himself by general laws, will have the same
consequences upon our reasoning, as if he
had prescribed 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
convey a false idea.

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 com-
parison with optical instruments. The ear,
it is probable, is no less artificially and me-
chanically 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 internal, is
sufficient to show that it is an instrument
adapted to the reception of sound; that is to
say, already knowing that sound consists in
pulses of the air, we perceive, in the structure
of the ear, a suitableness to receive impres-
sions from this species of action, and to

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 43

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 quadru-
peds, 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 out-
ward ear, the folds and sinuses thereof tending
and conducting 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 in-
terior channels 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 into
and out of the barrel of the ear, as the co-
vering membrane vibrates, or as the tempe-
rature 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 consti-
tutes together an apparatus, plainly enough

44 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

relative to the transmission of sound, or of
the impulses received from sound, and only 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 ma-
chinery, than any thing I am acquainted with
in animal bodies. It seems evidently design-
ed to continue towards the sensorium the
tremulous motions which are excited in the
membrane of the tympanum, or what is bet-
ter known by the name of the " drum of the
ear/^ The compages of bones consists of
four, which are so disposed, and so hinge up-
on 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 sur-
face, 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 fri-
gate, stationed more within the line. From

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 45

which account of its action may be under-
stoodj how the sensation of sound will be ex-
cited, by any thing which communicates a vi-
bratory 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 holden at one end between
the teeth, and touching at the otlier end a
tremulous body. It likewise appears to be
done, in a considerable degree, by the air it- '
self, 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 augment or facilitate the still deeper ac-
tion of the auditory nerves.

The benefit of the eustachian tube to the
organ, may be made out upon known pneu-
matic principles. Behind the drum of the ear
is a second cavity, or barrel, called the tym-
panum. The eustachian tube is a slender
pipe, but sufficient for the passage of air,

4i$ APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 covering membrane, in a de-
gree inconsistent with the purpose which it
was assigned to execute. The only remain-
ing expedient, and that for which the eusta-
chian tube serves, is to open to this cavity a
communication with the external air. In one
word ; it exactly answers the purpose of the
hole in a drum.

The membrana tympani itself likewise, de-
serves all the examination which can be made
of it. It is not found in the ears of fish;
which furnishes an additional 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

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 4/

resemblance to the pelt or head of a drum,
from which it takes its name. It resembles
also a drum-head in this principal propert^^,
that its use depends upon its tension. Ten-
sion 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 means of strings attached to its circumfe-
rence. In the membrane of the ear, the same
purpose is provided for, more sunply, 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 ani-
mals that the texture of this membrane can
be discerned. In the Philosophical Transac-
tions for the year 1800 (vol. i.), Mr. Everard
Home has given 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 fi-
bres, passing along the membrane from the
circumference to the centre ; from the bony
rim which surrounds it towards the handle of
the malleus to which the central part is at-
tached. This muscle he supposes to be de-
signed to bring the membrane into unison
with different sounds : but then he also dis-
coveredj that this muscle itself cannot act.

48 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT,

unless the membrane be drawn to a slretchj
and kept in a due state of tightness, by what
may be called a foreign force, viz. the action
of the muscles of the malleus. Supposing his
explanation of the use of the parts to be just,
our author is well founded in the reflection
which he makes upon it: " 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 referred 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 considerable degree, notwith-
standing the almost total loss of the mem-
brane 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 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
whenever the patient listened to any thing
which he did not distinctly hear: when he
was addressed in a whisper, the ear was seen
immediately to move ; when the tone of voice

OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 49

was louder, it then remained altogether mo-
tionless/^

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 behind it. Both the
patients suffered from cold: one, " a great
increase of deafness from catching cold ;*'
the other, " very considerable pain from ex-
posure to a stream of cold air/^ Bad effects
therefore followed 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 connexion
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 en-
tirely obstructed.

CHAPTER IV.

©F THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

The generation of the animal no more ac-
counts for the contrivance of the eye or ear,
than, upon the supposition stated in a pre-
ceding chapter, the production of a watch by

50 OF THE SUCCESSION OP

the motion and mechanism of a former watch,
would account for the skill and attention evi-
denced in the watch, so produced ; than it
would account for the disposition of the
wheels, the catching of their teeth, the rela-
tion 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 connexion, their operation,
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 what-
ever was true of the watch, under the hypo-
thesis 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 organisation ? Whether a latent
plantule with the means of temporary nutri-
tion, or whatever else it be, it encloses an or-
ganisation suited to the germination of a new
plant. Has the plant which produced the
seed any thing more to do with that organi-
sation, than the watch would have had to do
with the structure 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 and

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 51

contriver of one watch , when he inserted with-
in it a mechanism suited to the production
of another watch, was, in truth, the maker and
contriver of that other watch. All the pro-
perties of the new watch were to be referred
to his agency : the design manifested in it,
to his intention : the art, to him as the
artist : the collocation of each part, to his
placing : the action, efiPect, and use, to his
counsel, intelligence, 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 ; betw^een the producing watch, and
the producing plant; both passive, uncon-
scious substances; both, by the organisation
which was given to them, producing their
like, without understanding or design ; both,
that is, instruments ?

11. From plants we may proceed to ovipa-
rous animals ; from seeds to eggs. Now I
say, that the bird has the 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 in-
ternal constitution of the egg is as much a
/Secret to the hen, as if the hen were inani-

e2

52 OF THE SUCCESSION OF

mate. 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 adapt-
ing the means, she is not beforehand apprised
of the effect. If there be concealed within that
smooth shell a provision and a preparation for
the production and nourishment of a new ani-
mal, they are not of her providing or prepa-
ring : if there be contrivance, it is none of
hers. Although, therefore, there be the dif-
ference of life and perceptivity between the
animal and the plant, it is a difference 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 ve2:etable function are alike destitute of
any design v/hich can operate upon the form
of the thing produced. The plant has no de-
sign 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

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 53

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 farther observable concerning the pro-
pagation of plants and animals, that the ap-
paratus emploj^ed exhibits no resemblance to
the thing produced ; in this respect holding
an analogy with instruments and tools of art.
The filaments, antherae, and stigmata of flow-
ers, 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 chair. What then
are the filaments, anthers, 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 irrational animal : a man
than a quadruped, a quadruped than a bird ;

54 OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

nor (for we may follow the gradation through
its whole scale) a bird than a plant ; nor a
plant than a watch, a piece of dead mecha-
nism, would do, upon the supposition which
has already so often been repeated. Ratio-
nality therefore has nothing to do in the
business. If an account must be given of the
contrivance which we observe; if it be de-
manded, whence arose either the contrivance
by which the young animal is produced, or
the contrivance manifested in the young ani-
mal itself, it is not from the reason of the pa-
rent that any such account can be drawn.
He is the cause of his offspring, in the same
sense as that in which a gardener is the cause
of the tulip which grows upon his parterre,
and in no other. We admire the flower; we
examine the plant; we perceive the condu-
civeness of many of its parts to their end and
ofhce : we observe a provision for its nourish-
ment, growth, protection, 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 it is with the succession of animals
even of the highest order. For the contriv-
ance discovered in the structure of the thing
produced, we want a contriver. The pa-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED, 55

rent is not that contriver. His conscious-
ness decides that question. He is in total
ignorance why that 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 animal for what we are in search
of, a cause of relation, and of subserviency of
parts to their use, which relation and subser-
viency 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 dropped, or the structure of the
watch to the intelligence of the watch which
produced it; there being no difference, as far
as argument is concerned, between an intelli-
gence which is not exerted, and an intelli-
gence which does not exist.

CHAPTER V,

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

Every observation which was made in our
first chapter, concerning the watch, may be
repeated with strict propriety, concerning
the eye ; concerning animals ; concerning
plants ; concerning, indeed, all the organised
parts of the works of nature. As,

56 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

I. When we are inquiring simply after the
existence of an inteUigent Creator, imperfec-
tion, inaccuracy, habihty to disorder, occa-
sional irregularities, may subsist in a consi-
derable degree^ without inducing any doubt
into the question: just as a watch may fre-
quently go wrong, seldom perhaps exactly
right, may be faulty in some parts, defective
in some, without the smallest ground of sus-
picion from thence arising that it was not a
watch; not made; or not made for the pur-
pose ascribed to it. When faults are pointed
out, and when a question is started concern-
ing the skill of the artist, or dexterity with
which the work is executed, then indeed, in
order to defend these qualities from accusa-
tion, we must be able, either to expose some
intractableness and imperfection in the ma-
terials, or point out some invincible difjficulty
in the execution, into which imperfection
and difficulty the matter of complaint may
be resolved ; or if we cannot do this, we
must adduce such specimens of consummate
art and contrivance proceeding from the
same hand, as may convince the inquirer, of
the existence, in the case before him, of impe-
diments like those which we have mentioned,
although, what from the nature of the case is
very likely to happen, they be unknown and

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 5t

unpereeived 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 provisions employed in
fulfilling that intention, not from an instance in
which they fail, but from the great plurality 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 nature. Irregu-
larities and imperfections are of little or no
weight in the consideration, when that con-
sideration relates simply to the existence of a
Creator. When the argument respects his at-
tributes, 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 evi-
dences which we possess, of skill, power, and
benevolence, displayed in other instances ;
which evidences 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-

58 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

feet of knowledge or of benevolence in the
author.

11. There may be also parts of plants and
animals, as there were supposed to be of the
watch, of which, in some instances, the opera-
tion, 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 action is communicated by
the lungs : yet we find that a very short sus-
pension 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 igno-
rant of its operation. Nearly the same thing
may be observed of what is called the lym-
phatic system. We suffer grievous inconve-
niences from its disorder, without being in-
formed 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 un-
known, but in which experiments 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.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 59

This is said to be the case with the spleen;
which has been extracted from dogs, without
any sensible injury to their vital functions.
Instances of the former kind, namely, in which
we cannot explain the operation, may be nu-
merous ; 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
diminishes 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 unsuspected.
Instances of the second kind, namely, where
the part appears to be totally useless, I be-
lieve to be extremely rare ; compared with
the number of those, of which the use is evi-
dent, they are beneath any assignable pro-
portion ; and, perhaps, have never been sub-
mitted to a trial and examination sufficiently
accurate, long enough continued, or often
enough repeated. No accounts which I have
seen, are satisfactory. The mutilated ani-
mal may live and grow fat (as was the
case of the dog deprived of its spleen), yet
may be defective in some other of its func-
tions ; which, whether they can all, or in
what degree of vigour and perfection, be per-

GO APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

formed, or how long preserved, without the
extirpated organ, does not seem to be ascer-
tained 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 insti-
tuted concerning those parts which are useful,
and of which we know the use : the indica-
tion of contrivance, with respect to them, re-
mains as it was before.

III. One atheistic wa}^ of replying to our
observations upon 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 present
form as any other. Let us now apply this
answer to the eye, as we did before to the
watch. Something or other must have occu-
pied that place in the animal's head; must
have filled up, we will say, that socket : w^e
will say also, that it must have been of that
sort of substance which we call animal sub-
stance, as flesh, bone, membrane, cartilage,
&c. But that it should have been an ez/e,
knowing as we do what an eye comprehends,
— viz. that it should have consisted, first, of
a series of transparent lenses (very different,

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 61

by-the-bye, even in their substance, from the
opaque materials of which the rest of the
body is, in general at least, composed ; and
with which the whole of its surface, this sin-
gle portion of it excepted, is covered): se-
condly, 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 be formed,
namely, at the concourse of the refracted
rays : thirdly, of a large nerve communica-
ting between this membrane and the brain;
without which, the action of light upon the
membrane, however modified by the organ,
would be lost to the purposes of sensation : —
that this fortunate conformation of parts
should have been the lot, not of one indivi-
dual 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 w^e are ac-
quainted, 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 :

62 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

— that all this should have taken place, mere-
ly because something must have occupied
those points in every animal's forehead ; — or,
that all this should be thought to be account-
ed 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 augmentation. We are not contented
with this answer; w^e find no satisfaction in
it, by way of accounting for appearances of
organisation far short of those of the eye, such
as we observe in fossil shells, petrified bones,
or other substances which bear the vestiges
of animal or vegetable recrements, but which,
either in respect of utility, or of the situation
in which they are discovered, may seem acci-
dental enough. It is no way of accounting
even for these things, to say that the stone,
for instance, which is shown to us (supposing
the question to be concerning a petrification),
must have contained some internal conforma-
tion or other. Nor does it mend the answer
to add, with respect to the singularity of the
conformation, that, after the event, it is no
longer to be computed what the chances were
against it. This is always to be computed,
when the question is, whether a useful or
imitative conformation be the produce of
chance, or not : I desire no greater certainty

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 63

in reasoning, than that by which cliance 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 instance, chance, i. e.
the operation of causes without design, may
produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pimple, but
never an eye. Amongst inanimate substances,
a clod, a pebble, a liquid drop might be ; but
never was a watch, a telescope, an organised
body of any kind, answering a valuable pur-
pose by a complicated mechanism, the ef-
fect 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, in-
deed every organised body which we see, are
only so many out of the possible varieties and
combinations of being, which the lapse of in-
finite ages has brought into existence ; that
the present world is the relict of that variety;
millions of other bodily forms and other spe-
cies having perished, being by the defect of
their constitution incapable of preservation,
or of continuance by generation. Now there

64 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

is no foundation whatever for this conjecture
in any thing which we observe in the works
of nature ; no such experiments are going on
at present ; no such energy operates, as that
which is here supposed, and which should be
constantly pushing into existence new varie-
ties of beings. Nor are there any appear-
ances to support an opinion, that every pos-
sible combination of vegetable or animal
structure has formerly been tried. Mul-
titudes of conformations, both of vege-
tables and animals, may be conceived capa-
ble 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 de-
lineated 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, realised by examples. Or, if it be
alleged that these may transgress the limits
of possible life and propagation, we might, at
least, have nations of human beings without
nails upon their fingers, wdth more or fewer
fingers and toes than ten, some with one eye,
others with one ear, with one nostril, or with-
out the sense of smelling at all. All these.

APPLfCATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. ()5

and a thousand other imaginable varieties,
might hve and propagate. We may modify
any one species many different ways, all con-
sistent with life, and with the actions neces-
sary to preservation, although affording dif-
ferent degrees of conveniency and enjoyment
to the animal. And if we carry these modi-
fications through the different species which
are known to subsist, their number 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 cataloo-ue.

But, moreover, the division of organised
substances into animals and vegetables, and
the distribution and sub-distribution of each
into genera and species, which distribution is
not an arbitrary act of the mind, but found-
ed in the order which prevails m external na-
ture, appear to me to contradict the supposi-
tion 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 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, pe-^
rished ; but how or why those which survived

66 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

should be cast, as we see that plants and ani-
mals are cast, into regular classes, the hy-
pothesis does not explain ; or rather the hy-
pothesis is inconsistent with this phaenome-
non.

The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving
of the consideration which we have given to
it. What should we think of a man who, be-
cause 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 de-
sign of their inventors and contrivers, in truth
derive them from no other origin than this ;
viz. that amass of metals and other materials
having run when melted into all possible fi-
gures, and combined themselves in all possi-
ble 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 remaining stock of a
magazine, which, at one time or other, has,
by this means, contained every mechanism,
useful and useless, convenient and inconveni-
ent, into which such like materials could be
thrown? I cannot distinguish the hypothesis

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 6/

as applied to the works of nature, from this
solution, which no one would accept, as ap-
plied to a collection of machines.

V. To the marks of contrivance discover-
able 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, namely, that the parts
were not intended for the use, but that the
use arose out of the parts. This distinction
is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his ma-
hogany 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 ca-
binet-makers. Therefore the distinction 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 implements of the cabinet-
maker's work- shop, as well as his fish-skin,
were substances accidentally configurated,
which he had picked up, and converted to
his use ; that his adzes, saws, planes, and gim-
lets, were not made, as we suppose, to hew,
cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with;
but that, these things being made, no matter

F 2

68 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUEI>.

with what design, or whether with any, the
cabinet-maker perceived that they were ap-
phcable to his purpose, and turned them to
account.

But, again. So far as this solution is at-
tempted to be apphed to those parts of ani-
mals the action of which does not depend up-
on 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 or-
gan 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 funda-
mentally depend upon the election of the ani-
mal; 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 pas-
sive. He may bring objects to the sense, or
within its reach; he may select these objects :
but over the impression Itself he has no pow-
er, or very little ; and that properly is the
sense.

Secondly ; there are many parts of animal

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 69

bodies which seem to depend upon the will
of the animal in a greater degree than the
senses do, and yet with respect to which, this
solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we ap-
ply 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 con-
templated in their formation ?

All that there is of the appearance of rea-
son in this way of considering the subject is,
that in some cases the organisation 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 in-
stances, in which there is any place for this
suggestion, it may be replied, that the organi-
sation determines the animal to habits bene-
ficial and salutary to itself; and that this ef-
feet would not be seen so regularly to follow,
if the several organisations did not bear a

70 APPLICAtlOK O:^ THE ARGUMENT CONtlNUED*

concerted and contrived relation to the sub-
stance 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, hook-
ed 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 it to pick up seeds : but
neither determination could take effect in pro-
viding for the sustenance of the birds, if ani-
mal bodies and vegetable seeds did not lie
within their reach. The peculiar conforma-
tion 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 should 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, deter-
mines him to seek for honey : but what would
that signify, if flowers supplied none ? Facul-
ties thrown down upon animals at random,
and without reference to the objects amidst
which they are placed, would not produce to

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 71

them the services and benefits which we see;
and if there be that reference, then there is
intention.

Lastly ; the solution fails entirely when
applied to plants. The parts of plants answer
their uses, without 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 bv
a principle of order, as different from an in-
telligent Creator, has not been explained ei-
ther by definition or example: and, without
such explanation, it should seem to be a
mere substitution of words for reasons, names
for causes. Order itself is only the adapta-
tion of means to an end : a principle of or-
der 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 ?

Farthermore, 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 con-
stant and necessary principle : nor indiscri-

72 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

minate, 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 we 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 main-
tained. In the forms of rocks and moun-
tains, in the lines which bound the coasts of
continents and islands, in the shape of bays
and promontories, no order whatever is per-
ceived, because it would have been superflu-
ous. No useful purpose would have arisen
from moulding rocks and mountains into re-
gular solids, bounding the channel of the
ocean by geometrical curves ; or from the
map of the world, resembling a table of dia-
grams in Euclid's Elements, or Simpson's
Conic Sections.

VIL Lastly ; the confidence which we
place in our observations upon the works of
nature, in the marks which we discover of
contrivance, choice, and design ; and in
our reasoning upon the proofs afforded us ;
ought not to be shaken, as it is sometimes
attempted to be done, by bringing forward
to our view our own ignorance, or ra-
ther the general niiperfection of our know-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 7^

ledge of nature. Nor, in many cases, ought
this consideration to aflfect us, even when
it respects some parts of the subject im-
mediately under our notice. True forti-
tude of understanding consists in not su(fer-
ing what we know, to be disturbed by what
we do not know. If we perceive a useful
end, and means adapted to that end, we per-
ceive enough for our conclusion, [f these
things be clear, no matter what is obscure.
The arofument is finished. For instance: if
the utility of vision to the animal which en-
joys it, and the adaptation 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 cry-
stalline, the retina, in their substance, figure,
and position, manifestly suited to the forma-
tion of an image by the refraction of niys 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

74 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED,

give DO account ; any more than we should
be inclined to doubt, or ought to doubt,
about the construction of a telescope, viz. for
what purpose it was constructed, or whether
it were constructed at all, because there be-
longed 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 recur
to its own ignorance, its own imbecility : to
tell us that upon these subjects we know lit-
tle; that little imperfectly; or rather, that we
know nothing properly about the matter.
These suggestions so fall in with our con-
sciousness, as sometimes to produce a general
distrust of our faculties and our conclusions.
But this is an unfounded jealousy. The un-
certainty of one thing does not necessarily
affect the certainty of another thing. Our
ignorance of many points need not suspend
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 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 re-

. THB ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 75

spects, of great importance. A just reasoner
removes from his consideration, not only what
he knows, but what he does not know, touch-
ing matters not strictly connected wdth his
argument, i. e. not forming the very steps of
his deduction: beyond these, his knowledge
and his ignorance are alike relative.

CHAPTER VI.

THE AReSUMENT CUMULATIVE.

Were there no example in the world, of
contrivance, except that of the ei/e^ it would
be i^lone sufficient to support the conclusion
which we draw from it, as to the necessity of
an intelligent Creator. It could never be got i
rid of; because it could not be accounted for
by any other supposition, which did not con-
tradict 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 experience, turn out to be true or
false. Its coats and humours, 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

JG THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

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 an optical in-
strument depends ; the farther 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 liquid after the
eye is washed with it; these provisions com-
pose altogether an apparatus, a system of
parts, a preparation of means, so manifest in
their design, so exquisite in their contriv-
ance, so successful in their issue, so precious,
and so infinitely beneficial in their use, as, in
my opinion, to bear down all doubt that can
be raised upon the subject. And w hat I wish,
under the title of the present chapter, to ob-
serve is, that if other parts of nature were in-
accessible to our inquiries, or even if other
parts of nature presented nothing to our ex-
amination but disorder and confusion, the va-
lidity of this example v/ould 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 kindof hydraulic machine, yet, if of that
one kind we understood the mechanism and

THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 77

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 wa-
ter, or a thousand different kinds for other
purposes. Of this point, each machine is a
proof, independently 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 cumulative, 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 de-
sign of the part, and die conduciveness of its
structure to that design is shown, the mind
may set itself at rest; no future considera-
tion can detract any thing from the force of
the example.

78 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

CHAPTER VII.

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

It is not that every part of an animal or ve-
getable 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 go-
verning 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 ex-
emplified in more simple processes, and more
simple machines ; that we lay down the di-
stinction, here proposed, between the mecha-
nical 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 con-
traction of its tendons, either by an act of
the will, or by involuntary irritation, depends,
is wholly unknown to us. The substance

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES, 7^

employed, whether it be fluid, gaseous,
elastic, electrical, or none of these, or no-
thing resembling these, is also unknown
to us : of course, the laws belonging to
that substance, and which regulate its ac-
tion, 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 far (it is confessed) we are
in ignorance, but no farther. This power
and principle, from whatever cause it pro-
ceeds, 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 intelligi-
ble as the adjustment of the wires and strings
by which a puppet is moved. We see, there-
fore, 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 ner-
vous influence, by which the belly, or mid-
dle, of the muscle is swelled, is not mechani-
cal. The utility of the effect we perceive ;
the means, or the preparation of means, by
which it is produced, we do not. But obscu-
rity as to the origin of muscular motion
brings no doubtfulness into our observations.

80 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

upon the sequel of the process. Which ob-
servations relate, 1st, to the constitution of
the muscle ; in consequence of which consti-
tulion, 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 muscles and
the corresponding number and variety of use-
ful 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-con-
trived disposition of each muscle for its spe-
cific purpose ; for moving the joint this way,
and that way, and the other way; for pull-
ing and drawing the part, to which it is at-
tached in a determinate and particular direc-
tion ; which is a mechanical operation, ex-
emplified in a multitude of instances. To
mention only one : The tendon of the troch-
lear muscle of the eye, to the end that it may
draw in the line required, is passed through a
cartilaginous ring, at which it is reverted, ex-
actly in the same manner as a rope in a ship
is carried over a block or round a stay, in or-
der to make it pull in the direction which is
wanted. All this, as we have said, is mecha-
nical ; and is as accessible to inspection, as

AND FUNCTIO^TS OF ANIMALS AND VliGETABLES. 81

capable of being ascertained, as the mecha-
nism of the automaton in the Strand. Sup-
pose the automaton to be put in motion by
a magnet (which is probable),, it will supply
us with a comparison very apt for our pre-
sent purpose. Of the magnetic effluvium, we
know perhaps as little as we do of the nervous
fluid. But, magnetic attraction being as-
sumed (it signifies nothing from what cause
it proceeds), we can trace, or there can be
pointed out to us, with perfect clearness and
certainty, 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 ob-
scurity, ordifficulty, or controversy in the doc-
trine of magnetism, an objection to our know-
ledge or our certainty, concerning the contriv-
ance, 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 substance and structure of the
nerves themselves, a ground of question or sus-
picion 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 v/e have been discussing

G

$2 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

will serve to show how far the comparison,
whieh this expression implies, holds ; and
wherein it fails. And whether the distinction
be thought of importance or not, it is certain-
ly 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 that we know nothing of vo-
luntary motion, of irritability, of the princi-
ple 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 pro-
perly such, as it is in machines made by art ;
that this mechanism is intelligible and cer-
tain ; that it is not the less so, because it
often begins or terminates with something
which is not mechanical ; that whenever it is
intelligible and certain, it demonstrates in-
tention and contrivance, as well in the
works of nature, as in those of art ; and that
it is the best demonstration which either can
afford.

But whilst I contend for these propositions,
I do not exclude myself from asserting, that

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 83

there may be, and that there are, other cases,
in which although we cannot exhibit mecha-
nism, or prove indeed that mechanism is em-
ployed, we want not sufficient evidence to
conduct us to the same conclusion.

There is what may be called the chymical
p.art of our frame ; of which, by reason of the
imperfection of our chymistry, we can attain
to no distinct knowledge ; I mean, not to
a knowledge, either in degree or kind, similar
to that which we possess of the mechanical
part of our frame. It does not, therefore, af-
ford the same species of argument as that
which mechanism affords; and yet it may at-
ford an argument in a high degree satisfac-
tory. The gastric jiiice^ or the liquor which
digests the food in the stomachs 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 wide-
ly different from one another, it, in a few
hours, reduces to a uniform pulp, milk, or
mucilage. It seizes upon every thing, it dis-
solves the texture of almost every thing, that
comes in its way. The flesh of perhaps all
animals ; the seeds and fruits of the greatest
number of plants; the roots, and stalks, and
leaves of many, hard and tough as they are,

G 2

84 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

yield to its powerful pervasion. The change
wrought by it is different from any chymical
solution which we can produce, or with which
we are acquainted, in this respect as well
as many others, that, in our chymistry, par-
ticular menstrua act only upon particular
substances. Consider moreover 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 chymi-
cal 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 mechanical part of our frame,
of collating it with the operations of art.
And this I call the imperfection of our chy-
mistry; for, should the time ever arriv^e,
which is not perhaps to be despaired of, when
we can compound ingredients, so as to form
a solvent which will act in the manner in

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 85

which the gastric juice acts, we may be able
to ascertain the chymical principles upon
which its efficacy depends, as well as from
what part, and by what concoction, in the
human body, these principles are generated
and derived.

In the mean time, ought that, which is in
truth the defect of our chymistry, to hinder
us from acquiescing in the inference, which
a production of nature, by its place, its pro-
perties, its action, its surprising efficacy, its
invaluable use, authorises us to draw in re-
spect of a creative design?

Another most subtile and curious function
of animal bodies is secretion. This function
is semj-chymical and semi-mechanical ; ex-
ceedingly important and diversified in its
effects, but obscure in its process and in its
apparatus. The importance of the secretory
organs is but too well attested by the diseases,
which an excessive, a deficient, or a vitiated
secretion is almost sure of producing. A sin-
gle secretion being wrong, is enough to make
life miserable, or sometimes to destroy it.
Nor is the variety less than the importance.
From one and the same blood (I speak
of the human body) about twenty different
fluids are separated ; in their sensible pro-
perties, in taste, smell, colour, and consist-

S6 MECHANICAL AND IMMECirANICAL PARTS

ency, the most unlike one another that is pos-
sible; 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 oppo-
$rite properties ; the most nutritious aliment,
the deadliest poison ; the sweetest perfumes,
the most foetid odours. Of these the greater
part, as the gastric juice, the saliva, the bile,
the slippery mucilage 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 cecono-
my; are evidently subservient, and are actu-
ally contributing, to the utilities of the animal
itself. Other fluids seem to be separated
only to be rejected. That this also is neces-
sary (though why it was originally necessary,
we cannot tell), is shown 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, muscular flesh, nerves,
membranes, tendons ; things as different as
the wood and iron, canvass and cordage, of
which a ship with its furniture is composed.
We have no operation of art wherewith exact-
ly to compare all this, for no other reason per-

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 87

haps than that all operations of art are exceed-
ed by it. No chymical election, no chymical
analysis or resolution of a substance into its
constituent parts, no mechanical sifting or
division, that we are acquainted with, in per-
fection or variety come up to animal secrer
tion Nevertheless, the apparatus and pro-
cess are obscure ; not to say absolutely con-
cealed from our inquiries. In a few, and
only a few instances, we can discern a little
of the constitution of a gland. In the kid-
neys of large animals, we can trace the emul-
gent artery dividing itself into an infinite
number of branches ; their extremities every
where communicating with little round bo-
dies, 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 in-
numerable papillae, through which the secret-
ed fluid is continually oozing into its recepta-
cle. This is all we know of the mechanism
of a gland, even in the case in which it seems
most capable of being investigated. Yet to
pronounce that we know nothing of animal

/

68 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and with
that concise remark to dismiss the article Trom
our argument, would be to dispose of the sub-
ject very hastily and very irrationally. For
the purpose which we want, that of evincing
intention, we know a great deul. And what
we know is this. We see the blood carried
by a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland.
We see an organised apparatus, be its con-^
struction or action what it will, which we call
that gland. \Ve see the blood, or part of the
blood, after it has passed through and under^
gone the action of the gland, comi ngy rom it
by an emulgent vein or artery, i. e. by an^
other 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 discharc^ed out of the
body, in more cases retained within it, and
there executing some important and intelli-^
gent 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 situation is
precisely like that of an unmechanical looker-
on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-
mill, a carding-machine, or a thrashing-ma-
chine, at work, the fabric and mechanism of

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 89

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 material enter the machine, as unground
grain the mill, raw cotton the carding-ma-
chine, sheaves of un thrashed corn the thrash-
ing-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 employ-
ed about the machine, should be allowed to
pull it to pieces ; should be enabled to exa-
mine the parts separately ; explore their action
upon one another, or their operation, whether
simultaneous or successive, upon the material
which is presented to them ? He may long to
do this to gratify his curiosity ; he may de-
sire to do it to improve his theoretic know-
ledge; or he may have a more substantial
reason for requesting it, if he happen, instead

90 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

of a common visitor, to be a mill-wright by
profession, or a person sometimes called in to
repair such-like machines m hen 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 material, the change produced
in it, the utility of that change for future ap-
plications, abundantly testify, be the conceal-
ed part of the machine or of its construction
what it will, the hand and agency of a con^
triver. A

If any confirmation were wanting to the
evidence which the animal secretions afford
of design, it may be derived, as has been al-
ready hinted, from tbeir 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 answered. No account can be
given of this, without resorting to appoint-
ment. 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

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 91

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 future nutrition ?
These are all fair questions ; and no 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 mis-
take to suppose that, in reasoning from the
appearances of nature, the imperfection of
our knowledge proportionably affects the cer-
tainty 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 distributed, according to the de-
gree 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 w^orkmanship, are the
most proper to be alleged as proofs and spe-
cimens of design.

92 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

CHAPTER VIII,

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

We proceed, therefore, to propose certain ex-
amples taken oat of this class ; making choice
of such as, amongst those which have come to
our knowledge, appear to be the most strik-
ing, and the best understood ; but obliged,
perhaps, to postpone both these recommenda-
tions to a third ; \that of the example being
capable of explanation without plates, or fi-
gures, 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 construction 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, stoop-
ing, looking upward or downward ; and, at
the same time, of turning itself round up-
on the body to a certain extent, the qua-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 93

drant we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hon-
dred-and-twenty degrees of a circle. For
these two purposes, two distinct contrivances
are employed : First, the head rests imme-
diately upon the uppermost of the vertebrae,
and is united to it by a hinge-jo'iut ; upon
which joint the head plays freely forward and
backward, as far either way as is necessary,
or as the ligaments allow ; which was the
first thing required. — But then the rotatory
motion is unprovided for : Therefore, second-
ly, to make the head capable of this, a far-
ther 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 projec-
tion, 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 cir-
cle as the attached muscles permit the head
to turn. Thus are both motions perfect, with-
out interfering with each other. When we
nod the head, we use the hinge-joint, which

94 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

lies between the head and the first bone af 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 second. We see
the same contrivance and the same principle
employed in the frame or mounting of a tele-
scope. It is occasionally requisite, that the ob-
ject-end of the instrument be moved up and
dow^n, as well as horizontally, or equatorially.
For the vertical 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 to-
gether. 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 ac-
count also, expedient, that the motion of the
head backward and forward should be per-
formed upon the upper surface of the first ver-
tebra : for, if the first vertebra 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

IN THE KUMAN FRAME. S3

original in its means, is seen in what anatom-
ists call the fore-arm ; that is, in the arm be-
tween the elbow and the wrist. Here, for the
perfect use of the limb, two motions are
wanted ; a motion at the elbow backward and
forward, which is called a reciprocal motion ;
and a rotatory motion, by which the palm of
the hand, as occasion requires, may be turn-
ed upward. How is this managed ? The fore-
arm, it is well known, consists 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 up-
per 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 mean time, as often as there is
occasion to turn the palm upward, that other
bone to which the hand is attached, rolls up-
on the first,^ by the help of a groove or hol-
low 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

96 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

one end, and the second at the other ; by
which means the two actions may be per-
formed together. The great bone which car-
ries 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 grooves. The ma-
nagement also of these grooves, or rather of
the tubercles and grooves, is very observable.
The two bones are called the radius and the
iihia. Above, i. e, towards the elbow, a tu-
bercle 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 elbow,
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 accom-
plished by the present mechanism, 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 laborious motion, w^ith which his
arm can be made to turn round at the shoul-
der, by the aid of a ball and socket joint.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. Of

III. The spine, or back-bone, is a chain of
joints of very wonderful construction. Va-
rious, 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); j^rm, to support the erect position
of the body ; jlcxible, to allow^ of the bending
of the trunk in all degrees of curvature. It
was farther 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 mar-
row; a substance not only of the first neces-
sity to action, if not to life, but of a nature
so delicate and tender, so susceptible, and so
impatient of injury, as that any unusual pres-
sure upon it, or any considerable obstruction
of its course, is followed by paralysis or
death. Now the spine was not only to fur-
nish the main trunk for the passage of the
medullary substance from the brain, but to
give out, in the course of its progress, small
pipes therefrom, which being afterwards in-
definitely subdivided, might, under the name
of nerves, distribute this exquisite supply t^

H

DS OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

every part of the body. The same spine was
also to serve another use not less wanted than
the preceding, 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,
cyhndrical bones, to which they can be fast-
ened : 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 mecha-
nism which shall comprise all these purposes,
and let him set about to contrive it : let him
try his skill upon it; let him teel 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 employ-
ed ; nothing will dispose him to think of it so
truly. First, for the firmness, yet flexibility,
of the spine; it is composed of a great num-
ber of bones (in the human subject, of twenty-
four) joined to one another, and compacted by
broad bases. The breadth of the bases upon
which the parts severally rest, and the close-
ness, pf. the junction, give to the chain its firm-
ness and stability ; the number of parts, and
consequent frequency of joints, its flexibility

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 99

Which flexibility, we may also observe, \aries
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 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 throuo-h in the middle in such a
manner, as that, when put together, the hole
in one bone falls into a line, and corresponds
with the holes in the two bones contiguous to
it. By which means, the perforated pieces,
when joined, form an entire, close, uninter-
rupted channel ; at least, whilst the spine is
upright, and at rest. But, as a settled pos-
tare is inconsistent with its use, a great diffi-
culty still remained, which was to prevent the
vertebrse 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 for-
ward, and the spine thereupon made to take
the form of a bow. These dangers, which
are mechanical, are mechanically provided
agaiinst. Tlie vertebrae, by means of their
processe.*? and projections, and of the articu-
jMions which some of these form with one

H 2

100 OF MKCHANICAL ARRANGEMKNT

another at their extremities, 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
intervening cartilages, the springiness and
yielding nature of whose substance admits of
all the motion which is necessary to be per-
formed 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 ver-
tebra is verj^ small : such is the advantage 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 marrow must
have been bruised at every angle. The reader
need not be told, that these intervening car-
tilages 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 substance of the
cartilage, yielding in its thicker and anterior
part to the force which squeezes it, brings
the surfaces of the adjoining vertebrae nearer

IN THE HUMAN FRAMK. lOi

to the being parallel with one another than-
they were before, instead of increasing the in-
clination of their planes, which must have oc-
casioned a fissure or opening between thenn.
Thirdly, for the medullary canal giving out
in its course, and in a convenient order, a sup-
ply of nerves to different parts of the body,
notches are made in the upper and lower edge
of every vertebra ; two on each edge ; equi-
distant on each side from the middle line of
the back. When the vertebra3 are put toge-
ther, these notches, exactly fitting, form small
holes, through which the nerves, at each arti-
culation, 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 purpose 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,
especially the former part of it, a figure, spe-
cifically suited to the design, and unnecessary
for the other purposes, is given to the consti-
tuent 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 processes the muscles necessary to

102 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

the motions of the trunk are fixed; and fixed
with such art, that, whilst the vertebrae sup-
ply a basis for the muscles, the muscles help
to keep these bones in their position, or by
their tendons to tie them together.

That most important, however, and general
property, viz. the strength of the compages,
and the security against luxation, was to be
stdl more specially consulted : for, where so
many joints w^ere concerned, and where, in
every one, derangement would have been fa-
tal, it became a subject of studious precau-
tion. For this purpose, the vertebrae are ar-
ticulated, that is, the moveable joints between
them are formed by means of those projec-
tions of their substance, which we have men-
tioned under the name of processes ; and these
so lock in with, and overwrap one another, as
to secure the body of the vertebra, not only
from accidentally slipping, but even from be-
ing* 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 oeconomy may spare himself the dis-
gust of being present at human dissections,
and yet leurn enough for his information and
satisfaction, by even examining the bones of

IN THE HUMAN FItAMK. 103

the animals which coirie lipoti his table. Let
him take, for example, into his hands, a piecfe
of the clean-picked bone of a hare's back;
consistnii^, we will suppose, of three vfertebrse.
He will find the middle bone of the tlilree so
implicated, by means of its projections or pro-
cesses, with the bone on each side of it, that
no pressure which he can usie, will force it out
of its place between them. It will give way
neither forward, nor backwal'd, nor on either
iide. In whichever direction he pushes, he
perceives, in the form, or junction, ot" over-
lapping 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 farther fortifying expedient, in the
mode according to which the ribs *dte annex-
ed 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 : th^
end of the rib is divided by a middle ridg6
into two surfaces ; which surfaces are joined
to the bodies of two contigiious vertebrse, the
ridge applying itself to the interveniiig carti-
lage. Now this is the very contrivance which
is employed in the famous iron-bridge at nfiy
door at Bishop- Wearmoath; and for th6 same
purpose of stability ; viz. the checks of the

104 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMKNT

bars, which pass between the arches, ride
across the joints, by which the pieces com-
posing each arch are united. Each cross-bar
rests upon two of these pieces at their place
of junction; and by that position resists, at
least in one direction, 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
longitudinally, or in the direction of that 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 direc-
tion of the back, or parallel to it, and conse-
quently to secure the whole combination 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 considera-
tion of this subject farther, there are three
views under which the spine ought to be re-
garded, and in all which, it cannot fail to ex*
cite our admiration. These views relate to

IN THB HUMAN FRAME. 105

its articulations, its ligaments, and its perfo-
ration ; and to the corresponding advantages
which the body derives from it, for action,
for strength, and for that which is essential
to every part, a secure communication with
the brain.

The structure of the spine is not in general
different in different animals. In the serpent
tribe, however, 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 surfaces
laid one against the other, and bound tight by
sinews ; in the serpent, the bones play one
within another 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 consulted ; in
serpents, pliancy. Yet even pliancy is not
obtained at the expense of safety. The back-
bone of a serpent, for coherence and flexibi-
lity, is one of the most curious pieces of ani-
mal mechanism with which we are acquaint-
ed. The chain of a watch (I mean the chain
which passes between the spring-barrel and

* Der. Phys. Theol. p, 396.

IOG of mechanical arrangement

the fusee), which aims at the same properties,
is bat a bungling piece of workmanship in
comparison with that of which we speak.

IV. The reciprocal enlargement and con-
traction of the chest to allow for the play of
the lungs, depends upon a simple yet beauti-
ful mechanical contrivance, referable to the
structure of the bones which enclose it. The
ribs are articulated to the back-bone, or rather
to its side projections, ohliquely : that is, in
their natural position they bend or slope from
the place of articulation downwards. But the
basis upon which they rest 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 up-
wards, necessarily, at the same time, draws
them out ; and that, w hilst the ribs are
brought to a right angle with the spine be-
hind, the sternum, or part of the chest to
wliicb they are attached in front, is thrust
forward. The simple action, therefore, of the
elevating muscles does the business : where-
as, if the ribs had been articulated with the
bodies of the vertebrae at right angles, the
cavity of the thorax could never have been
farther enlarged by a change of their posi"
tion. If each rib had been a rigid bone, ar-
ticulated at both ends to fixed bases, the

IN TFIE HUMAN FRAME. \0j

whole chest had been immoveable. Keill has
observed, that the breast-bone, in an easy in-
gpiration, 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
flattening or descent of the diaphragm, leaves
room for forty-two cubic inches of air to en-
ter at every drawing-in of the breath. When
there is a necessity for a deeper and more
laborious inspiration, the enlargement 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 thorax, says Schelhammer, forms a kind
of bellows, such as never have been, nor pro-
bably will be, made by any artiticer.

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 covered 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 a part of their continuation),
from their origin in the thigh to their inser-
tion in the tibia. It protects both the tendon
and the joint from any injury which either

* Anat. p. 229.

108 or MECHANICAL AHRANGEMENT

might suffer, by the rubbing of one against
the other, or by the pressure of unequal sur-
faces. It also gives to the tendons a very
considerable mechanical advantage, by alter-
ing the line of their direction, and by advan-
cing it farther out from the centre of mo-
tion ; and this upon the principles of the re-
solution 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 conve-
nient. 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 infaqcy ; and pro-
duced by an ossification, of the inception or
progress of which no account can be given
from the structure or exercise of the part.

VI. The shoulder-blade is, in some material
respects, a very singular bone ; appearing to
be made so expressly for its own purpose,
and so independently 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 communication
with the trunk, either by a joint, or process,
or in any other way. It does not grow to.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 100

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 hyo'ides :) in strictness, it
forms no part of the skeleton. It is bedded
in the flesh ; attached only to the muscles.
It is no other than a foundation bone for the
arm, laid in, separate, as it were, and di-
stinct, from the general ossification. The
lower limbs connect themselves at the hip
with bones which form part of the skeleton:
but this connexion, in the upper limbs, being
wanting, a basis, whereupon the arm might
be articulated, was to be supplied by a de-
tached ossification for the purpose.

OF THE JOINTS.

I. The above are a few examples of bones
made remarkable by their configuration : but
to almost all the bones belong jom^6- ; and in
these, still more clearly than in the form or
shape of the bones themselves, are seen both
contrivance and contriving wisdom. Every
joint is a curiosity, and is also strictly mechani-
cal. There is the hinge-joint, and the mortice
and tenon joint ; each as manifestly such, and
as accurately defined, as any which can be

110 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

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 mor-
tice and tenon, or ball and socket joint, is
not required at the knee, the leg standing in
need only of a motion backward and forv^ard
in the same plane, for which a hinge-joint is
sufficient ; a mortice and tenon, or ball and
socket joint, is wanted 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 inconve-
nieiicy, i. e. both the superfluitj^ and the de-
fect of articulation, if the case had been in-
verted : 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 restraining
the motion of the thighs to one plane. The
disadvantage would not have been less, if the
joiats at the hip and the knee had been both
of the same sort ; both balls and sockets, or
both hinges : yet why, independently of uti-
lity, aiid of a Creator wha consulted that uti-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. Hi

lily, should the same boiae (the lliigh-bonc)
be rounded at one end, and channelled at the
other ?

The hinge-joint is not formed by a bolt
passing through the two pauts of the hing€,
and thus keeping them in their places ; but
by a different expedient. A strong, toughi,
parchment-like membrane, rising from the
receiving bones, and inserted all round the
received bones a little below their heads, en-
closes the joint on every side. This mem-
brane ties, confines, and holds the ends ©f
the bones together ; keeping the correspond-
ing parts of the joiost, i, e. the relative con-
vexities and concavities, in close ap|>li€ation
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, iiieertedB
by one end into the head of the ball, by the
other into the bottom of the cup; wliich li-
gament keeps^ the two partss- of tiie joiafe &^:
firmly in their place, that none of the mo-
lions which the limb naturally performs,
»one t)f the jerks and. twists to which it is
ordinarily liable, notliing less indeed than
tile utmost and. the most unnatural vio*

112 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

lence, can pull them asunder. It is hardlj
imaginable, how great a force is necessary,
even to stretch, still more to break, this liga-
ment ; j^et so flexible is it, as to oppose no
impediment to the suppleness of the joint.
By its situation also, it is inaccessible to in-
jury from sharp edges. As it cannot be rup-
tured (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 safety, less capable of be-
ing generated by the action of the joint. I
would particularly solicit the reader's atten-
tion 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 often-
times the deepest impression. For the pur-
pose of addressing different understandings
and different apprehensions, — for the purpose
of sentiment, for the purpose of exciting ad-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. US

miration of the Creator's works, we diversify
our views, we multiply examples ; but for the
purpose of strict argument, one clear instance
is sufficient; and not only sufficient, but ca-
pable perhaps of generating a firmer assur-
ance than what can arise from a divided at-
tention.

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 fortified by the species of li-
gament of which it does admit. The strong,
firm, investing membrane, above described,
accompanies it in every part : and in parti-
cular joints, this membrane, which is pro-
perly a ligament, is considerably stronger on
the sides than either before or behind, in or-
der 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 farther than they ought to go in
the plane of their motion. In the knee^ which
is a joint of this form, and of great import-
ance, 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 in any

I

114 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

assignable direction. " I think/^ says Che-
selden, " that the knee cannot be complete-
ly dislocated without breaking the cross liga-
ments*/^ We can hardly help comparing
this with the binding up of a fracture, where
the fillet is almost 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 important (in order, perhaps, to pre-
serve the symmetry and lightness of the
limb), small, and, on that account, more lia-
ble to injury. Now this joint is strengthened,
i. e. is defended from dislocation, by two re-
markable processes or prolongations of the
bones of the leg ; which processes form the
protuberances that we call the inner and outer
ankle. It is part of each bone going down
lower than the other part, and thereby over-
lapping 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 structure, except its utility.
Why should the tibia terminate, at its lower

* Ches. Anat. ed. 7th, p. 45.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME, ilS

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 thickest
of the bone over it ? The joint at the shoulder
compared with the joint at the hip^ though
both ball and socket joints, discovers a differ-
ence 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 materials.
This agrees with the duties assigned to each
part. The arm is an instrument of motion,
principally, 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 al-
lowance of a free motion and a wide ransje ;
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 locomotion ;
firmness was to be consulted, as well as action.
With a capacity for motion, in all directions

I 2

116 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

indeed, as at the shoulder, but not in any
direction to the same extent as in the arm,
was to be united stabiUty, or resistance to
dislocation. Hence the deeper excavation of
the socket ; and the presence of a less pro-
portion of cartilage upon the edge.

The suppleness and pliability of the joints,
we every moment experience ; and thejirm^
ness of animal articulation, the property we
have hitherto been considering, may be judg-
ed of from this single observation, 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, notwith-
standing 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 neces-
sary 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 curva-
ture, to encounter the danger of compression,

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. Il7

attrition, or laceration. To guard fibres so
tender against consequences so injurious, their
path is in those parts protected with pecuhar
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 conducted,
by a kind of covered w^ay, between the con-
dyls, 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, be-
tween the ham-strings, and within the con-
cave recess of the bone formed by the extu-
berances on each side ; in a word, along a
defile, between rocks, pass the great vessels
and nerves which go to the leg-j^. Who led
these vessels by a road so defended and se-
cured ? 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 wath a ligament. Through this
hole, thus guarded, the blood-vessels steal tb

* Ches. Anat. p. 255, ed. 7, f lb. p. 35.

113 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

their destination in the arm, instead of mount-
ing over the edge of the concavity *.

111. In all joints, the ends of the bones,
which work against each other, are tipped
with gristle. 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 most proper 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 facilita-
ting of their action, had it not been alleged,
that cartilage in truth is only nascent or im-
perfect bone ; and that the bone in these
places is kept soft and imperfect, in conse-
quence of a more complete and rigid ossifica-
tion being prevented from taking place by
the contmual motion and rubbing of the sur-
faces : which being so, what we represent
as a designed advantage, is an unavoidable
effect. I am far 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 dif-
ferent metal, than hke the same metal kept
in a different state by the action to which it

* Ches. Anat. ed. 7, p. 30.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 115

is exposed. At all events, we have a great
particular benefit, though arising from a ge-
neral constitution : 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 ques-
tion 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 cartilages of which we speak, have
very much of the form of these rings. The
comparison moreover shows 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-bone has to achieve its mo-
tion at the knee, with the whole weight of the
body pressing upon it, and often, as in rising

* Ches. Anat. p. 13, ed. 7.

120 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

from our seat, with the whole weight of the
body to hft. It should seem also, from Che-
selden'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 neces-
sary to be given to it for the commodious ac-
tion of the tendons; (and which configura-
tion requires what he calls a variable socket,
that is, a concavity, the lines of which as-
sume a dififerent curvature in different incli-
nations of the bones).

V. We have now done with the configura-
tion : but there is also in the joints, and that
common to them all, another exquisite provi-
sion, manifestly adapted to their use, and con-
cerning which there can, I think, be no dis-
pute, namely, the regular supply of a jnuci-
lage, more emollient and slippery than oil it-
self, which is constantly softening and lubri-
cating the parts that rub upon each other,
and thereby diminishing the eflect ot attri-
tion in the highest possible degree. For the
continual secretion of this important liniment,
and for the feeding of the cavities of the jomt
with it, glands are fixed near each jomt; the
excretory ducts of which glands, dripping
with their balsamic contents, hang loose like

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 121

fringes within the cavity of the joints. A late
improvement in what are called friction-
wheels, which consist of a mechanism so or-
dered, as to be regularly dropping oil into a
box, which encloses 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 considering the joints, there is nothing,
perhaps, 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, I should attribute, in part, to the pro-
vision which is made for the preventing of
wear and tear, first, by the polish of the car-
tilaginous surfaces ; secondly, by the healing
lubrication of the mucilage; and, in part, to
that astonishing property of animal constitu-
tions, assimilation, by which, in every portion
of the body, let it consist of what it will, sub-
stance is restored, and w^aste repaired.

J 22 Of tHE MUSCLES.

Moveable joints, I think, compose the cu-
riosity of bones; but their union, even where
no motion is intended or wanted, carries
marks of mechanism and of mechanical wis-
dom. 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 toge-
ther, in such a manner as that the teeth of
one enter the intervals of the other. We
have sometimes one bone lapping over an-
other, and planed down at the edges ; some-
times also the thin lamella of one hone re-
ceived into a narrow furrow of another. In
all W'hich varieties, we seem to discover the
same design, viz. firmness of juncture, with-
out clumsiness in the seam.

CHAPTER IX,

OF THE MUSCLES.

Muscles, with their tendons, are the instru-
ments 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.

OF THE MUSCLES. 125

I. We may observe, what I believe is uni-
versal, an exact relation between the joint and
the muscles which move it. Whatever mo-
tion the joint, by its mechanical construction,
is capable of performing, that motion, the
annexed muscles, by their position, are capa^
ble of producing. For example; if there be,
as at the knee and elbow, a hinge-joint, capa-
ble of motion only in the same plane, the
leaders, as they are called, i, e, the muscular
tendons, are placed in directions parallel to
the bone, so as, by the contraction or relaxa-
tion 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 construction of a
rotatory or sweeping motion, tendons are
placed in such a position, and pull in such a
direction, as to produce the motion of which
the joint admits. For instance, the sartorius
or tailor^'s muscle, rising from the spine, run-
ning 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 its con-
traction, to throw one leg and thigh over the
other; giving effect, at the same time, to the

124 OF THE MUSCLES.

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 tlie ro-
tatory motions of the head and hands: there
is, also, in the obhque direction of the mus-
cles belonging to them, a specific provision
for the putting of this mechanism of the
bones into action. And mark the consent of
uses. The oblique moscles would have been
inefficient without that particular articula-
tion : that particular articulation would have
been lost, without the oblique muscles. It
may be proper however to observe with re-
spect to the head^ although I think it does
not vary the case, that its oblique motions
and inclinations are often motions in a dia-
gonalj produced by the joint action of mus-
cles lying in straight directions. But whe-
ther the pull be single or combined, the ar-
ticulation is always such, as to be capable of
obeying the action of the muscles. The ob-
lique muscles attached to the head, are like-
wise so disposed, as to be capable of steady-
ing 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

OF THE MUSCLES, 125

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,
ahhough admirably adapted to the motion
of the head, is insufficient for its support. It
is not only by the means of a most curious
structure 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 illus-
trating, viz. conformity of use between the
bones and the muscles, it has been observed
of the different vertebrae, 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. ¥/hen
the exertion ceases, it relaxes itself, that is, it
returns by relaxation 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 with force
in opposite directions, can only be produced
by the instrumentality of opposite or antago-

126 OF THE MUSCLES.

nist muscles ; of flexors and extensors an-^
swering to each other. For instance, the bi-
ceps and brachiaeus internus 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 itself, with force, other muscles,
the longus and brevis brachiaeus externus and
the anconasus, placed on the hinder part of
the arms, 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 move-
able part of the body. A finger is not bent
and straightened, without the contraction of
two muscles taking place. It is evident
therefore, that the animal functions require
that particular disposition of the muscles
"which we describe by the name of antagonist
muscles. And they are accordingly so dis-
posed. Every muscle is provided with an
adversary. They act, like two sawyers in a
pit, by an opposite pull : and nothing sure-

OF TJHE MUSCLES. }27

]y can more strongly indicate design and at^
tention to an end, than their being thus sta-
tioned, than this collocation. The nature of
the muscular fibre being what it is, the pur-
poses 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
holden in the middle of the face, and its an-
gles kept in a state of exact correspondency,
by two muscles drawing against, and balanc-
ing each other. In a hemiplegia, when the
muscle on one side is weakened, the muscle
on the other side draws the mouth awry.

III. Another property of the muscles,
which could only be the result of care, is,
their being ahiiiost universally 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 un-
derstand, is owing to the muscles employed
in the act of deglutition 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 inconveniency ;
but it shows what the effect is where it does

128 OF THE MUSCLES.

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, some-
times embedded in one another, sometimes
perforating one another : an arrangement,
which leaves 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 situation would be inconvenient.
In which case, the body of the muscle is
placed in some commodious position 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 awk-
ward and clumsy thickness. The beauty, the
proportions of the part, would have been de-
stroyed. 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 under the ligaments to the fingers,

* Keill's Anatomy, p. 295, ed. 3.

OF THE MUSCLES. 121^

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
forming an unwieldy tumefaction in the foot
itself! The observation may be repeated of
the muscle which draws the nictitating mem-
brane 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 encumbers nothing.

V. The great mechanical variety in the fi-
gure 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 mechanism on each
occasion is, so to modify the figure, and ad-
just 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 we find them
under a multiplicity of forms and attitudes ;
sometimes with double, sometimes with tre-
ble tendons, sometimes with none : some-
times one tendon to several muscles, at other

K

130 OF THE MUSCLKS.

times one muscle to several tendons. The
shape of the organ is susceptible of an incal-
culable variety, whilst the original property
of the muscle, the law and line of its contrac-
tion, remains the same, and is simple. Here*
in 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 inge-
nuity 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 production of the effects in-
tended.

VI. The ejaculations can never too often
be repeated ;— How many things must go
right for us to be an hour at ease ! how many
more for us to be vigorous and active ! Yet
vigour and activity are, in a vast plurality of
instances, preserved in human bodies, not-
withstanding that they depend upon so great
a number of instruments of motion, and not-
withstanding that the defect or disorder some-
times 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 inconveniency.

OF THE MUSCLES. 131

There is piety and good sense in the following
observation, taken out of the B^Ugious PJiilo-
sopher : " With much compassion/' says this
writer, " as well as astonishment at the good-
ness of our loving Creator, have I considered
the sad state of a certain 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 long
as this defect lasted, to shove up his eyelids
every moment with his own hands !" — In ge-
neral we may remark in how small a degree
those, who enjoy the perfect use of their or-
gans, know the comprehensiveness of the
blessing, the variety of their obligation.
They perceive a result, but they think little
of the multitude of concurrences and recti-
tudes which go to form it.

Beside these observations, which belons: to
the muscular organ as such, v/e may notice
some advantages 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 wonder-

K 2

13^Z OF THK MIJSCLKS.

ful promptitude with which it executes
changes of position, and the perfect exact-
ness. Each syllable of articulated sound re-
quires for its utterance a specific action of the
tongue, and of the parts adjacent to it. The
disposition and configuration of the mouth,
appertaining to every letter and word, is not
only peculiar, but, if nicely and accurately
attended to, perceptible to the sight ; inso-
much, that curious persons have availed them-
selves of this circumstance to teach the deaf
to speak, and to understand 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 instanta-
neously are these positions assumed and dis-
missed ; how numerous are the permutations,
liow various, yet how infallible ! Arbitrary
and antic variety is not the thing we admire ;
but variety obeying a rule, conducing to an
effect, and commensurate with exigencies in-
finitely diversified. I believe also that the
anatomy of the tongue corresponds with these
observations upon its activity. The muscles
of the tongue are so numerous, and so impli-
cated with one another, that they cannot be
traced by the nicest dissection ; nevertheless
(which is a great perfection of the organ),

OF THE MUSCLES. 135

neither the number, nor the complexity, nor
what might seem to be the entanglement of
its fibres, in any wise impede its motion, or
render the determination or success of its ef-
forts uncertain.

I here entreat 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, whenever na-
ture attempts to work two or more purposes
by one instrument, she does both or all im-
perfectly. Is this true of the tongue, regard-
ed as an instrument of speech, and of taste ;
or regarded as an instrument of speech, of
taste, and of deglutition? So much other-
wise, 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
inextricable multiplicity of fibres do for
the rapid movements which are necessary to
speech. Animals which feed upon grass,
have their tongues covered with a perforated

134 OF THE MUSCLES.

skin, so as to admit the dissolved food to the
papillae underneath, which, in the mean time,
remain defended from the rough action of the
unbruised spiculae.

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 an-
other, or within the same compass, in any
other portion of the body: viz. teeth of dif-
ferent 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 : fountains of saliva,
springing up in different parts of the cavity
for the moistening of the food, whilst the
mastication 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 prepared 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

OF THE MU5CLKS. 135

food is thrust upward by muscular strength,
instead of descending of its own accord.

In the mean time, and within the same ca-
vity, is going on another business, altogether
different from what is here described, — that
of respiration and speech. In addition there-
fore to all that has been mentioned, we have
a passage opened, from this cavity to the
lungs, 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 com^
pass, and precision, of which no other musi-
cal instrument is capable. And, lastly, which
in my opinion crowns the whole as a piece
of machinery, w^e have a specific contrivance
for dividing the pneumatic part from the me-
chanical, and for preventing one set of actions
interfering with the other. Where various
functions are united, the difficulty is to guard
against the inconveniences of a too great
complexity. In no apparatus put together
by art, and for the purposes of art, do I know
such multifarious uses so aptly combined, as
in the natural organisation of the human
mouth ; or where the structure, compared
with the uses, is so simple. The mouth, with
all theae intentions to serve, is a single cavity;

136 OF THE MUSCLES.

is one machine ; with its parts neither crowd-
ed nor confused, and each unembarrassed by
the rest : each at least at hberty in a degree
sufficient for the end to be attained. If
we cannot eat and sing at the same mo-
ment, 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 that of the earliest necessity, which
the mouth alone could not perform ; and that
is, carrying on together the two acti ns of
sucking and breathing. Another route there-
fore is opened for the air, namely, 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 circumstance which always appear-
ed to me worthy of notice. The nose would
have been necessary, although 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 ; was taking a
wise advantage of an antecedent and a con-
stitutional necessity.

But to return to that which is the proper
subject of the present section, — the celerity

OF THE MUSCI.es. iSj

and precision of muscular motion. These
qualities may be particularly observed in the
execution of many species of instrumental
musicj 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 mus-
cles, an obedience of action, alike wonderful
for its quickness and its correctness.

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 seve-
ral tendons is concerned in every stroke, yet
that five hundred such strokes are drawn in
a minute. Not a letter can be turned with-
out more than one, or two, or three tendinous
contractions, definite, both as to the choice
of the tendon, and as to the space through
which- the contraction moves ; yet how cur-
rently does the work proceed ! and when we
look at it, how faithful have the muscles 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, show not

138 OF THE MUSCLES.

only the quickness and precision of muscular
action, but the docility.

II. Regarding the particular configuration
of muscles, sphincter or circular muscles ap-
pear to me admirable pieces of mechanism.
It is the muscular power most happily ap-
plied ; the same quality of the muscular sub-
stance, but under a new modification. The
circular disposition of the fibres is strictly
mechanical ; but, though the most mechani-
cal, is not the only thing in sphincters which
deserves our notice. The regulated degree
of contractile force with which they are en-
dowed, sufficient for retention, yet vincible
when requisite, together with their ordinary
state of actual contraction, by means of which
their dependence upon the will is not con-
stant, but occasional, gives to them a consti-
tution, of which the conveniency is inestima-
ble. 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 im-
portant actions are achieved by the combined
help of different muscles. Frequently, a di-
agonal motion is produced, by the contrac-
tion of tendons pulling in the direction of the

OF THE MliSCLES. 139

sides of the parallelogram. This is the case,
as hath been aheady noticed, with some of
the oblique nutations of the head. Some-
times the number of co-operating muscles is
very great. Dr. Nieuentyt, in the Leipsic
Transactions, reckons up a hundred muscles
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 contri»
bute their assistance to the effect ! Breathing
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 important and the most delicate ac-
tions are performed in the body by the small-
est muscles : and he mentions, as his exam-
ples, 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 mag-
nified to be visible; yet are they real, ef-
fective muscles : and not only such, but
the grandest and most precious of our fa-

* Phil. Trans, part i. 1800, p. 8.

140 OP THE MUSCLES.

culties, sight and hearing, depend upon their
health and action.

V. The muscles act in the limbs with what
is 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 coun-
tervail 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 contraction. But
observe how conducive is this constitution
to animal conveniency. Mechanism has al-
ways in view one or other of these two pur-
poses ; 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 different collocation
of the muscles, might be better than the pre-
sent ; but for the second, the present struc-

OF THE MUSCLES, Ml

ture is the true one. Now so it happens,
that the second, and not the first, is that
which the occasions of animal hfe principally
call for. In what concerns the hunnan body,
it is of much more consequence 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 suppose), than he can lift at present.
This last is a faculty, which, on some extraor-
dinarv occasions, he may desire to possess ;
but the other is what he wants and uses every
hour or minute. In like manner, a husband-
man or a gardener will do more execution, by
being able to carry his scythe, his rake, or
his flail, with a sufficient dispatch through a
sufficient space, than if, with greater strength,
his motions were proportionably more con-
fined and slow. It is the same with a me-
chanic 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 mo-
tions would be ill exchanged for greater forc«
under a clumsier structure.

We have oflfered our observations upon
the structure of muscles in general; we have
also noticed certain species of muscles : but
there are also single muscles, which bear

142 OF THE MUSCLEa.

marks of mechanical contrivance, appropriate
as well as particular. Oat 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 incapable 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 com-
plicated 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, sufficiently comprehended
for our present purpose. The problem is to
pull the lower jaw down. The obvious me-
thod should seem to be, to place a straight
muscle, viz. to fix a string from the chin to
the breast, the contraction of which would
open the mouth, and produce the motion re-
quired at once. But it is evident 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 motion, which we want, must be effectu-
ated by some muscular mechanism disposed
farther back in the jaw. The mechanism
adopted is as follows. A certain muscle
called the diagastric^ rises on the side of the

OF THE MUSCLES. 14S

face, considerably above the insertion of the
lower jaw, and comes down, being converted
in its progress into a round tendon. Now it
is manifest that the tendon, whilst it pursues
a direction descending towards the jaw, must,
by its contraction, pull the jaw up, instead of
down. What then was to be done? This,
we find, is done : The descending tendon,
when it is got low enough, is passed through
a loop, or ring, or pulley, in the os hyo'ides^
and then made to ascend ; and, having thus
changed its line of direction, 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 necessarily draws it down. " The
mouth,^' says Heister, '' is opened by mean^s
of this trochlea in a most wonderful and ele-
gant manner.^'

IL What contrivance can be more mecha-
nical than the following, viz. a slit in one ten-
don to let another tendon pass through it?
This structure is found in the tendons which
move the toes and fingers. The long ten*
don, as it is called, in the foot, which bends
the first joint of the toe, passes through tht
short tendon which bends the second joint ;
which course allows to the sinew more li-

144 OF THE MUSCLES.

berty, and a more commodious action than
it would otherwise have been capable of ex-
erting*. 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 ar-
rangement, is so decisive 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 : and
that circumstance is, the tendons, which pass
from the leg to the foot, being bound down by
a ligament at the ankle. The foot is placed at
a considerable angle with the leg. It is ma-
nifest, therefore, that flexible strings, passing
along the interior of the angle, if left to them-
selves, 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

*Ches. Anat. p. 119.

OF THE MUSCLES. 145

simplicity, yet the clearness of this contriv-
ance, its exact resemblance to established re-
sources of art, place it amongst the most in-
dubitable manifestations of design with which
we are acquainted.

There is also a farther use to be made of
the present example, and that is, as it pre-
cisely contradicts the opinion, that the parts
of animals may have been all formed by what
is called appetency^ i. e. endeavour, perpetu-
ated, 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 ten-
dons; the tendons re-act upon the pressure of
the ligament. It is impossible that the liga-
ment should ever have been generated by the
exercise of the tendon, or in the course of that
exercise, forasmuch as the force of the tendon
perpendicularly resists the fibre which con-
fines it, and is constantly endeavouring, not
to form, but to rupture and displace, the
threads of which the ligament is composed.

Keill has reckoned up, in the human body,
four hundred and forty-six muscles, dissect-

146 OF THE muscl£;s.

ible and describable ; and hath assigned a
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 qualifica*
tions to be attended to in each particular
muscle; viz. its proper figure; its just mag-
nitude ; its fulcrum ; its point of action, sup-
posing 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 introduction 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 together, with-
out 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 ani-
tn'di bodies are, in a great measure, made up
of soft, flabby substances, such as muscles
and membranes ; whereas w^e have been ac-
customed to trace mechanism in sharp lines,
in the configuration of hard materials, in the
moulding, chiseling, and filing into shapes, of
such articles as metals or wood. There is
something therefore of habit in the case; but

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 147

it is sufficiently evident, that there can be no
proper reason for any distinction of the sort.
Mechanism may be displayed in the one kind
of substance, as well as in the other.

Although the few instances we have select-
ed, even as they stand in our description, are
nothing short perhaps of logical proofs of de-
sign, yet it must not be forgotten, that, in
every part of anatomy, description is a poor
substitute for inspection. It is well said by an
able anatomist'"^, and said in reference to the
very part of the subject which we have been
treating of: — '^ Imperfecta hrcc musculorum
descriptio, non minus arida est legentibus,
qu^m inspectantibus fuerit jucunda eorundeni
praeparatio. Elegantissima enim mechanic's
artificia, creberrim^ in illis obvia, verbis non-
nisi obscure exprimuntur : carniom autem
ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum propor-
tioned et trochlearium distributione, oculis
exposita, omnem superant admirationem/'

CHAPTER X.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

The circulation of the bloody through the bo-
dies of men and quadrupeds, and the appara-

* Steno, in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2, c. 4.

L 2

148 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

tus by which it is carried on, compose a sy*
stem, and testify a contrivance, perhaps the
best understood of any part of the animal
frame. The lymphatic system, or the ner-
vous system, may be more subtile and intri-
cate; 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 nou-
rishment which is received into it by one
aperture. What enters at the mouth, finds
its way to the fingers^ ends. A more diffi-
cult mechanical problem could hardly I think
be proposed, than to discover a method of
constantly repairing the waste, and of supply-
ing 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-ves-
sels, i. e, the laying of the pipes ; and, se-
condly, the construction of the engine at the
centre, viz. the heart, for driving the blood
through them.

I. The disposition of the blood-vessels, as

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 149

far as regards the supply of the body, is hke
that of the water-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 represent the vessels which carry
the blood from the heart. But there is an-
other 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 o6ice, a reversed system of vessels is pre-
pared, which, uniting at their extremities with
the extremities of the first system, collects
the divided and subdivided streamlets, first
by capillary ramifications into larger branches,
secondly, by these branches into trunks; and
thus returns the blood (almost exactly invert-
ing the order in which it went out) to the
fountain 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

150 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

narrower into wider ; it is evident, that the
impulse and pressure upon the sides of the
blood-vessel, will be much greater in one case
than the other. Accordingly, the arteries
which carry out the blood, are formed of
much tougher and stronger coats, than the
veins which bring it back. That is one dif-
ference : the other is still more artificial, or,
if I may so speak, indicates, still more clearly,
the care and anxiety of the artificer. Foras-
much 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 ves-
sels are defended from injury, not only by
their texture, 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 para-
pets on each side ; 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 fin-
ger may be cut across to the bone, without
hurting the artery which runs along it. At

Of THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES, 151

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 w4iere there
would, otherwise, be danger of compression
by sudden curvature. All this care is wonder-
ful, yet not more than what the importance
of the case required. 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 itself, especially
in the arterial system, there is, in many parts,
oniy a membrane, a skin, a thread. Fpr
which reason, this system lies deep under the
integuments; 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 surface ; are more ex-
posed.

It may be farther observed concerning the
two systems taken together, that though the
arterial, wdth its trunk and branches and
small twigs, may be imagined to issue or pro-
ceed ; in other words, to grow from the heart;
like a plant from its root, or the fibres of ^
leaf from its foot-stalk (which however, w^ere
it so, would be only to resolve one mechanism
into another), yet the venal, the returning
system^ can never be formed in this manner.

152 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

The arteries might go on shooting out from
their extremities, L e. lengthening and sub-
dividing indefinitely ; but an inverted sy-
stem, continually uniting its streams, instead
of dividing, and thus carrying back what the
other system carried out, could not be refer-
red to the same process.

II. The next thmg to be considered is the
engine which works this machinery, viz. the
heart. For our purpose it is unnecessary to
ascertain the principle upon which the heart
acts. Whether it be irritation excited by
the contact of the blood, by the influx of the
Jiervous fluid, or whatever else be the cause of
its motion, it is something which is capable
of producing, in a living muscular fibre, reci-
procal contraction and relaxation. This is
the power we 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 muscle, in-
vested with spiral fibres, running in both di-
rections, the layers intersecting one another ;
in some animals, however, appearing to be
semicircular rather than spiral. By the con-
traction of these fibres, the sides of the mus-
cular cavities are necessarily squeezed toge-
ther, so as to force out from them any fluid
which they may at that time contain : by the

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 153

relaxation of the same fibres, the cavities are
in their turn dilated, and, of course, prepared
to admit every fluid which may be poured in-
to them. Into these cavities are inserted the
great trunks, both of the arteries which carry
out the blood, and of the veins which bring
it back. This is a general account of the ap-
paratus ; and the simplest idea of its action
is, that, by each contraction, a portion of
blood is forced by a syringe into the arteries ;
and, at each dilatation, 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
contains, which in a full-grown human heart
I understand is about an ounce, or two table-
spoons full. How quickly these changes suc-
ceed 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 KeilFs Anatomy, p. llTj 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 pass 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

154 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES,

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 w^ater-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 mea-
sured a foot diameter. Ten or fifteen gallons
of blood are 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 injection of blood into the arteries by
the contraction, and of the corresponding re-
ception of it from the veins by the dilata-
tion, 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 oflSce,
but it is in conjunction with another of equal

* Dr. Hunter's Account of the Dissection of a Whale.
(Phil. Trans.)

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES, 155

curiosity and importance. It was necessary
that the blood should be successively brought
into contact, or contiguity, or proximity,
with the air, I do not know that the chy-
mical reason, upon which this necessity is
founded, has been yet sufficiently explored.
It seems to be made appear, that the atmo-
sphere which we breiithe is a mixture of two
kinds of air ; one pure and vital, the other, for
the purposes of life, effete, foul, and noxious ;
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 ingredient, and at the same time,
gives out the effete or corrupt air which it
contained, and which is carried away, along
with the halitus, every time we expire. At
least ; by comparing the air which is breath-
ed from the lungs, with the air which 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 question, as to
the need which the blood stands in of being
visited by continual accesses of air, is not for
us to inquire into, nor material to our argu-
ment : it is sufllicient to know, that, in the
constitution of most animals, such a necessity
exists, and that the air, by some means or

156 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

Other, must be introduced into a near com-
munication with the blood. The lungs of
animals are constructed for this purpose.
They consist of blood-vessels and air-vessels,
lying close to each other ; and whenever 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
application of the air to the blood depends,
would, if collected and expanded, be, in a
man, equal to a superficies of fifteen feet
square. Now, in order to give the blood in
its course the benefit of this organisation (and
this is the part of the subject with which
we are chiefly concerned), the following ope-
ration takes place. As soon as the blood is
received by the heart from the veins of the
body, and before that is sent out again into
its arteries, it is carried, by the force of the
contraction of the heart, and by means of a
separate 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 viscus, it
is brought back by a large vein once more to
the heart, in order, when thus concocted and

* Keill's Anatomy, p. 121.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL SOUIES. 157

prepared, to be thence distributed anew into
the system. This assigns to the heart a dou-
ble office. 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
become 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 cir-
culation through the lungs. So that there
are two receiving cavities, and two forcing
cavities. The structure of the heart has re-
ference 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 re-
spectively communicate with the forcing ca-
vities, and, by their contraction, unload the
received blood into them. The forcing ca-
vities, when it is their turn to contract, com-
pel the same blood into the mouths of the
arteries.

The account here given will not convey to

158 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

a reader, 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 suffi-
cient to testify contrivance ; and although
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 conclu-
sion.

" The wisdom of the Creator,^' saith Ham-
burgher, '' is in nothing seen more gloriously
than in the heart.^^ And how well doth it
execute its office ! An anatomist, who under-
stood 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 de-
rangement, or that it would soon work itself
out. Yet shall this wonderful 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 con-
tinue this action for this length of time, Math-
out disorder and without weariness !

But farther : from the account which has
been given of the mechanism of the heart, it
is evident that it must require the interposi-

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. liQ

tion of valves ; that the success indeed of its
action must depend upon these ; for when
any one of its cavities contracts, the necessa-
ry tendency of the force will be to drive the
enclosed 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 re-
laxation of the fibres the same cavity is dilat-
ed, the blood would not only run into it from
the vein, which was the course intended, but
back from the artery, through which it ought
to be moving forward. The way of prevent-
ing a reflux of the fluid, 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 valv^e 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 contrivance. And valves
so disposed^ are accordingly provided, A

160 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

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
pasage 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 al-
lowing an open passage whilst the stream runs
one w-ay, 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 valve. Their joint action ful-
fils 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,

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. IGl

the bases of the triangles fastened to the
flesh ; the sides and summits loose ; but,
though loose, connected by threads of a de-
terminate length, with certain small fleshy-
prominences adjoining. The effect of this
construction is, that, when the ventricle con-
tracts, the blood endeavouring to escape in
all directions, and amongst other directions
pressing upwards, gets between these mem-
branes and the sides of the passage ; and
thereby forces them up into such a position,
as that, together, they constitute, when rais-
ed, a hollow cone (the strings, before spoken
of, hindering them from proceeding or sepa-
rating farther) ; which cone, entirely occupy-
ing 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 impe-
diment to the circulation: when the blood
would regurgitate, they are raised from the
side of the vessel, and, meeting 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

M

162 OF THK VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

structure, 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, de-
pends, as it should seem, nothing less than
the life itself of the animal. We may here
likewise repeat, what we before observed con-
cerning 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 appear to arise
from the shape or configuration of a part, yet
that shape or 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 con-
cavity of the ribs, may be attributed to the
equal pressure of the soft bowels ; the parti-
cular 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 pro-
per course, has no tendency to produce such
things ; and in its improper or reflected cur-
rent, has a tendency to prevent their produc-
tion. Whilst we see, therefore, the use and
necessity of this machinery, we can look to no
other account of its origin or formation than

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 163

the intending mind of a Creator. Nor can
we without admiration reflect, that such thin
membranes, such weak and tender instru-
ments, as these valves are, should be able to
hold out for seventy or eighty years.

Here also we cannot consider but with gra-
titude, how happy it is that our vital mo-
tions are involuntary. 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
attention, they would leave us leisure for no-
thing 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 or-
gan so precious, of such central and primary
importance as the heart is, should be defend-
ed by a case. The fact is, that a membranous
purse or bag, made of strong, tough mate-
rials, is provided for it ; holding the heart
within its cavity ; sitting loosely and easily
about it; 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

M 2

164 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

of the heart ? Does not the enclosing; of it in
a sack, answering no other purpose but that
enclosure, show the care that has been taken
of its perservation ?

One use of the circulation of the blood pro-
bably (amongst other uses) is, to distribute
nourishment to the different parts of the
body. How minute and multiplied the rami-
fications 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, L 6. without finding a blood-vessel.
Nor, internally, is their diffusion less univer-
sal. Blood-vessels run along the surface of
membranes, pervade the substance 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.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. liS5

the manner in which the aUment gets into the
blood ; which is a subject distinct from the
preceding, and brings us to the consideration
of another entire system of vessels.

11. For this necessary part of the animal
oeconomy, an apparatus is provided, in a great
measure capable of being, what anatomists
call, demonstrated, that is, shown in the dead
body ; — and a line or course of conveyance,
which we can pursue by our examinations.

First, the food descends by a wide passage
into the intestines, undergoing two great pre-
parations on its way : one, in the mouth by
mastication and moisture, — (can it be doubt-
ed 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 surprising dissolution I say nothing ;
because it is chymistry, and I am endeavour-
ing 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
vbody ; and the pylorus, or passage by which
the food leaves it, is somewhat higher in the
\body than the cardia, or orifice by which it en-

165 OF tHE VESSELS OF ANIMAL feODlES.

ters ; so that it isby the contraction of the mus-
cular coat of the stomach, that the contents^
after having undergone the upphcatiori of the
gastric menstruum, are gradually pressed out.
In dogs and cats, this action of the coats of
the stomach 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 thfe
present, offering any observation upon the
digestive fluid, I shall say nothing concerning
the bile or the pancreatic juice, farther than
to observe upon the mechanism, viz. that
fro hi the glands in which these secretions arie
elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of the
intestines, through which pipes the product of
ieach gland flows 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 sto-
mach itself, yet cherishes the vessel that lies
next to it.

Secondly, We have now the aliment in the
intestines, converted into pulp; and, though
lately consisting of ten different viands, re-
duced to nearly a 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

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES, 167

Math which it can be compared. For the
straining ofif this fluid from the digested aU-
ment in the course of its long 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 intestines.
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 receptacle.
This receptacle is a bag of size 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 afterwards
creeping along the gullet till it reach the
neck. Here it meets the river : here it dis-
charges itself into a large vein, which soon
conveys 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 imagination or conjec-
ture. Now, beside the subserviency of this
structure, collectively considered, to a mani-
fest and necessary purpose, we may remark
two or three separate particulars in it, which
show, not only the contrivance, but the per-

168 or THE VESSEI^ OF ANIMAL BODIES.

fection of it. We may remark, first, the
length of the intestines, which, in the human
subject, is six times that of the body. Sim-
ply for a passage, these voluminous bowels,
this prolixity of gut, seems in no wise neces-
sary ; but in order to allows time and space
for the successive extraction of the chyle from
the digested aUment, namely, that the chyle
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 motion ; which is
made up of contractions, following one an-
other like waves upon the surface of a fluid,
and not unlike what we observe in the body
of an earth-worm 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 separate semicircular fi-
bres. 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 lac-
teal veins. Thirdly, it was necessary that
these tubes, which we denominate lacteals, or
their mouths at least, should be made as nar-
row as possible, in order to deny admission

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 169

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 compen-
sated 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 exceeding all powers
of computation ; and their pipes so fine and
slender, as riot to be visible, unless filled, to
the naked eye ; and their orifices, which open
into the intestines, so small, as not to be dis-
cernible even by the best microscope. Fourth-
ly, the main pipe which carries the chyle from
the reservoir to the blood, viz, the thoracic
duct, being fixed in an ahnost upright posi-
tion, and wanting that advantage of propul-
sion which the arteries possess, is furnished
with a succession of valves to check the as-
cending fluid, when once it has passed them,
from falling back. These valves look up-
ward, 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

170 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

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 an ar-
tery, or at a distant vein, the fluid, composed
of the old and the new materials, must have
performed a considerable part of the circula-
tion, 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 ca-
vity of the intestines and the left great vein
of the neck ? Who could have suspected that
this communication should be the medium
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 di-
gestion^ lest it should interrupt us in tracing
the course of the food to the blood ; but in
treating of the alimentary system, so prin-
cipal a part of the process cannot be omitted.

Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent
by which that change which food undergoes

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES* l?!

in our stomachs is effected, we shall take our
account from the numerous, careful, and va*-
ried experiments of the Abbe Spallanzani.

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

2. It has not the nature of saliva ; it has
not the nature of bile ; but is distinct from
both. By experiments out of the body it ap-
pears, that neither of these secretions acts
upon alimentary substances, in the same man-
ner as the gastric juice acts.

3. Digestion is not 'putrefaction : for the
digesting fluid resists putrefaction most per-
tinaciously ; nay, not only checks its farther
progress, but restores putrid substances.

4. It is not a j^trmeiitatwe process : for
the solution begms at the surface, and pro-
ceeds towards the centre, contrary to the or-
der 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 or lobsters, harder than the
sides of the stomach which contains them.

In a word, animal digestion carries about
it the marks of being a pov/er and a process
completely sui generis ; distinct from every
other ; at least from every chymical process

1/2 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

with which we are acquainted. And the
most wonderful thing about it is its appro-
priation ; its subserviency to the particular
oeconomy of each animal. The gastric juice
of an owl, falcon, or kite, will 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 devours.
In poultry, the trituration of the gizzard, and
the gastric juice, conspire in the work of di-
gestion. The gastric juice will not dissolve
the grain whilst it is whole. Entire 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
mechanism and chymistry. For the prepa-
ratory grinding, the gizzard lends its mill.
And as all mill-work 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,
forasmuch as this is not the sort of animal
substance suited for the reception of glands
or for secretion, the gastric juice, in this fa-
mily, is not supplied, as in membranous sto-
machs, by the stomach itself, but by the gal-

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. l?*^

iet, in which the feeding-glands are placed,
and from which it trickles down into the sto-
mach.

In sheep, the gastric fluid has no effect in
digesting plants, unless they have been pre^
viously masticated. It only produces a slight
maceration ; nearly such as common water
would produce, in a degree of heat somewhat
exceeding the medium temperature of the at-
mosphere. But provided that the plant has
been reduced to pieces by chewing, the gas-
tric juice then proceeds with it, first by soft-
ening its substance ; next by destroying its
natural consistency; and lastly, 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 experiments tried with perforated balls,
that the gastric juice of the sheep and the ox
speedily dissolved vegetables, but made no
impression upon beef, mutton, and other ani-
mal bodies. Dr. Hunter discovered a pro-
perty 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 substances, it is only upon the
dead substance that it operates at all. The

174 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BOBIES.

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 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 contains 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
contrivance. It is the reservoir of a canal.
It does not form the channel itself, i. e. the di-
rect'communication between the liver and the
intestine, which is by another 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 occasion 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 apply this structure
to the best advantao;e. In its natural situa-
tion, it touches the exterior surface of the
stomach, and consequently is compressed by

* Phil. Trans, vol. Ixii. p. 447.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 175

the distension of that vessel : the effect of
which compression is to force out from the
bag, and send into the duodenum, an ex-
traordinary quantity of bile, to meet the ex-
traordinary demand which the repletion of
the stomach by food is about to occasion *.
Cheselden describes *f* 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 cavity ;
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 direct pas-
sage Ip It is possible that the gall may be
changed, and for some purposes meliorated,
by keeping.

The entrance of the gall-duct into the duo-
denum furnishes another observation. When-
ever either smaller tubes are inserted into
larger tubes, or tubes into vessels and cavi-
ties, such receiving-tubes, vessels, or cavities,
being subject to muscular constriction, we

^ Keill's Anat. p. 64. f Anat. p. l64.

t Keill (from Malpighius), p. 63.

176 OF THE VESSELS OK ANIMAL BODIES.

always find a contrivance to prevent regurgi-
tation. In some cases, valves are used ; in
other cases, amongst which is that now be-
fore us, a different expedient is resorted to,
which may be thus described: The gall-duct
enters the duodenum obliquely : after it has
pierced the first coat, it runs near two fingers^
breadth between the coats, before it open in-
to the cavity of the intestine*. The same
contrivance is used in another part, where
there is exactly the same occasion for it, viz.
in the insertion of the ureters in the bladder.
These enter the bladder near its neck, run-
ning obliquely for the space of an inch be-
tween its coats 'f*. It is, in both cases, suffi-
ciently evident, that this structure has a ne-
cessary mechanical tendency to resist regur-
gitation ; 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
* Keills Anat. p. 62. f Ches. Anat. p. 26*0.

OF THE TESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. I??

with which we are acquainted. The saHva,
we all know, is used in the mouth : but much
of it is produced on the outside of the cheek,
by the parotid gland, which lies between the
ear and the angle of the lower jaw. In
order to carry the secreted juice to its desti-
nation, 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 rnouth ; 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 convevance 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 wind-pipe, for
speech and the modulation of sound, not

N

178 OF THE VESSKLS Ob AMxMAL BODIES.

much lees 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 wind-pipe, i, e, the road to the lungs;
the consequence of which error, when it
does happen, is perceived 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 w^hich forms indeed the bottom of the
mouth. Into the side of this funnel, 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 swal*
low, pass over this lid or flap, as they de-
scend 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 aper-
ture, 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 out-
let for the respiration of air by the lungs.
Such is its structure : And we may here re-

/
OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 171)

mark the almost complete success of the ex-
pedient, viz. how seldom it fails of its pur-
pose, compared with the number of instances
in which it fulfils it. Reflect how frequently
we swallow, how constantly we breathe. In
a city-feast, for example, what deglutition,
what anhelation ! yet does this little cartilage,
the epiglottis, so effectually interpose its
office, so securely guard the entrance of the
wind-pipe, that whilst morsel after morsel,
draught after draught, are coursing one an-
other over it, an accident of a crumb or a drop
slipping into this passage (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 novel-
ty. Not two guests are choked in a century.

There is no room for pretending that the
action of the parts may have gradually form-
ed the epiglottis : 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 spe-
cies 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

N 2

180 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

whole wind-pipe possesses a structure adapt-*
ed to its peculiar office. It is made up (as
any one may perceive by putting his fingers
to his throat) of stout cartilaginous 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, w^ould 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 distention by the fluid they en-
close, or which afford a passage to solid and
protruding substances.

Nevertheless (which is another particula-
rity 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 mem-
branous and soft, easily yielding to the dis-
tensions of that organ occasioned by the de-
scent of solid food. The same ring^s are also
bevelled off at the upper and lower edges,
the better to close upon one another, when
the trachea is compressed or shortened.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 181

The constitution of the trachea may sug-
gest hkewise another reflection. The mem-
brane which hues 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 intromis-
sion 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 ca-
pacity of perceiving with such acuteness,
this impatience of offence, yet perfect rest
and ease when let alone, are properties, one
would have thought, not likely to reside in
tlie same subject. It is to the junction, how-
ever, of these almost inconsistent qualities,
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 wind-pipe
taken together (for the larynx is only the up-
per part of the wind-pipe), besides 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 tight-
ening the tendinous bands at the extremity

182 OF THB VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

of the wind-pipe, and blowing in at the other
end, all the cries and notes might be pro-
duced 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 wind-pipe, 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 formation, in conjunc-
tion with the larynx, of voice and speech.
They are, to animal utterance, what the bel-
lows are to the organ.

For the sake of method, we have considered
animal 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 wisdom of
the Creator is seen, not in their separate but
their collective action ; in their mutual sub-
serviency and dependence ; in their contri-

OF THK VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 183

buting together to one effect, and one use.
It has been said, that a man cannot lift his
hand to his head, williout finding enough to
convince him of the existence of a God. And
it is well said ; for he has only to reflect, fa-
miliar 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, be-
ing 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 holden together by
strong braces, to keep them in their posi-
tion : then, thirdly, strings and wires, i. e.
muscles and tendons, artificially inserted for
the purpose of drawing the bones in the di-
rections in which the joints allow them to
move. Hitherto we seem to understand the
mechanism pretty well ; and, understanding
this, we possess enough for our conclusion :
Nevertheless, we have hitherto only a ma-
chine standing still ; a dead organisation, —

184 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES,

an apparatus. To put the system in a state
of activity ; to set it at work ; a farther pro^
vision is necessary, viz. a communication with
the brain by means of nerves. We know the
existence of this communication, because we
can see the communicating threads, and can
trace them to the brain : its necessity w^e also
know, because if the thread be cut, if the
communication be intercepted, the muscle
becomes paralytic : but beyond this, we know
little ; the organisation being too minute and
subtile for our inspection.

To what has been enumerated, as offici-
ating in the single act of a mane's raising his
hand to his head, must be added likewise, all
that is necessary, and all that contributes to
the growth, nourishment, and sustentation of
the limb, the repair of its Avaste, the preser-
vation of its health : such as the circulation
of the blood through every part of it ; its
lymphatics, exhalants, absorbents; its excre-
tions 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 ini-
possible to conceive.

OF THE ANIAIAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS. 185

CHAPTER XI.

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS.

CoNTEMPLATiNo an animal body in its
collective capacity, we cannot forget to no-
tice, what a number of instruments are
brought together, and often within how small
a compass. It is a cluster of contrivances.
In a canary-bird, for instance, and in the sin-
gle ounce of matter which composes his body
(but which seems to be all employed), we
have instruments for eating, for digesting,
for nourishment, for breathing, for genera-
tion, for running, 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 prosecu-
ting the design.

I. The first is, the exact correspondency of
the two sides of the same animal ; the right

186 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

hand answering 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 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,
without 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 cen-
tre. In building an arch, could more be
done in order to make the curve true, i. e.
the parts equi-distant from the middle, alike
in figure and position ?

The exact resemblance of the eyes, consi-
dering 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 ap-
pearance, the eye may be mounted in its
socket, and how differently in different h^ads

UEGARDED AS A MA3S. 187

eyes actually are set, — is a property of animal
bodies much to be admired. Of ten thou-
sand eyes, I do not 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 fol-
lowing considerations. — First, the limbs, se-
parately taken, have not this correlation of
parts, but the contrdvy 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, into 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, niore
properly speaking, are double organs; but
other parts cannot. This shows that the cor-
respondency which we have been describing,
does not arise by any necessity in the nature
of the subject : for, if necessary, it w^ould be
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

1S8 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

where it conduces to beauty or utility ; it is
not found, where it would subsist at the ex-
pense of both. The two wings of a bird al-
ways correspond : the two sides of a feather
frequently do not. In centipedes, millepedes,
and the whole tribe of insects, no two legs
on the same side are alike : yet there is the
most exact parity betw^een the legs opposite
to one another.

2, The next circumstance to be remark-
ed is, that, whilst the cavities of the body
are so configurated, as externally to exhi-
bit the most exact correspondency of the
opposite sides, the contents of these cavi-
ties have no such correspondency. A line
drawn dow^n the middle of the breast, di^
vides the thorax into two sides exactly si-
milar ; yet these two sides enclose very dif-
ferent contents. The heart lies on the left
side ; a lobe of the lungs on the right ; ba-
lancing each other, neither in size nor shape.
The same thing holds of the abdomen. The
liver lies on the right side, without any simi-
lar 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 be-
tween these. The stomach is a vessel, both
irregular in its shape, and oblique in its po-

REGARDED AS A MASS. 189

sltion. The foldings and doublings of the
intestines do not present a parity of sides.
Yet that symmetry which depends upon the
correlation of the sides, is externally preserv-
ed 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 evi-
dent, therefore, that the external proportion
does not arise from any equality in the shape
or pressure of the internal contents. What is
it indeed but a correction of inequalities ? an
adjustment, by mutual compensation, of ano-
malous forms into a regular congeries? the
effect, in a word, of artful, and, if w^e might
be permitted so to speak, of studied collo-
cation ?

3. Similar also to this, is the third observa-
tion ; that an internal inequality in the feed-
ing vessels is so managed, as to produce no
inequality in parts w^hich were intended to
correspond. The right arm answers accu-
rately to the left, both in size and shape ; but
the arterial branches, which supply the two
arms, do not go off from their trunk, in a
pair, in the same manner, at the same place,
or at the same angle. Under which want of
similitude, it is v^ry difficult to conceive how

liKJ OF TWH ANIMAL STRUCTURE

the same quantity of blood should be pushed
through each artery : yet the result is right;
the two limbs, which are nourished by them,
perceive 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 an angle much
more acute than the right, is made up to the
right by their going off together in one
branch*. It is very possible that this may
be the compensating contrivance : and if it
be so, how curious, how hydrostatical !

II. Another perfection of the animal mass is
the package. I know- nothing which is so sur-
prising. Examine the contents of the trunk of
any large animal. Take notice how soft, how
tender, how intricate they are; how constantly
in action, how necessary to life ! Reflect upon
the danger of any injury to their substance,
any derangement of their position, any ob-
struction to their office. Observe the heart
pumping at the centre, at the rate of eighty
strokes in a minute ; one set of pipes carrying
the stream away from it, another set bringing,

* Ches. Anat. p. 184, ed. 7.

REGARDED AS A MASS* 101

in its course, the fluid back to it again ; the
lungs performing their elaborate office, Vvi,
distending and contracting their many thou-
sand vesicles, by a reciprocation which cannot
cease for a mmute ; the stomach exercising
its powerful chymistry ; the bowels silently
propelling the changed aliment ; collecting
from it, as it proceeds, and transmitting to
the blood, an incessant supply of prepared and
assimilated nourishment ; that blood pursuing
its course ; the liver, the kidneys, the pan-
creas, the parotid, with many other known
and distinguishable glands, drawing off from
it, all the while, their proper secretions.
These several operations, together with others
more subtile but less capable of being investi-
gated, 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 con-
tortions which the internal 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

i92

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

abrupt jerks and twists, without sensible, or
with soon-recovered, damage. Observe this,
and then reflect how firmly every part must
be secured, how carefully surrounded, how
well tied down and packed together.

This property of animal bodies has never,
I think, been considered under a distincthead,
or so fully as it deserves. I may be allowed
therefore, in order to verify my observation
concerning it, to set forth a short anatomical
detail, though it oblige me to use more tech-
nical language than I should wish to intro-
duce into a work of this kind.

1. The heart (such care is taken of the cen-
tre 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 duplicature of the
mediastinum, and, by its point, to the middle
tendon of the diaphragm. The heart is also
sustained in its place by the great blood-ves-
sels which issue from it*.

2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by
the mediastinum, before ; to the vertebrae by
the pleura, behind. It seems indeed to be
the very use of the mediastinum (which is a
membrane that goes straight through the

-* Keill's Anat. p. 107, ed. 3.

REGARDED AS A MASS. 193

middle of the thorax, from the breast to the
back) to keep the contents of the thorax 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 side *.

3. The liver is fastened in the body by two
ligaments : 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 umbilical vein, which, after
birth, degenerates into a ligament. The first,
which is the principal, fixes the liver in its
situation, whilst the body holds an erect pos-
ture ; 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 ca-
va-j^, to which belongs the important office
of returning the blood from the body to the
heart.

4. The bladder is tied to the navel by the
urachus, transformed into a ligament : thus,
what was a passage for urine to the foetus, be-
comes, after birth, a support or stay to the
bladder. The peritonaeum also keeps the vis-
cera from confounding themselves with, or

"* Keiirs Anat. p. 119, ed. 3. t Ches. Anat. p. l62.

O

194 OF tHE ANIMAL STROCTCTRE

pressing irregularly upon, the bladder : for
the kidneys and bladder are contained in a
distinct duplicature of that membrane, being
thereby partitioned off from the other con-
tents of the abdomen.

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

6. Thej?flf7zcrea.<f, or sweetbread, is strongly
tied to the peritonaeum, which is the great
wrapping sheet, that encloses all the bowels
contained in the lower belly ^.

7. The spleen also is confined to its place
by an adhesion to the peritonaeum and dia-
phragm, and by a connexion with the omen-
tum f. It is possible, in my opinion, that the
spleen may be merely a stuffings 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 or-
der 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

* KeilFs Anat. p. bj- fChes. Anat. p. 167.

REGARDED AS A MASS. 195

forming the doubling, comes up behind the
front flap, and is tied to the colon and ad-
joining viscera*.

9. The septa of the brain probably pre-
vent one part of that organ from pressing with
too great a weight upon another part. The
processes of the dara mater divide the cavity
of the skull, like so 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 pack-
ing, 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 membranous 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 provi-
sions for this purpose, by far, in my opinion,
the most curious, and where also such a pro-
vision 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 an-
other, winding in oblique and circuitous di-

* Ches. Anat. p. 1^7.

o 2

196 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

rections, composed also of a soft and yielding
substance, must, without some extraordinary
precaution for its safety, be continually dis-
placed 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 en-
tangled, 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 neces-
sary to be preserved, for the carrying on of
the important functions which it has to exe-
cute in the animal oeconomy. Let us see,
therefore, how a danger so serious, and yet so
natural to the length, narrowness, and tubu-
lar form of the part, is provided against. The
expedient is admirable : and it is this. The
intestinal canal, throughout 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
to it like the edging of a ruffle : being four
times as long as the mesentery itself, it is what
a sempstress would call, "puckered or gather-
ed on^^ to it. This is the nature of the con-
nexion of the gut with the mesentery ; and
being thus joined to, or rather made a part
of, the mesentery, it is folded and wrapped up
together with it. Now the mesentery, hav-

EEGARDED AS A MASS. , 197

ing a considerable dimension in breadth, be-
ing 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 likewise not only keeps the
intestinal canal in its proper place and posi-
tion under all the turns and windings of its
course, but sustains the numberless small ves-
sels, the arteries, the veins, the lympheducts,
and, above all, the lacteals, which lead from
or to almost every point of its coats and ca-
vity. This membrane, which appears to be
the great support and security of the alimen-
tary 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 an-
other of the same species, or of one species
compared with another species ; but I mean,
generally, the pi'ovision which is made in the
body of almost every animal, to adapt its ap-
pearance to the perception of the animals
with which it converses. In our own species,
for example, only consider what the parts and
materials are, of which the fairest body is
composed; and no farther observation will

* Keiirs Anat. p. 45.

1J)S OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

be necessary to show how well these things
are wrapped up, so as to form a mass which
shall be capable of symmetry in its propor-
tion, and of beauty in its aspect ; how the
bones are covered, the bowels concealed, the
roughnesses of the muscle smoothed and soft"
ened ; 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 mem-
brane, which lies immediately under the
skin; is a kind of lining to it; is moist, soft,
slippery, and compressible ; every-where fill-
ing 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 existed with respect to
any of the productions of nature, we may re-
fer, with a considerable degree of probability,
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,

REGARDED AS A MASS. 199

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 irides of most animals are
very beautiful, without conducing 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 itself so conspicuously to the
observer, or communicates so great an effect
to the whole aspect.

In plants, especially in the flowers of plants,
the principle of beauty holds a still more con^
siderable place in their composition ; is still
more confessed than in animals. Why, for
one instance out of a thousand, does the co-
rolla of the tulip, when advanced to its size
and maturity, change its colour? The pur-
poses, so far as we can see, of vegetable nu-
trition, might have been carried on as well by
its continuing green. Or, if this could not
be, consistently with the progress of vege-
table 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,
hke the autumnal teints, would have produced

200 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

one colour on one leaf, with marks of fading
and withering. 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 dis-
play ?

A. ground, I know, of objection, has been
taken against the whole topic of argument,
namely, that there is no such thing as beauty
at all ; in other words, that whatever is use-
ful 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 in so great a degree modified by habit,
by fashion, by the experience of advantage or
pleasure, and by associations arising out of
that experience, that a question has been
made, whether it be not altogether generated
by these causes, or would have any proper ex-
istence 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
an influence, or of varieties proceeding from
that influence, to which it is subject, seeing
that principles the most acknowledged are

REGARDED AS A MASS. 201

liable to be affected in the same manner. I
should rather argue thus : The question re-
spects 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, swine, when
at liberty to choose, and when in a natural
state, that is, when not vitiated by habits
forced upon it, eats and rejects the same
plants. Many insects which feed upon par-
ticular 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, de-
light the ear; others torture it. Habit can
do much in all these cases (and it is well for
us that it can; for it is this power which re-
conciles us to many necessities) : but has the
distinction, in the mean time, of agreeable
and disao^reeable, no foundation in the sense
itself? What is true of the other senses, is
most probably true of the eye (the analogy is
irresistible), viz. that there belongs to it an
original constitution, fitted to receive pleasure
from some impressions, and pain from others.

202 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

I do not however know, that the argument
which alleges beauty as a final cause, rests
upon this concession. 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 agreeable objects are often
the most rare ; many, which are very com-
mon, 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 re-
sult ; the produce of numerous and compli-
cated actions of external objects upon the
senses, and of the mind upon its sensations.
With this result^ there must be a certain con-
gruity to enable any particular object to
please: and that congruity, we contend, is
consulted in the aspect which is given to ani-
mal and vegetable bodies.

IV. The skin and covering of animals is
that upon which their appearance chiefly de-
pends ; and it is that part which, perhaps, in
all animals is most decorated, and most free
from impurities. But were beauty, or agree-
ableness of aspect, entirely out of the ques-

REGARDED AS A MASS. 203

tion, there is another purpose answered by
this integument, and by the collocation of
the parts of the bo(iy 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. " Durst we make a single movement/'
asks a lively French writer, " or stir a step
from the place w^e were in, if we saw our
blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the
lungs blowing, the humours filtrating, 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 generally thought to be ; which is the
faculty of standing : and it is more remark-
able in two-legged animals than in quadru-
peds, 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 loosely 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

20i OF THR ANIMAf. STRUCTURE

of wind, is sure to throw it down. Yet this
statue shall express all the mechanical pro^
portions 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 posture. There is no
reason whatever to doubt, but that their parts
descend by gmvitation in the same manner
as those of dead matter. The gift therefore
appears to me to consist in a faculty of per-
petually shifting the centre of gravity, by a
set of obscure, indeed, but of quick-balan-
cing actions, so as to keep the line of direc-
tion, 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 mo-
ment after death as the moment before, does
not support the column. In cases also of
extreme weakness, the patient cannot stand
upright. Secondly, that these actions are
only in a small degree voluntary. A man is
seldom conscious of his voluntary powers in

REGARDED AS A MASS. 205

keeping himself upon his legs. A child
learning to walk is the greatest posture-ma-
ster 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 atti-
tudes, without being sensible either of cau-
tion or effort. But still there must be an
aptitude of parts, upon which habit can thus
attach ; a previous capacity of motions which
the animal is thus taught to exercise : and
the facility with which this exercise is ac-
quired, forms one object of our admiration.
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 may 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. its being composed of many small bones,
applied to and articulating with one another,
by diversely shaped surfaces, instead of be-
ing made of one piece, like the last of a shoe,
is very remarkable. I suppose "also that it
would be difficult to stand firmly upon stilts
or wooden legs, though their base exactly
imitated the figure and dimensions of the sole

2i)G OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

of the foot. The alternation of the joints, the
knee-joint bending backward, the hip-joint
forward ; the flexibihty, 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 vertebrae are so confined by liga-
ments as to allow no more slipping upon their
bases, than what is just sufficient to break
the shock which any violent motion may oc-
casion to the body. A certain degree also
of tension of the sinews appears to be essen-
tial to an erect posture ; for it is by the loss
of this, that the dead or paralytic body drops
down. The whole is a wonderful result of
combined powers, and of \'ery complicated
operations. Indeed, that standing is not so
simple a business as we imagine it to be, is
evident from the strange gesticulations of a
drunken man, who has lost the government
of the centre of gravity.

We have said that this property is the
most worthy of observation in the human
body : but a bird^ resting upon its perch, or
hopping up6n a spray, affords no mean spe-
cimen of the same faculty. A chicken runs
off as soon as it is hatched from the egg ; yet
a chicken, considered geometrically, and with

REGARDED AS A MASS. 207

relation to its centre of gravity, its line of
direction, and its equilibrium, is a very irre-
gular solid. Is this gift, therefore, or instruc-
tion ? May it not be said to be with great at-
tention, 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 truss-
ing 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; for the claws do their office in
keeping hold of the support, not by any ex-
ertion 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 ;
regarding 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 1 do not

208 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

know how such critical deviations can, by
any possible 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 " analo-
gy"' 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 inte-
gument which suited the teeth ; what they
stood in need of, was a strong, hard, insensi-
ble, defensive coat : and exactly such a cover-
ing 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 extremi-
ties 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 here

REGARDED AS A MASS. 209

superseded by a different substance, and a
different 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 sur-
face being produced by a set of causes consti-
tuted without design, and acting, as all igno-
rant causes must act, by a general operation.
Were this the case, no account could be given
of the operation being suspended at the fin-
gers' 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 would be scattered over the surface^
like warts or pimples.

3. All the great cavities of the body are
enclosed by membranes, except the skulL
Why should not the brain be content with
the same cover! no* 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 no-
thing else. The muscular coats are all soft
and membranous. I can see a reason for this
distinction in the fTnal cause, but in no other.

J2I0 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS.

The importance of the brain to life (which ex-
perience proves to be immediate), and the ex-
treme tenderness of its substance, make a
soUd case more necessary for it, than for any
other part : and such a case the hardness of
the skull supplies. When the smallest por-
tion of this natural casket is lost, how care-
fully, yet how imperfectly, is it replaced by
a plate of metal ! If an anatomist should say,
that this bony protection is not confined to
the brain, but is extended along the course of
the spine, I answer, that he adds strength to
the argument. If he rem.ark, that the chest
also is fortified by bones; I reply, that I
should have alleged this instance myself, if
the ribs had not appeared subservient 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 inequalities, 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
concussions.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 21 1

CHAPTER XII.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

Whenever we find a general plan pursued,
yet with such variations in it as are, in each
case, required by the particular exigency of
the subject to which it is applied, we possess,
in such plan and such adaptation, the strong-
est evidence that can be afforded of intelli-
gence and design ; an evidence which the
most completely excludes every other hypo-
thesis. If the general plan proceeded from
any fixed necessity in the nature of things,
how could it accommodate itself to the vari-
ous wants and uses which it had to serve un-
der different circumstances, and on different
occasions ? Arkwrighfs mill was invented
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 different materials ren-
dered 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

p 2 *

212 eOMPARATIVB ANATOMY.

such changes of structure, such additions and
supplements, as the special and particular
use in each case demanded, we could not re-
fuse any longer our assent to the proposition,
" that intelligence, properly and strictly so
called (including under that name, foresight,
consideration, reference to utility), had been
employed, as well in the primitive plan, as
in the several changes and accommodations^
which it is made to undergo/^

Very much of this reasoning is applicable
to what has been called Comparative Ana~
tomy» In their general ceconony, in the out-
lines of the plan, in the construction as well
as offices of their principal parts, there ex-
ists between all large terrestrial animals a
close resemblance. In all, life is sustained,
and the body nourished, by nearly the same
apparatus. The heart, the lungs, the sto-
mach, the liver, the kidneys, are much alike
in all. The same fluid (for no distinction 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 differ-
ent animal forms.

When we pass on to smaller animals, or
to the inhabitants of a different element,

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 2 IS

the resemblance becomes more distant and
more obscure ; but still the plan accompa-
nies us.

And, what we can never enough commend,
and which it is our business at present to
exemplify, the plan is attended, through all
its varieties and deflections, by subserviences
to special occasions and utilities.

I. The covering of different animals (though
whether I am correct in classing this under
their anatomy, I do not know) is the first
thing which presents itself to our observa-
tion; and is, in truth, both for its variety
and its suitableness to their several natures,
as much to be admired as any part of their
structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, furs,
feathers, quills, prickles, scales; yet in this
diversity both of material and form, we can-
not change one animal'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
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

214 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

lightness of his covering to the temperature
of his habitation. Had he been born Mith
a fleece upon his back, although he might
have been comforted by its warmth in high
latitudes, it would have oppressed him by its
w^eight and heat, as the species spread towards
the equator.

What art, however, does for men, nature
has, in w ny instances, done for those ani-
mals which are incapable of art. Their
clothing, of its own accord, changes with
their necessities. This is particularly the
case with that large tribe of quadrupeds
which are covered wi th j^z^r^. Every dealer in
hare-skins and rabbit-skins, knows how much
the fur is thickened by the approach of win-
ter. It seems to be a part of the same con-
stitution and the same desi^^n, that wool, in
hot countries, degenerates, as it is called, but
in truth (most happily for the enimars ease)
passes into hair; whilst, on the contrarj^,
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 belly :
whereas in the beaver it is the thickest upon
the belly ; as are the feathers in water-fowl.

COMPARATIVJE ANATOMY. 215

We know the final cause of all this ; and we
know no other.

The covering of birds cannot escape the
most vulgar observation. Its lightness, its
smoothness, its warmth ; — the disposition of
the feathers all inclined backward, the down
about their stem, the overlapping of their
tips, their different configuration in different
parts, not to mention the variety of their co-
lours, 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 sup-
pose (what is possible only in supposition) a
person who had never seen a bird, to be pre-
sented 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
w^armth, levity, and least resistance to the air,
and the highest degree of each : giving 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 sentiments which are due to it.

The commendation, which the general
aspect of the feathered world seldom fails of
exciting, will be increased by farther ex-

216 COMPARATIVB ANATOMT.

amination. It is one of those cases in which
the philosopher has more to admire, than the
common observer. Every feather is a me-
chanical 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 light-
ness of the very pen with which I am wri-
ting. If we cast our eye to the upper 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, ligiit,
pliant, elastic. The pith, also, which feeds
the feathers, is, amongst animal substances,
$ui generis ; neither bone, flesh, membrane,
nor tendon*.

But the artificial part of a feather is the
heard^ or, as it is sometimes, I believe, called,
the vane. By the beards are meant, what
are fastened on each side of the stem, and
what constitute the breadth of the feather;
what we usually strip off from one side or
both, when we make a pen. The separate
pieces or laminae, of which the beard is com-
posed, are called threads, sometimes fila-

* The quill-part of a feather is composed of circular and
longitudinal fibres. In making a pen, you must scrape off the
coat of circular fibres, or the quill will split in a ragged,
jagged manner, making what boy's call cat's teeth.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 1217

ments, or rays. Now the first thing which
an attentive observer will remark is, how
much stronger the beard of the feather shows
itself to be, when pressed in a direction per-
pendicular to its plane, than when rubbed,
either up or down, in the hne of the stem ;
and he will soon discover the structure
which occasions this difference, viz. that the
laminae whereof these beards are composed,
are flat, and placed with their flat sides to-
wards each other ; by which means, whilst
they easily bend for the approaching of each
oilier, as any one may perceive 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
encounter the impulse and pressure of the air,
and in which their strength is vv^anted, and
put to the trial.

This is one particularity in the structure
of a feather : a second is still more extraor-
dinary. Whoever examines a feather, can-
not help taking notice, that the threads or
laminee of which we have been speaking, in
their natural state imite ; 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 be-

218 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

tween them ; that, therefore, by some me-
chanical 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 tw^o lami-
nae, which have been separated by accident or
force, are brought together again, they im-
mediately reclasp : the connexion, whatever
it was, is perfectly recovered, and the beard
of the feather becomes as smootii and firm as
if nothing had happened to it. Draw your
finger down the feather, which is against the
grain, and you break, probably, the junction
of some of the contiguous threads ; draw
your finger up the feather, and you restore
all things to their former state. This is no
common contrivance : and now for the me-
chanism by which it is eflfected. The threads
or lamina3 above mentioned are interlaced
with one another: and the interlacing is per-
formed by means of a vast number of fibres,
or teeth, which the laminae 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 man-
ner : for those which proceed from the thread
on the side towards the extremity of the fea-
ther, are longer, more flexible, and bent

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 219

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 cavitv 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 perfectly for the use to which nature
has designed it ; which use was, not only that
the laminae might be united, bat 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*.

In the ostrich^ this apparatus of crotchets
and fibres, of hooks and teeth, is wanting:

^ The above account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural
History of Animals, by the Royal Academy of Paris, published
in 1701, p. 219.

220 rOMPAIlATtVE ANATOMY.

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, however 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 as-
sist it in running, do not serve for flight.

But under the present division of our sub-
ject, our business with feathers is, as they are
the covering of the bird. And herein a sin-
gular circumstance occurs. In the small or-
der of birds which winter with us, from a
snipe downwards, let the external colour of
the feathers be what it will, their Creator has
universally given them a bed of hlack down
next their bodies. 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 farther like-
wise remarkable, that this is not found in
larger birds ; for which there is also a rea-
son :— 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 were
divided into a number of wrens (supposing
the shape of the turkey and the wren to he

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 221

Similar), the surface of all the wrens would
exceed the surface of the turkey, in the pro-
portion of the length, breadth (or, of any ho-
mologous 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 more warmly clad than large
ones : and this seems to be the expedient by
which that exigency is provided for.

IL In comparing different animals, I know
no part of their structure which exhibits
greater variety, or, in that variety, a nicer
accommodation to their respective conveni-
ency, 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 cropping of herbage, the extrac-
tion 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 it, 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 dif-
ferent 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 ;

222 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

whereas the projecting 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 pursuit. 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 pas-
ture ; either gathering 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 expect. The retired under-jaw
of a swine works in the ground^ after the pro-
truding snout, like a prong or plough-share,
has made its way to the roots upon which it
feeds. A conformation so happy, w^as not
the gift of chance.

In birds^ this organ assumes a new charac-
ter; new both in substance and in form : but
in both, wonderfully 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 both, a hard substance (of the same nature
with that which composes the nails, claws,
and hoofs of quadrupeds), cut out into proper

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 225

shapes, and mechanically suited to the actions
which are wanted. The sharp edge and tem-
pered 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 separates the
flesh from the bones of the animals which it
feeds upon, almost with the cleanness and pre*
cision of a dissector's knife. The butcher-
bird transfixes its prey upon the spike of a
thorn, whilst it picks its bones. In some
birds of this class, we have the cro6<s-bill, i. ۥ
both the upper and lower bill hooked, and
their tips crossing. The 5poo/?-bill enables
the goose to graze, to collect its food from
the bottom of pools, or to seek it amidst the
soft or liquid substances with which it is mix-
ed. 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
instrument which the animal wanted. It did
not'Want strength in its bill, which was in-
consistent with the slender form of the ani-
mal's neck, as well as unnecessary for the
kind of aliment upon which it subsists ; but
it wanted length to reach its object.

224 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

But the species of bill which belongs to
the birds that live by suction^ deserves to be
described in its relation to that office. They
are what naturalists 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 retaming of their prey ;
but for a quite different use. They form a
filtre. The duck by means of them discusses
the mud ; examining with great accuracy the
puddle, the brake, every mixture which is
likely to contain her food. The operation is
thus carried on : — The liquid or semi-liquid
substances, in which the animal has plunged
her bill, she draws, by the action of her lungs,
through the narrow interstices which lie be-
tween these teeth ; catching, as the stream
passes across her beak, whatever it may hap-
pen to bring along with it, that proves agree-
able to her choice, and easily dismissing all
the rest. Now, suppose the purpose to have
been, out of a mass of confused and hetero-
geneous substances, to separate for the use
of the animal, or rather to enable the ani-
mal to separate foe its own, those few par-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 225

tides which suited its taste and digestion ;
what more artificial, or more commodious, in-
strument of selection, could have been given
to it, than this natural filtre ? It has been ob-
served also, (what must enable the bird to
choose and distinguish with greater acuteness,
as well, probably, as what greatly increases
its luxury,) that the bills of this species 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 observa-
tions.— The similitude between the bills of
birds and the mouths of quadrupeds, is ex-
actly such, as, for the sake of the argument,
might be wished for. It is near enough to
show 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
gap, might be resolved in to the effect of con-
tinued efforts, on the part of the species, to
thrust out the mouth, or open it to the

Q

226 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

stretch. But by what course of action, or ex-
ercise, 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 ha-
bit shall we so completely change, not only
the shape of the part, but the substance of
which it is composed? The truth is, if we had
seen no other than the mouths of quadrupeds,
w^e should have thought no other could have
been formed : little could w^e have supposed,
that all the purposes of a mouth, furnished
with lips, and armed with teeth, could be an-
swered by an instrument which had none of
these; could be supplied, and that with many
additional advantages, by the hardness, and'
sharpness, and figure of the bills of birds.
Every thing about the animal mouth is mecha-
nical. The teeth offish have their points turn-
ed backward, 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 a wimble, sometimes with a forceps ;
by which double provision, viz. of the tube
and the penetrating form of the point, the in-
sect first bores through the integuments of its
prey, and then extracts the juices. And, what
is most extraordinary of all, one sort of

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 22?

mouth, as the occasion requires, shall be
changed into another sort. The caterpillar
could not live without teeth ; in several spe-
cies, 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. Amid 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 part diversified: and it is also re-
markable, that, under all the varieties of con-
figuration 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 dif-
ferent necessities of the animal. In brutes,
because the posture of their neck conduces
little to the passage of the aliment, 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 descending morsels;
that is to say, for the more laborious deglu-

Q 2

228 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

tition of animals, which thrust their food up
instead of down^ and also through a longer
passage, a proportionably more powerful ap-
paratus of muscles is provided ; more power-
ful, not merely by the strength of the fibres,
which might be attributed to the greater ex-
ercise of their force, but in their collocation,
which is a determinate circumstance, and
must have been original.

IV. The gullet leads to the intestines : here,
likewise, as before, comparing quadrupeds
with man, under a general simihtude we
meet with appropriate differences. The vaU
vulcB conniventeSy or, as they are by some
called, the semilunar valves, found in the
human intestine, are wanting in that of brutes.
These are w rinkles or plates of the innermost
coat of the guts, the effect of which is to re-
tard the progress of the food through the
alimentary canal. It is easy to understand
how much more necessary 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 en-
trance to its exit, is nearly horizontal : but
it is impossible to assign any cause, except
the final cause, for this distinction actually

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 229

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 ac-
tion 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 structure is
found where its generation, according to the
method by which the theorist would have it
generated, is the most difficult ; but (ob-
serve) it is found where ,its effect is most
useful.

The different length of the intestines in
carnivorous 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, measured ninety-six feet*. The intes-
tine of a sheep, unravelled, measured 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 substance

* Mem, Acad. Paris, 1701 ; p. 170.

280 \ COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

upon which the animal feeds is of slow con-
coction, or yields its chyle with more diffi-
culty, there tlie passage is circuitous and di-
latory, that time and space may be allowed
for the change and the absorption which are
necessary. Where the food is soon dissolved,
or already half assimilated, an unnecessary
or, perhaps, hurtful detention is avoided, by
giving to it a shorter and a readier route.

V. In comparing the hones of different ani-
mals, we are struck, in the bones of birds,
with a propriety^ which could only proceed
from the wisdom of an intelligent and design-
ing Creator. In the bones of an animal
which is to fly, the two qualities required
are strength and lightness. Wherein, there-
fore, do the bones of birds (I speak of the
cylindrical bones) differ, in these respects,
from the bonesvof quadrupeds? In three pro-
perties : first, their cavities are much larger
in proportion to the weight of the bone, than
in those of quadrupeds ; secondly, these ca-
vities are empty ; thirdly, the shell is of a
firmer texture, than is the substance of other
bones. It is easy to observe these particu-
lars, even in picking the wing or leg of a
chicken. Now, the weight being the same,
the diameter, it is evident, will be greater in
a hollow bone than in a solid one, and with the

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 2Sl

diameter, as every mathematician can prove,
is increased, cceteris paribus^ the strength of
the cyhnder, or its resistance to breaking.
In a word, a bone of the same weight would
not have been so strong in any other form;
and to have made it heavier, would have in-
commoded 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
intromission of air from one to the other (at
the will, as it should seem, of the animal), its
body can be occasionally 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 ani-
mal bodies are), and thus rendered buoyant.

yil. All birds are oviparous. This like-
wise carries on the work of gestation with as
little increase as possible of the weight of the
body. A gravid uterus would have been a
troublesome burden to a bird in its flight.

232 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

The advantage, in this respect, of an ovipa-
rous procreation is, that, whilst the whole
brood are hatched together, the eggs are ex-
cluded singly, and at considerable intervals.
Ten, fifteen, or twenty young birds may be
produced in one cletch or covey, yet the pa-
rent bird have never been incumbered by the
load of more than one full-grown egg at one
time.

VIII. A principal topic of comparison be-
tween animals, is in their instruments of mo^
tion. These come before us under three di-
visions ; feet, wings, and fins. I desire any
man to say, which of the three is best fitted
for its use; or whether the same consummate
art be not conspicuous in them all. The con-
stitution of the elements, in which the motion
is to be performed, is very different. The ani-
mal action must necessarily follow that consti-
tution. The Creator therefore, if we might so
speak, had to prepare for different situations,
for different difficulties : yet the purpose is ac-
complished not less successfully in one case
than in 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

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 233

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 instru-
ment, more artificial than its first appearance
indicates, though that 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 reci-
procal 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 wing, it is neces-
sary to suppose, that the surface of the wing,
measured upon the same plane, is contract-
ed, whilst the wing is drawn up ; and let out

2S4 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY,

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
convexity, the disposition, and particularly
the overlapping, of its larger feathers, the ac-
tion of the muscles, 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 flat 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 opera-
tion 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 observ-
ing, that the pinions are so set 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 the com-
mon resolution of forces, does two things at
the same time ; supports the body in the air,
and carries 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

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 235

a little remarkable. Birds with long legs
have short tails ; and, in their flight, 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 ex-
tend 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 the j^;/5 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, unlike
birds, have very nearly the same specific
gravity with the element in which they move.
In the case of fish, 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
balance of the body, which is always the
most unsteady where there is no weight to
sink it. For these offices, the fins are as
large as necessary, though much smaller
than wings, their action mechanical, their
position, and the muscles by which ibey are
moved, in the highest degree convenient.
Tiie following short account of some experi-

236 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY*

ments 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 pairs of fins upon the sides, two sin-
gle fins upon the back, and one upon the
belly, or rather between the belly and the
tail. The balancing use of these organs 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 en-
tirely ; 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 fol-
lowing observation 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 retro-
grade motion, a stroke forward with the pec-
toral fin effectually produces 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

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 237

produced by the double lash is progressive^
and enables the fish to dart forwards with an
astonishing velocity*. The result is, not
only, in some cases, the most rapid, but, in
all cases, the most gentle, pliant, easy, animal
motion, with which we are acquainted. How-
ever, when the tail is cut off, the fish loses all
motion, and gives itself up to where the water
impels it. The rest of the fins, therefore, so
far as respects motion, seem to be merely
subsidiary to this. In their mechanical use,
the anal fin may be reckoned the keel ; the
ventral fins, out-riggers; the pectoral mus-
cles, the oars : and if there be any similitude
between these parts of a boat and a fish, ob-
serve, that it is not the resemblance of imi-
tation, but the likeness which arises from
applying similar mechanical means to the
same purpose.

We have seen that the tail in the fish is the
great instrument of motion. Now, in ceta-
ceous or warm-blooded fish, which are obli-
ged 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, con-
sequently, perpendicular to the horizon, which
is the right direction for sending the fish to
the top, or carrying it down to the bottom.
* Goldsmith, Hist, of An. Nat. vol. vi. p. 154.

238 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

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 in-
tention to pursue the consideration farther,
I should take-in that generic distinction
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 obvi-
ous, that it seems impossible to notice the
difi^erence without acknowledging the design.
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 swimming, 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 freqi*ent 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
recourse ! and, after all, it confesses that the
structure of the feet of birds, in their original

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 239

form, was critically adapted to their original
destination! The web-feet of amphibious
quadrupeds, seals, otters, &c. fall under the
same observation.

IX. The five senses are common to most
large animals : nor have we much difference to
remark in their constitution ; or much, how-
ever, which is referable to mechanism,

The superior sagacity of animals which
hunt their prey, and which, consequently, de-
pend for their livelihood upon their nose, is
w^ell known, in its use ; but not at all known
in the organisation which produces it.

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

The eyes of animals which follow their
prey by night, as cats, owls, &c. possess a
faculty not given to those of other species,
namely, of closing the pupil entirely. The

240 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

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 structure,
which rendered the membrane thus exquisite-
ly sensible, rendered it also liable to be of-
fended by the access of stronger degrees of
light. The contractile range therefore of
the pupil is increased in these animals, so as
to enable them to close the aperture entirely:
which includes the power of diminishing it in
every degree ; whereby at all times such
portions, 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 relation 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 structure,
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 immediately in front of the
animaFs face.

FECULIAR ORGANISATIONS^ 241

CHAPTER XIII.

PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS.

I BELIEVE that all the instances which I
shall collect under this title, might, consist-
ently enough with technical language, have
been placed under the head of Comparative
Anatomy. But there appears to me an im-
propriety in the use which that term hath ob-
tained ; it being, in some sort, absurd to call
that a case of comparative anatomy, in which
there is nothing to " compare ; ^' in which a
conformation is found in one animal, which
hath nothing properly answering to it in an-
other. Of this kind are the examples which
I have to propose in the present 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 miscellaneous nature. To dispose them,
however, into some sort of order, we will no-
tice, first, particularities of structure which
belong to quadrupeds, birds, and fish, as such,
or to many of the kinds included in these

242 FECULIAII ORGANISATIONS.

classes of animals ; and then, such particu-
larities as are confined to one or two spe-
cies.

I. Along each side of the neck of large
quadrupeds^ runs a stiff, robust cartilage,
which butchers call the pax-wax. No per-
son can carve the upper end of a crop of beef
without driving his knife against it. It is a
tough, strong, tendinous substance, braced
from the head to the middle of the back : its
office is to assist in supporting the weight 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 weighty
acting at the end of a long lever (consequent-
ly with a great purchase), and in a direction
nearly perpendicular to the joints of the sup-
porting neck. From such a force, so advan-
tageously 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 human subject,
because, frdm the erect position of the head
(the pressure of it acting nearly in the direc-
tion of the spine), the junction of the vertebrae
a{>pears to be sufficiently secure without it.

Vj

PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS. 243

This cautionary expedient, therefore, is Umit-
ed to quadrupeds : the care of the Creator is
seen where it is wanted.

II. The oil with w^hich birds prune their
feathers, and the organ which supphes it, is
a specific provision for the winged creation.
On each side of the rump of birds is obser-
ved a small nipple, yielding upon 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; and repeats the action as
often as its own sensations 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 excreted
substance, the manner of obtaining it from
its lodgement in the body, the application of
it when obtained, form, collectively, an evi-
dence 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
produce it in beasts.^

III. The air-bladder also of ^ijish affords
a plain and direct instance, not only of con-
trivance, but strictly of that species of con-
trivance which we denominate mechanical.
It is a philosophical apparatus in the body of

244 PECULIAR ORHANISATIONS.

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, skates, which are
without the air-bladder, seldom rise in the
water, and that with effort. The manner in
which the purpose is attained, and the suit'
ableness of the means to the end, are not dif-
ficult to be apprehended. The rising and
sinking of a fish in water, so far as it is inde-
pendent of the stroke of the fins and tail, can
only be regulated by the specific gravity of
the body. When the bladder, 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 increased, and the fish
descends : on the contrary, when, in conse-
quence 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 proportion-
ably less than it was before, or is turned into

PECULIAR OEGANISATIONS. 2-15

a contrary tendency. These are known pro-
perties of bodies immersed in a fluid. The
enamelled figures, or little glass bubbles, in
ajar of water, are made to rise and fall by
the same artifice. A diving-machine might
be made to ascend and descend, upon the like
principle ; namely, by introducing into the
inside of it an an-vessel, which, by its con-
traction, would diminish, and by its disten-
sion enlarge, the bulk of the machine itself,
and thus render it specifically heavier, or spe-
cifically lighter, than the water which sur-
rounds it. Suppose this to be done, 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 con-
trivance, could, by no possibility, 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 conclusion is not as certain in the fish, as
it is 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 possible to discover, by what method an
animal which lives constantly in water, is able
to supply a repository of air. The expedi-
ent, whatever it be, forms part, and perhaps
the most curious part, of the provision. No-

246' PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS.

thing 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 farther from an acquired or-
ganisation than this is.

These examples mark the attention of the
Creator to the 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. The fatig of a viper is a clear and cu-
rious example 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, sud-
denly erects it. Under the tooth, close to its
root, and communicating with the perfora-
tion, lies a small bag containing the venom.
When the fang is raised, the closing of the
jaw presses its root against the bag under-
neath ; and the force of this compression
sends out the fluid with a considerable impe-
tus through the tube in the middle of the
tooth. What more unequivocal, or effectual
apparatus could be devised for the double
purpose of at once inflicting the wound and

PECULIAH ORGANISATIONS. 247

injecting the poison? Yet, though lodged in
the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its in-
offensive and quiescent state, not to interfere
with the animal's ordinary office of receiving
its food. It has been observed also, that none
of the harmless serpents, the black snake, the
blind worm, &c. 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 differ-
ent species, the preceding example is resemr
bled by that which I shall next mention,
which is the bag of the opossum. This is a
mechanical contrivance, most properly so
called. The simplicity of the expedient ren^-
ders 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 re-
ceived 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 asylum, and the machine for their con-
veyance. Can the use of this structure be
doubted of? Nor is it a mere doubling of the
skin J but it is a new organ, furnished with

248 PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS.

bones and muscles 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 open-
ing can scarcely be discerned, except when
the sides are forcibly drawn asunder*. Is there
any action in this part of the animal, any pro-
cess 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 strict-
ly 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 can-
not at all be accounted for by the effort of
the animal, or the exercise of the part. Some
other fishing birds have these notches in their
hills; and for the same purpose. The gan-
net, or Soland goose, has the side of its bill

* Goldsmith, Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244-

PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS. 24f)

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 like-
ly 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 retain large quantities of water, and to re-
tain it unchanged for a considerable length of
time. This property qualifies it for living in
the desert. Let us see, therefore, what is the
internal organisation, upon which a faculty so
rare, and so beneficial, depends. A number
of distinct sacs or bags (in a dromedary thir-
ty 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, after the stomach is full, the
annexed bags are filled from it : and the wa-
ter so deposited is, in the first place, not lia-
ble to pass into the intestines ; in the second
place, is kept separate fi'om the solid aliment;
and, in the third place, is out of the reach of

'250 PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS.

the digestive action of the stomach, or of mix-
ture with the gastric juice. It appears pro-
bable, or rather certain, that the animal, by
the conformation of its muscles, possesses the
power of squeezing back this w^ater from the
adjacent bags into the stomach, whenever
thirst excites it to put this power in action.
11. The tongue of the woodpecker is one
of those singularities, which nature presents
us with, when a singular purpose is to be an-
swered. It is a particular instrument for a
particular use: and what, except design, ever
produces such? The woodpecker lives chiefly
upon insects, lodged in the bodies of decayed
or decaying trees. For the purpose of bo-
ring into the wood, it is furnished with a bill,
straight, hard, angular, 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 remark-
able 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

PECULIAR ORGANISATIONS. 251

declares its uses. The bird, having exposed
the retreats of the insects by the assistance
of its bill, with a motion inconceivably quick,
launches out at them this long tongue ; trans-
fixes them upon the barbed needle at the end
of it ; and thus draws its prey within its
mouth. If this be not mechanism, what is ?
Should it be said, that, by continual endea-
vours to shoot out the tongue to the stretch,
the woodpecker species may by degrees have
lengthened 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 barb, its dentation? 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
discover}'^, when, having remarked in an ani-
mal an extraordinary structure, we come at
length to find out an unexpected use for it.
The following narrative furnishes an instance
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
yard long, growing upwards, and (which is
the singularity) from the upper jaw. These
instruments are not wanted for offence : that
service being provided for by two tusks issu-

252 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

ing from the upper 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 en-
cumbrance. But observe the event : — the
animal sleeps standing; and, in order to sup-
port its head, hooks its upper tusks upon the
branches of trees.

CHAPTER XIV.

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. -^

1 CAN hardly imagine to myself a more di-
stinguishing mark, and, consequently, a more
certain proof of design, tho^n preparation^ i. e.
the providing of things beforehand, which are
not to be used until a considerable time
afterwards : for this implies a contemplation
of the future, which belongs only to intelli-
gence.

Of these prospective contrivances, the bo^
dies 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 design-
edly suspended. They are formed within the
gums, and there they stop : the fact being,
that their farther advance to maturity would

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 255

hot 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 sock-
ets, so long as their farther protrusion would
interfere with the office to which the mouth
is destined. Nature, namely, that intelli-
gence which was employed in creation, look-
ed beyond the first year of the infant's life ;
yet, whilst she was providing for functions
which were after that term to become neces-
sary, was careful not to incommode 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 human
mouth : the fact also is, that the parts above
enumerated, are called into use from the be-

254 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

ginning; whereas the teeth would be only so
many obstacles and annoyances, if they were
there. When a contrary 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 perfection.
The insect begins to gnaw as soon as it
escapes from the shell, though its other parts
be only gradually advancing to their ma-
turity.

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 a lamb
does not bud, or at least does not sprout to
any considerable length, until the animal be
capable of browsing upon its pasture : be-
cause such a substance upon the forehead of
the young animal, would very much incom-
mode the teat of the dam in the office of giv-
ing suck.

But in the case of the teeth^ — of the hu-
man teeth at least, the prospective contri-
vance looks still farther. A succession of
crops is provided, and provided from the be-
ginning; a second tier being originally form-
ed beneath the first, which do not come into
use till several years afterwards. And this
double or suppletory provision meets a diffi-
culty in the mechanism of the mouth, whick

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 255

would have appeared almost insurmountable.
The expansion of the jaw (the consequence of
the proportionable growth of the animal, 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 exten-
sion 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 viviparous animals, is found in
the ?nilk of the female parent. At the mo-
ment the young animal enters the world,
there is its maintenance ready for it. The
particulars to be remarked in this (economy,
are neither 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 chymistry
having been able to make milk out of grass :
we have, secondly, the organ for its reception

256 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCE?.

and retention: we have, thirdly, the excretory
duct, annexed to that organ : 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 pro-
perties in the subject before us : and they
are all indications of design. The last cir-
cumstance is the strongest of any. If I had
been to guess beforehand, I should have con-
jectured, that at the time when there was an
extraordinary demand for 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 fe-
male has no intelligible 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 the
teats or paps in each species is found to bear
a proportion to the number of the young.
In the sow, the bitch, the rabbit, the cat, the
rat, which have numerous 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 ac-
count of this, is to refer it to a designing
Creator.

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 25?

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 tlie time when
it is formed. It is an optical instrument
made in a dungeon ; constructed for the re-
fraction of light to a focus, and perfect for
its purpose, before a ray of light has had
access to it ; geometrically adapted to the
properties 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 condition ; but for a
new state, the consequence of a great and
sudden alteration, which the animal is to un-
dergo 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, without a view to
this change ; without a prospect of that con-

s

2SB PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

dition, in which its fabric, of no use at pre-
sent, is about to be of the greatest ; vv^ithout
a consideration of the quahties of that ele-
ment, 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 spectacles he has no want or use
whatever at the time he makes them. Could
this be done without knowing and cons^ider-
ing the defect of vision to which advanced
age is subject? Would not the precise suita-
bleness of the instrument to its purpose, of
the remedy to the defect, of the convex lens
to the flattened eye, establish the certainty of
the conclusion, that the case, afterwards to
tixise, had been considered beforehand, specu-
lated^ upon, provided for? all which are ex-
clusively the acts of a reasoning mind. The
eye formed in one state, for use only in an-
other state, and in a different state, affords a
proof no less clear of destination to a future
purpose ; and a proof proportionably stronger,
as the machinery is more complicated, 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 alternate admission aiul

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES^ 259

expulsion of an elastic fluid, where no such
fluid exists ; this great organ, with the w^hole
apparatus belonging to it, lies collapsed in
the foetal thorax ; yet in order, and in readi-
ness for action, the first moment that the
occasion requires its service* 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 pro-
per act of intelligence. Considering the state
in which an animal 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 w^as im-
possible to be exerted ; holding no relation
or fitness to the element which surrounds
them, but both to another element in another
place.

As part and parcel of the same plan, ought
to be mentioned, in speaking of the lungSj
the pro visionary contrivances o( the foramen
ovale and ductus arteriosus. In the fcetus^
pipes are laid for the passage of the blood
through the lungs ; but, until the lungs be
inflated by the inspiration of air, that pas-
sage is. impervious, or in a great degree ob"

^ 3

260 PROSPECTIVE COStUIVANCES.

structed. What then is to be done? What
would an artist, what would a master, do
upon the occasion ? He would endeavour,
most probably, to provide a temporary pas-
sage, which might carry on the communica-
tion required, until the other was open. Now
this is the thing which is actually done in
the heart : — Instead of the circuitous route
through the lungs, which the blood after-
wards takes, before it get from one auricle
of the heart to the other ; a portion of the
blood passes immediately from the right au-
ricle to the left, through a hole, placed in
the partition, which separates these cavities.
This hole, anatomists call the foramen ovale*
There is likewise another cross cut, answer-
ing the same purpose, by what is called the
ductus arteriosus, lying between the pulmo-
nary artery and the aorta. But both expe-
dients are so strictly temporary, that, after
birth, the one passage is closed, and the tube
which forms the other shrivelled up into a liga-
ment. If this be not contrivance, what is ?

Butj 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 route might still be
the best), how comes it to pass that the fcztus

RELATIONS. 261

livesj and grows, and thrives, without it?
The answer is, that the blood of the fetus is
the mother's ; that it has undergone that ac-
tion in her habit ; that one pair of hings
serves for both. When the animals are se-
parated, a new necessity arises ; and to meet
this necessity as soon as it occurs, an organi-
sation is prepared. It is ready for its pur-
pose ; it only waits for the atmosphere ; it
begins to play, the moment the air is admit-
ted to it.

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 instruments ; 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 where-
ever 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 examining, for instance,
the several parts of a watch^ the spring, the

2(>2 RELATIONS.

barrel, the chain, the fusee, the balance, the
wheels of various sizes, forms, and positions,
what is it which would take an observer's at-
tention, as most plainly evincing a construc-
tion, directed by thought, deliberation, and
contrivance? It is the suitableness of these
parts to one another; first, in the succession
and order in which they act ; and, secondly,
with a view to the effect finally produced.
Thus, referring the spring to the wheels, our
observer 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 to the spring, he sees that which
corrects the inequality of its force. Refer-
ring 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 had no
connexion between themselves, or common
bearing upon some joint effect ; secondly,
the correspondency 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. Referring the
balance to the rest of the works, he saw^

when he came to understand its action, that
which rendered their motions equable. Last-
ly, in looking upon the index and face of the
watch, he saw the use and conclusion of the
mechanism, viz. marking the succession of
mmuies and hours; but all depending upon
the motions within, all upon the system of
intermediate 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 general name of
" relation ;'' and observing with respect to all
cases whatever, in which the origin and for-
mation of a thing could be ascertained by
evidence, that these relations were found in
things produced 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 described to the
works of nature.

The animal (economy is full, is made up,
of these relations :

L There are, first, what, in one form or
other, belong to all animals, the parts and
powers which successively act upon their /bod.
Compare this action with the process of
a manufactory. In men and quadrupeds,
the aliment is, first, broken and bruised by
Ijaedianical instruments of mastication, viz.

264 RELATIONS.

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 dig-estion :
when digested, it is delivered through an ori-
fice, which opens and shuts as there is occa-
sion, into the first intestine : there, after being
mixed with certain proper ingredients, poured
through a hole in the side of the vessel, it is
farther 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 circu-
lation ; which conveys it, in its progress, to
every part of the body. Now I say again,
compare this with the process of a manufac-
tory ; with the making of cider, for example ;
with 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 show me
any difference between these two cases, as to

RELATIONS. 2G5

die point of contrivance. That which is at
present under our consideration, the " rela-
tion" 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 cider-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 ac-
tion and change which it undergoes ; the
route 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, for transferring the ci-
der 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 opera-
tion and some of the processes of art, might
be carried farther into detail. Spallanzani

SCfi nELATlONS.

has remarked'^' a circumstantial resemblance
between the stomachs of galhnaceous fowls
and the structure of corii'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 giz-
zard ; 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 wdiich 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, intp
the central hole in the upper millstone.

But we have not done with the alimentary
history. There subsists a general rdaiion
betw een the external organs of an animal by
^vhich 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
!pf prey, of an owl, a falcon, or a kite, act^

* Dis. I, sect. liv.

RELATIONS. 267

upon the animal fibre alone ; it 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. Accord-
ingly 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 dis-
solves vegetables, but makes no impression
npon animal bodies. This accordancy is
still more particular. The gastric juice, even
of granivorous birds, will not act upon the
grain, whilst whole and entire. In per-
forming 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 sav, must under-
go by art without the body, the preparatory
action which the gizzard exerts upon it with-
in the body; or no digestion will take place.
So strict, in this case, is the relation between
the offices assigned to the digestive organ,
between the mechanical operation, and the
chymical process,

II. The relation of the kidnej^s to the
bladder, and of the ureters to both, i, e. of the
secreting organ to the vessel receiving the se?

268 RELATIONS.

creted liquor, and the pipe laid from oqe to
the other for the purpose of conveying 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
them. The animal structure, in this case,
being simple, and the parts easily sepa-
rated, it forms an instance of correlation
which may be presented bj^- dissection
to every eye, or which indeed, without
dissection, is capable of being apprehended
by every understanding. This correlation of
instruments to one another fixes intention
somewhere.

Especially when every other solution is ne-
gatived by the conformation. If the blad-
der had been merely an expansion of the ure-
ter, produced by retention of the fluid, there
ought to have been a bladder for each ure-
ter. One receptacle, fed by two pipes, issu-
ing from different sides of the body, yet
from both conveying the same fluid, is not to
be accounted for by any such supposition as
this.

III. Relation of parts to one another ac-
companies us throughout the whole animal
oeconomy. Can any relation be more simple,
yet more convincing, than this, that the eyes
are so placed as to look in the direction in

RELATIONS. 269

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 al-
teration 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 strik-
ing as when it subsists, not between differ-
ent parts of the same thing, but between
different things. The relation 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 seizes are
manifestly made for each other. They form
the grand relation of animated nature ; uni-
versal, organic, mechanical ; subsisting like
the clearest relations of art, in different indi-
viduals; unequivocal, inexplicable without
design.

So much so, that, were every other proof
of contrivance in nature dubious or obscure,
this alone would be sufficient. The example

270 RELATION*.

is complete. Nothing is wanting to the ar*
gument. 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 ; particularly to the lips and tongue.
Here also, as before, is a correspondency
of parts ; which parts subsist in different in-
dividuals.

These 'dve general relations, or the rela-
tions of parts which are found, either in all
animals, or in large classes and descriptions
of animals. Particular relations, or the re-
lations which subsist between the particular
configuration of one or more parts of certain
species of animals, and the particular con-
figuration 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 stomach, 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

I

RELATIONS. 2^1

how the rest follow it. The web-foot quah-
fies the bird for swimming; the spoon-bill
enables it to graze. But how is an animal,
floating upon the surface of pools of water, to
graze at the bottom, except by 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, re-
quired a defence against the coldness of that
element. Such a defence is furnished to the
swan, in the muff in which its body is wrap-
ped. But all this outward apparatus would
have been in vain, if the intestinal system
had not been suited to the digestion of ve-
getable substances. I say, suited to the di- *
gestion of vegetable substances: for it is
well known, that there are two intestinal sv-
stems found in birds : one with a membranous
stomach and a gastric juice, capable of dis-
solving animal substances alone ; the other
with a crop and gizzard, calculated for the
moistening, bruising, and afterwards digest-
ing, of vegetable aliment.

Or set off with any other distinctive part
in the body of the swan ; for instance, with
the long neck. Tiie long neck, without the
web-foot, would have been an incumbrance
to the bird ; yet there is no necessary con-
nexion between a long neck and a web-^foot.

272 RELATfONS.

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 ?

III. This mutual relation, arising from a
subserviency to a common purpose, is very
observable also in the parts of a mole. The
strong short legs of that animal, thepalmated
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, specially consulted through-
*out. Tlie 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 cy-*
lindrical figure of the mole, as well as the
compactness of its form, arising from the
terseness of its limbs, proportionably lessens
its labour; because, according to its bulk,
it thereby requires the least possible quan-
tity of earth to be removed for its progress.
It has nearly the same structure 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

RELATIONS. 2^S

down to the end of it. The plush covering,'
which, by the smoothness, closeness, and
polish of the short piles that compose it, re-
jects the adhesion of almost every species of
earth, defends the animal from cold and wet,
and from the impediment which it would
experience by 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 occasion-
ally visiting the surface, and wanting, for its
safety and direction, to be informed when
it does so, or when it approaches it, a per- '
ception 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 vi-
sion. 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 ar^

T

274 RELATIONS.

made scarcely larger than the head of a
corking-pin ; and these minute globules are
sunk so deeply in the skull, and lie so shel-
tered within the velvet of its covering, as
that any contraction of what may be called
the eye-brows, not only closes up the aper-
tures which lead to the eyes, but presents a
cushion, as it were, to any sharp or protru-
ding substance which might push against
them. This aperture, even in its ordinary
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 connex-
ion between a small sunk eye and a shovel pal-
mated foot. Palmated feet might have been
joined with goggle eyes; 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
together 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, ?s

COMPENSATION. 275

qualifying the animal for that mode of life and
inhabitation to which the structure of its eyes
confines it; or we may consider the structure
of the eye, as the only one which would have
suited with the action to which the feet are
adapted. The relation is manifest, which-
ever of the parts related 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 pecu-
liarly adapted to an underground life ; and
this is what I call relation.

CHAPTER XVI.

COMPENSATION.

CoMPE"NrsATioisr 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 e/e-
phant, is compensated by the length and
flexibility of his proboscis. He could not
have reached the ground without 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 elephant's neck so short ? it may

T 2

2/6 COMPENSATION.

be answered, that the weight of a head sa
heavy coald not have been supported at the
end of a longer lever. To a form, therefore,
in some respects necessary, but in some re-
spects also inadequate to the occasion of the
animal, a supplement is added, which ex-
actly 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 J
were completed? What was to become of the 1
individual, whilst the species was perfecting?

Our 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 thfe shortness of his neck ; the
shortness of the neck is rendered neces-
sary by the weight of the head. Were we
tQ enter into an examination of the structure
and anatomy of the proboscis itself, we

COMPENSATION. 277

should see in it one of the most curious of
all examples of animal mechanism. The dis-
position of the ringlets and fibres, for the
purpose, first, of forming a long cartilagi-
nous 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
production, 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 advan-
tage), but of consummate art, and, as I may
say, of elaborate preparation, in accomplish-
ing that design.

II. The hook in the wing of a bat is
strictly a mechanical, and, also, a compen-
sating 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
roughnesses. 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

2/8 COMPENSATION.

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 that part, the
Creator has deviated from the analogy ob-
served 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 furnish-
ed with long legs for wading, or long bills
for groping ; or usually with both. This is
compensation. But I think the true reflec-
tion upon the present instance is, how every
part of nature is tenanted by appropriate in-
habitants. Not only is the surface of deep
waters peopled by numerous tribes of birds
that swim, but marshes and shallow pools
are furnished v^ iih hardly less numerous tribes
of birds that wade.

IV. The common parrot has, in the struc-
ture 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 na-
ture, viz. that the peculiarity of structure
by which an organ is made to answer one

COMPENSATION. ^9

purpose, necessarily unfits it for some other
purpose. This is the case before us. Th^
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
overlapping of the bill could not be sparedp'
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
openinjy 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 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 con-
trivance. The spider lives upon flies, with-
out 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 ex-

* Goldsmith's Natural History, vol. v. p. 274>

280 COMPENSATION,

ternal 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 compen^
sated; and by a mechanism which we should
not suspect. The eye is a multiplying-glass,
with a lens 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 dis-
covery. Adams tells us, that fourteen hun-
dred 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 them-
selves. The spider has eight ey^s, mounted
upon different parts of the head ; two in fronts
two in the top of the head ; two on each side.
These eyes are without motion; but, by their
aituation, suited to comprehend every view
which the wants or safety of the animal ren-
der it necessary for it to take.

VII. The Memoirs for the Natural His-

COMPENSATION. 281

tory of Animals, published by the French
Academy, A. D. 16875 furnish us with some
curious particulars in the eye of a chame-
leon. 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 sina'alarities in the
shape of the animal. The neck of the cha-
meleon 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 mus-
cles in every direction, and is capable of be-
ing 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
M^ell as a more than ordinary supply of mois-
ture ; yet the motion of an eyelid, formed
according to the common construction, would
be impeded, as it should seem, by the convex-
ity 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 Qwery mo-
ment a nictitation, which, it is probable,

2S2 COMPENSATI6N.

would be more laborious to this animal than
to others.

VIII. In another animal, and in another
part of the animal oeconomy, the same Me-
moirs describe a most remarkable substitu-
tion. The reader will remember what we
have already observed concerning the intes-
tinal 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 intes-
tine, 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 same intention is mechani-
cally 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 in-
testine is straight from one end to the other :
but in this straight, and consequently short
intestine, is a winding, corkscrew, spiral pas-
sage, through which the food, not without se-
veral circumvolutions, and in fact by a long
route, is conducted to its exit. Here the
shortness of the gut is compensated by the
obliquity of the perforation.

COMPENSATION. 283

IX. But the works of the Deity are known
by expedients. Where we should look for
absolute destitution ; where we can reckon
op no tiling but wants ; some contrivance
always conies in, to supply the privation. A
math without wings, feet, or thread, climbs
up the stalks of plants, bv the sole aid of a
viscid 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 helpless-
ness, to lie at the mercy of every wave that
went over it, has the singular power of spin-
ning strong, tendinous threads, by which she
moors her shell to rocks and timbers. A
cockle^ on the contrary, 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 in its con-
stitution a difficulty so great, that one could
hardly conjecture beforehand 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. Bi-
valve shells grow bigger by receiving an ac-
cretion at their edge; it is the same with

284 COMPENSATION.

spiral shells at their mouth. The simplicity
of their fonii admits of this. But the lob-
ster'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 complex-
ity renders it incapable of increasing its size
by addition of substance to its edge. How
then was the growth of the lobster to be pro-
vided 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 extricate
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 observed to take place, is as
follows : At certain seasons, the shell of the
lobster grows soft ; the animal swells its bo-
dy ; the seams open, and the claws burst at
the joints. When the shell has thus become
loose upon the body, the animal makes a se-
cond effort, and by a tremulous, spasmodic
motion, casts it off. In this state, the libe-
rated but defenceless fish retires into holes in
the rock. The released body now suddenly
pushes its growth. In about eight-and-forty
hours, a fresh concretion of humour upon tho

COMPENSATION. 285

surface, 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 com-
pensation, I should suspect that they were
defects only in appearance. Thus, the body
of the sloth has often been reproached for the
slowness of its motions, which has been attri-
buted to an imperfection in the formation 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
overcharged vessels, as well as to allow time
for the concoction of the mass of coarse and
hard food which he has taken into his sto-
mach. The tardiness of his pace seems to
have reference to the capacity of his organs,
and to his propensities with respect to food ;
i. e. is calculated to counteract the effects of
repletion.

Or there may be cases, in which a defect
is artificial, and compensated by the very
cause which produces 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

2S(j COMPENSATION.

flight. But this is not so with the wild ani-
mal. The natural sheep is swift and active :
and, if it lose these qualities when it comes
under the suhjection of man, the loss is com-
pensated by his protection. Perhaps there
is no species ot 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
understood, we have considered this business
of compensation under certmn particularities
of constitution, in which it appears to be most
conspicuous. This view of the subject neces-
sarily limits the instances to single species of
animals. But there are compensations, per-
haps not less certain, which extend over large
classes, and to large portions of living na-
ture.

I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth
is usually compensated by the faculty of ru-
mination. The sheep, deer, and ox tribe,
are without fore-teeth in the upper jaw.
These ruminate. The horse and ass are fur-
nished 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

COMPENSATION. 287

juice, wliicli in these animals is unusually co-
pious. Thus softened and rendered tender,
they are returned a second time to the action
of the mouth, ^\here the grinding teeth com-
plete at their leisure the trituration which is
necessary, butwhicli 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 pre-
viously 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 gratifi-
cation also of the animal is renewed and pro-
longed by this faculty. 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
striking. They have no teeth at all. What

* Spall. Dis. iii. sect, cxl.

283 COMPENSATION.

have they then to make up for this severe
want ? I speak of granivorous and herbivorous
birds ; such as common fowls, turkeys, ducks,
geese, pigeons, &c. ; 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 ac-
tion, as a coffee-mill would do. It has been
proved by the most correct experiments, that
the gastric juice of these birds will not ope-
rate upon the entire grain ; not even when
softened by water or macerated in the crop.
Therefore without a grinding machine within
its body, without the trituration of the giz-
zard, 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 compensatory contri-
vance goes no farther than the necessity. In
both classes of birds, however, the digestive
organ within the body bears a strict and me-

COMPENSATION. 289

chanical relation to the external instruments
for procuring food. The soft membranous sto-
mach accompanies a hooked, notched beak;
short, muscular legs ; strong, sharp, crooked
talons : the cartilaginous stomach attends
that conformation of bill and toes, which re-
strains the bird to the picking of seeds, or the
cropping of plants.

III. But to proceed with our compensa-'
tions. — A very numerous and comprehensive
tribe of terrestrial animals are entirely with-
out feet ; yet locomotive ; and in a very con-
siderable degree swift in. their motion. Homt
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 col-
location, 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 reciprocally
shortened and lengthened, drawn up and
stretched out. The result of this action is a
progressive, and, in some cases, a rapid move-
ment of the whole body, in any direction to
which the will of the animal determines it.
The meanest creature is a collection of won-
ders. The play of the rings in an earth"
zvorm^ as it crawls ; the undulatory motion
propagated along the body; the beards or

prickles With, \ybicb the annuli are armed, and
which the animal can either shut Uip close tp
its body, or let out to lay hold of the lougb-^
ness of the surface upon \^hi<^h it creeps ; aijd
the power arising froiaa all ^hese, of chajngwg
its place and position^ afford;, wbeu; com»
pared viith, the provisions tor motion in other
animals, proofs of new and appropriate me-
chanism. Suppose that we had never seen an
animal move upon the ground without feet,
and that the problen^ wa^ ; Muscuja^r action^^
i. e> reciprocal cpi>tiiactijpia. and relaxation
being given, to describe how such ^.n aiuim^l
might be constructed, capable of vQluntarily
changing pkce. Something, perhaps, like
the organisation of reptiles, might have been
bit upon by the ingenuity of an artist ; or
mjght have been exhibited in an automaton,
by the combination of springs, spiral wires,
and ringlets : but to the solution of the pro-
blem would not be denied, surely,. the praise
of invention and of successful thought: least
of all could it ever be questioned, whether in-
telligei^ce had bejen employed about it, or not.

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES, &C, 391

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TO INANIMATE

NATURE.

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

But the bodies of animals hold, in their
constitution and properties, a close and im-
portant relation to natures altogether exter-
nal to their own; to inanimate substancesj
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 wings of
birds bear a relation to air, and Xhefins offish
to water ? They are instruments of motion,
severally suited to the properties of the me-
dium 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

V 2

292 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIEf

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 suc-
cessive pulses oi such a medium, that the un-
dulations excited by the surrounding body
are carried to the organ; that a communica-
tion is formed between the object and the
sense ; which must be done, before the in-
ternal machinery of the ear, subtile as it is,
can act at all.

III. The organs of voice, and respiration,
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 particu-
lar properties, being always present. Change
the properties of the fluid, and the organ
cannot act; change the organ, and the pro-
perties of the fluid would be lost. The
iitructure 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 considering it), or the element as pre-
pared for the organ.

TO INANIMATE NATURE. 255

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 and water:
and that is light. To this new, this singular
element; to qualities perfectly peculiar, per-
fectly distinct and remote from the qualities
of any other substance with which we are
acquainted, an organ is adapted, an instru-
ment is correctly adjusted, not less peculiar
amongst the parts of the body, not less sin-
gular 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 w^e 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 connexion whatever in their
original. The action of rays of light upon
the surfaces of animals, has no tendency to
breed eyes in their heads. The sun might
shine for ever 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.

^4: THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

V. Througiiout the universe there is a won-
derful proportionhig 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 con*
veniency 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 hody
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 great-
est importance) ; how close is the suitableness
of the earth and vsea to their several inhabi-
tants ; and of these inhabitants, to the places
of their appointed residence !

Take the earth as it is; and consider the
correspondency of the powers of its inhabi-
tants with the properties and condition of

T6 iN^NlMATite NAtUHt. ^S^

the soil which they Iread. Take th6 inhabit
tants as they are ; and consider the substances
which the earth yields for their us6. They
can scratch its surface; and its surface sup*
phes all which they want. This is the length
of their faculties : and such is the constita-^
tion of the globe, and their own, that this i$
sufficient for all their occasions.

When we pass from the earth to the sea^
from land to water, we pass through a great
change : but an adequate change accompa-
nies us, of animal forms and functions, of
animal capacities and wants ; so that corr^"
spondency remains. The earth in its nature
is very different from the sea^ and the sea
from the earth : but one accords with its in-
habitants, 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 re-
quires 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 ex-
istence is made up of action and slumber;
nature has provided a season for each. An
^uiiWal which stood not in need of rest.

296 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

would always live in day-light. An animal,
"which, though made for action, and delight-
ing in action, must have its strength repaired
by sleep, meets, by its constitution, the re-
turns of day and night. In the human species,
for instance, were the bustle, the labour, the
motion of life upheld by the constant pre-
sence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed
without being disturbed by noise, and with-
out expense of that time which the eagerness
of private interest would not contentedly re-
sign. It is happy therefore for this part of
the creation, I mean that it is conformable
to the frame and wants of their constitution,
that nature, by the very disposition of her
elements, has commanded, as it were, and im-
posed upon them, at moderate intervals, a ge-
neral intermission of their toils, their occupa-
tions, and pursuits.

But it is not for man, either solely or prin-
cipally, that night is made. Inferior, but
less perverted natures, taste its solace, and
expect its return, with greater exactness tind
advantage than he does. I have often ob-
served, 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 grate^
ful vicissitude; how comfortably the birds

TO INANIMATE NATURE. 29?

of the air, for example, address themselves
to the repose of the evenhig ; with what
alertness they resume the activity of the
day.

Nor does it disturb our argument to con-
fess, that certain species of animals are in
motion durins: 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 corre-
sponding with it. There is still the relation,
though inverted. The fact is, that the re-
pose of other animals sets these at libertv%
and invites them to their food ox their
sport.

If the relation of sleep to nighty and, in
some instances, its converse, be real, w^e can-
not reflect without amazement upon the ex-
tent to which it carries us. Day and night
are things close to us ; the change applies im-
mediately to our sensations ; of all the phaeno-
mena of nature, it is the most obvious and
the most familiar to our experience : but, in
its cause, it belongs to the great motions
which are passing in \l\e heavens. Whilst
the earth glides round her axle, she ministers
to the alternate necessities of the animals
dwelhng upon her surface, at the same time
that she obeys the influence of those attrac-f

2D8 THE RELATION OF ANIIVfATED BODIES, &C.

tions which regulate the order of many thou-
sand worlds. The relation therefore of sleep
to night, is the relation of the inhabitants of
the earth to the rotation of their globe ; pro-
bably it is more ; it is a relation to the sy-
stem, of which that globe is a part ; and,
still farther, to the congregation of systems,
of which theirs is only one. If this account
be true, it connects the meanest individual
with the universe itself; a chicken roosting
upon its perch, with the spheres revolving in
the firmament.

VIIL Bat if any one object to our repre-
sentation, 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 pro-
vided in many ajfit^^als 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

INSTINCTS, 295

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 nndst of those laws which govern
the solar system at least, and probably all
the heavenly bodies.

CHAPTER XVIII.

INSTINCTS,

The order may not be very obvious, by
which I place instincts next to relations.
But I consider them as a species of relation.
They contribute, along with the animal or-
ganisation, to a joint effect, in which view
they are related to that organisation. 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 iNSTiisrcT 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 ani-
mals 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 in-

3»dO JNSTINCTS.

sects which do not sit upon their eggs^ de-
posit 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 tlm catalogue the
incubation of eggs. I entertain no doubt,
but that a couple of sparrows hatched in an
OA'en, 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 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 possessed of the faculty of reasoning :
for, no reasoning will reach the case. The
fulness or distention which she mighl 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 produce something, which, when
produced, M-as to be preserved and taken care
of. Prior to experience, there was nothing

INSTINCTS. 301

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 produced into day ; how should birds
know that their eggs contain their young?
There is nothing, either in the aspect or in
the internal coniposition of an egg, which
could lead even the most daring imagination
to 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
tadpole 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 confinement in thd
egg, and bearing no conceivable relation,
either ia quality or material^ to any thing

302 INSTINCTS.

observed in it. From the white of an egg,
would any one look for the feather of a gold-
finch ? or expect from a simple uniform mu-
cilage, the most complicated of all machines,
the most diversified of all collections of sub-
stances ? Nor would the process of incuba-
tion, for some time at least, lead us to sus-
pect the event. Who that saw red streaks^
shoot kig in the iiae !9a€mbrane which divides
the white from the yolk, would suf>pose that
thei3e were about to become bones and limbs ?
Who, that espied two discoloured points first
making their appearance m the cicatrix,
would have had the courage to predict, that
these points were to grow into the lieart 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 reasoning upon the ap-
pearances 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 philosopher.

INSTINCTS. 305

But admit the sparrow by some means to
know, that within that egg was concealed
th^ principle of a future bird : from what
cbvmist was slie to learn, that warmth was
necessary to bring it to maturity, or that
the degree of warmth, imparted by the tem-
perature of her own body, was the degree re-
quired ?

To suppose^ therefore, that the female
bird acts in this process from a sagacity and
reason of her own, is to suppose her to ar-
rive at conclusions which there are no pre-
mises 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 extravagant expectation, in opposi-
tion to present appearances, and to proba-
bility. She must have penetrated into the
order of nature, farther than any faculties of
Qurs will carry uS: : and it hath been well ob-
served, that this deep sagacity, if it be sa-
gacity, subsists in conjunction with great
stupidity, even in relation to the same sub-
ject. " A chymical operation,^' says Addi-
son, ^' could not be followed with greater
art or diligence, than is seen in hatching a
chicken : yet is the process carried on with-
out the least glimmering of thought or com-
mon sense. The hen will mistake a piece of

^

IM INSTINCTS.

chalk for an egg; is insensible of the increase
or diminution of their number; does not
distinguish between her own and those of
another species ; is frightened when her
supposititious breed of ducklings take the
water/^

But it will be said, that what reason could
not do for the bird, observation, or instruc-
tion, 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 solu-
tion. What can be the traditionary know*
ledge 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 in-
stinct, without having recourse to experiments
upon birds hatched by artificial heat, and
deprived, from their birth, of all communica-
tion with their species: for we can hardly
bring ourselves to believe, that the parent
bird informed her unfledged pupil of the his-
tory of her gestation, her timely preparation
of a nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long
incubation, and of the joyful eruption at last

INSTINCTS. 303

of her expected offspring ; all which the bird
in the cage must have learnt in her infancy^
if we resolve her conduct into institution.

Unless we will rather suppose, that she
remembers her own escape from the egg;
had attentively observed the conformation
of the nest in which she was nurtured ; and
had treasured up her remarks for future imi-
tation : which is not only extremely impro-
bable, (for who, that sees a brood of Cal-
low birds 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 preparation 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 up-
on eggs which she has laid without any com-
munication with the male ; and which are
therefore necessarily unfruitful. That secret
she is not let into. Yet if incubation 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 domesti-
cated fowls, in which nature is forced out of
her course.

306 INSTINCTS.

There is another case of oviparous cecona-
my, which is still less likely to be the effect of
education, than it is even in birds, namely,
that of moths and butterflies^ which deposit
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 iis appropriate
food. The butterfly cannot taste the cab*
bage. Cabbage is no food for her : yet in
the cabbage, not by chance, but studiously
and elcctively, she lays her eggs. There are,
amongst many other kinds, the willow-cater-
pillar and the cabbage-caterpillar : but we
never find upon a willow, the caterpillar which
eats the cabbage; nor the converse. This
choice, as appears to me, cannot in the but-
terfly proceed from instruction. She had no
teacher in her caterpillar state. She never
knew her parent. I do not see, therefore, how
knowledge acquired by experience, if it ever
were such, could be transmitted from one ge-
neration to another. There is no opportunity
either for instruction or imitation. The pa-
rent 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, it$
tastes and habits : of which memory she

INSTlNCTfit. SO?

stioWs no sic^ns whatever. She mtist conclude
from 'dnalogy (for here her recollection can-
not serve her), that the little round body
which drops from her abdomen, will at a fu-
ture period produce a living creature, not like
herself, but like the caterpillar which she re-
members herself once to have been. Under
the influence of these reflections, she goes
about to make provision for an order of
thmgs, which she concludes will, some time
or other, take place. And it is to be obser-
ved, 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 selections^
and the plan, which we perceive in the pre-
parations which many irrational animals make
for their young, to be traced to some proba-
ble origin ; still there is left to be accounted
for, that which is the source and foundation
of these phaenomena, that which sets the
whole at work, the cro^yri^ the parental affec-
tion, which I contend to be inexplicable upon
any other hypothesis 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 repu-
tation, a compliance with public manners,
with public laws, or with rules of life built

X 2

303 INSTINCTS.

upon a long experience of their utility. And
all attempts to account for the parental affec-
tion from association, I think, fail. With
what is it associated? Most immediately with
the throes of parturition, that is, with pain
and terror and disease. The more remote,
but not less strong association, that which de-
pends 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 expec-
tation which she cherishes of a future proge-
ny, 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 brood-
ing hen should look for pleasure 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 obsta-
cle 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 recog-
nises in any shape whatever. Where shall

INSTINCTS. 309

we find a motive for her efforts and her perse-
verance ? 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
observed, seek out for their eggs those precise
situations and substances in which the off-
spring caterpillar will find its appropriate
food. That dear caterpillar, the parent but-
terfly must never see. There are no experi-
ments to prove that she would retain any
knowledge of it, if she did. How shall we
account for her conduct.^ I do not mean for
her art and judgement in selecting and se-
curing a maintenance for her young, but for
the impulse upon which she acts. What
should induce her to exert any art, or judge-
ment, or choice, about the matter? The un-
disclosed grub, the animal which she is
destined not to know, can hardly be the ob-
ject of a particular affection, if we deny the
influence of instinct. There is nothing, there-
fore, left to her, but that of which her nature
seems incapable, an abstract anxiety for the
general preservation of the species; a kind of

SIO INSTINCTS,

patriotism ; a solicitude lest the butterfly
race should cease from the creation.

Lastly ; the principle of association will
not explain the discontinuance of the affec-
tion when the young animal is grown up.
Association, operatirrg in its usual way, would
rather produce a contrary effect. The object
would become more necessary, by habits pf
society: whereas birds and beasts, after a
certam time, banish their offspring ; disown
their acquaintance ; seem to have even no
knowledge of the objects which so lately en-
grossed the attention of their minds, and oc-
cupied the industry and labour of their bodies.
This change, in different animals, takes place
at diidferent distances of time from the birth:
but the time always corresponds with the abi-
lity of the young animal to maintain itself; ne-
ver anticipates it. In the sparrow tribe, wVien
it is perceived that the young brood can fly,
and shift for themselves, then the parents for-
sake them for ever; and, though they conti-
nue to live together, pay them no more atten-
tion than they do to other birds in the same
flock*. I believe the same thing is true of
all gregarious quadrupeds.

In this part of the case, the variety of re-
sources, expedients, and materials, which ani-

* Goldsmith's Natural History, vol. iv. p. 214.

INSTINCTS. 811

mals of the same species are said to have re-
course to, under diflferent circumstances, and
when diflferently suppUed, makes nothing
against the doctrine of instincts. The thing
which we want to account for, is the propen-
sity. The propensity being there, it is pro-
bable enough that it may put the animal
upon different actions, according to different
exigencies. And this adaptation of resources
may look like the effect of art and considera-
tion, rather than of instinct : but still the
propensity is instinctive. For instance, sup-
pose what is related of the woodpecker to be
true, that in Europe she deposits her eggs in
cavities, which she scoops out in the trunks
of soft or decayed trees, and in which cavi-
ties 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 Brazils,
which man seldom frequents, 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 situa-
tion she prepares against the danger which
she has most occasion to apprehend: sup-
pose, I say, this to be true, and to be alle-
ged, on the part of the bird that builds these
nests, as evidence of a reasoning and distin-
guishing precaution ; still the question re-

S12 INSTINCTS.

turns, whence the propensity to build at
all?

Nor does parental affection accompany ger
neration by any universal law of aninidl orr
ganisation, 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 it3
wants and capacities. In manv, the parental
care extends to the young animal ; in others,
as in all oviparous fish, it is confined to the
egg, and even, as to that, to the disposal of
it in its proper element. Also, as there is
generation without parental affi ction, so is
there parental instinct, or what exactly re-
sembles it, without generation. In the bee
tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the
father nor the mother, but by the neutral bee.
Probably the case is the same with ants.

I an) not ignorant of the theory which re-
solves instinct into sensation ; which asserts,
that what appears to have a view and relation
to the future, is the result only of the present
disposition of the animaFs body, and of plea-
sure or pain experienced at the time. Thus
the incubation of eggs is accounted for by
the pleasure which the bird is supposed to

INSTINCTS, StS

receive from the pressure of the smooth con-
vex 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 Us usual state.
This present gratificatioii is tiie only motive
with the hen for sitting upon her nest ; the
hatching of the chickens is, with respect
to her, an accidental consequence. The af-
fection of viviparous animals for their young
is, in like manner, solved by tlie relief, and
perhaps the pleasure, which they perceive
from giving suck. The young animal's seek-
ing, in so many instances, the teat of its dam,
is explained from its sense of smell, which is
attracted by the odour of milk. The salmon's
urging its way up the stream of fresh- water
rivers, is attributed to some gratification or
refreshment, which, in this particular state of
the fish's body, she receives from the change
of element. Now of this theory it may be
3aid,

First, that of the cases which require solu-
tion, there are few to which it can be applied
with tolerable probability ; that there are
none to which it can be applied without
strong objections, furnished by the circum-
stances of the case. The attention of the

814 INSTINCTS.

COW to its calfj and of the ewe to its lamb,
appear to be prior to their sucking. The at-
traction 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 milk so ao:reeable to the lamb,
that it should follow it up with its nose,
or seek with its mouth the place from which
it proceeded ? No observation, no experi-
ence, 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 nourishment, ever offer to
suck, or to seek out any such foodo What
is the conclusion, but that the sugescent 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 consideration, it does not at all less-
en the force of the argument for intention
and design. The doctrine of instinct is that
of appetencies^ superadded to the constitu-
tion of an animal, for the effectuating of a
purpose beneficial to the species. The above-
stated solution would derive these appeten-
cies from organisation ; but then this organic

INSTINCl'S, SI 5

sation is not less specifically, not less precise-
ly, and, therefore, not less evidently adapted
to the same ends, than the jippetencies them-
selves would be upon the old hypothesis, la
this way of considering the subject, sensation
gupphes 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 brood u[)on her
eggs by the enjoyment or relief, which, in the
heated state of her abdomen, she experiences
from the pressure of round smooth sur-
faces, or from the application of a temperate
warmth. How comes this extraordinary heat
or itching, or call it what you will, which
you suppose to be the cause of the bird's in-
clination, to be felt, just at the time when the
inclination itself is wanted ; when it tallies so
exactly with the internal constitution of the
egg, and with the help which that constitu-
tion requires in order to bring it to matu-
rity ? In my opinion, this solution, if it be
accepted as to the fact, ought to increase,
rather than otherwise, our admiration of the
contrivance. A gardener lighting up his
stoves, just when he wants to force his fruit,
and when his trees require the heat, gives
not a more certain evidence of design. So
again ; when a male and female sparrow

316 INSTINCTS.

come together, they do not meet to confer
upon the expediency of perpetuating their
species. As an abstract proposition, they
care not the value of a barley-corn, whether
the species be perpetuated, or not : they fol-
low their sensations; and all those conse-
quences ensue, which the wisest counsels
could have dictated, which the most solici-
tous care of futurity, which the most anxious
concern for the sparrow-world, could have
produced. But how do these consequences
ensue ? The sensations, and the constitution
upon which they depend, are as manifestly
directed to the purpose which we see fulfilled
by them ; and the train of intermediate ef-
fects, as manifestly laid and planned with a
view to that purpose : that is to say, design
is as completely evinced by the pha^nomena,
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 distmct from the attainment of
that end.

In a word ; I should say to the patrons of
this opinion, Be it so ; be it, that those ac-
tions of animals which we refer to instinct,
'4i:p. not gone ^boqt with any view to their:

INSTINCTS* 317

consequences, but that they are attended 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 ori-
gin 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,'' say.5
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, deputed by the Sovereign Lord and
Preserver of the world, to help such young
and shiftless creatures V Neither ouo'ht 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
sitting upon her nest; how repugnant it is
to her organisation; her habits, and her plea-
sures. An animal, formed for liberty, bub-

518 INSTINCTS.

mits to confinement, in the very season when
every thing invites her abroad : what is more;
an animal delighting in motion, made for mo-
tion, 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 pms and wares. For my part,
I never see a bird in that situation, but I re-
cognise an invisible hand, detaining the con-
tented prisoner from her fields and groves,
for the purpose, as the event proves, the most
worthy of the sacrifice, the most important,
the most beneficial.

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 l)one by sitting upon her eggs.

One observation more, and I will dismiss
the subject. The pairing of birds, and the
non- pairing of beasts, forms a distinction be-
tween the two classes, which shows, that the
conjugal instinct is modified with a reference
to utility founded on the condition of the off-
spring. 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 wanged race, the young bird is supplied

OF INSECTS. 319

by an importation of food, to procure and
bring home which, in a sufficient quantity
for tlie demand of a numerous brood, requires
the industry of both parents. In this differ-
ence, we see a reason for the vagrant instinct
of the quadruped, and for the faithful love of
tlie feathered mate.

CHAPTER XIX.

OF INSliCTS,

We are not writing a system of irdtural his-
tory ; therefore we have not attended to the
classes, into which the subjects of that science
are diiitributed. 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 pro-
perly be introduced under any of these heads ;
and which therefore we have collected into a
chapter by themselves.

The structure, and the use of the parts, of
insects, are less understood than that of qua-
drupeds and birds, not only b}^ reason of
their minuteness, or the minuteness of their

520 OF INSECTS.

parts (for that minuteness we can, in some
measure, follow with glasses), but also by
reason ot* the remoteness of their manners
and modes of life from those of larger ani-
mals. For instance : Insects, under all their
varieties of form, are endowed with antenncE^
which is the n-ame 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
been ascertained, bv^cause it admits not of a
clear, or very prol)'dble, comparison, 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 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 constitution, which
we might wish to be acquainted with. Ne-
vertheless, there are many contrivances in
the bodies of insects, neither dubious in their
use, nor obscure in their structure, and most
properly mechanical. These form parts oiour
argument.

I. The elytra^ or scaly wings of the genus
of scarabeeus or beetle, furnish an example of
this kind. The truQ wing of the animal is a

OF INSECTS. S21

light, transparent membrane, finer than the
finest gauze, and not unUke 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 impene-
trable 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, «. e. of muscular tendons,
must run in various and complicated, but
determinate directions, along this fine sur-
face, in order to enable the animal, either to
gather it up into a certain precise form, when-
ever 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 ai
small part of it ; but in all, they completely,^
hide and cover the true wings. Also, i

Many or most of the beetle species lodge -
in holes in the earth, environed by hardj

Y

322 OF INSECTS.

rough substances, and have frequently to
squeeze their way through narrow passages;
in which situation, wings so tender, and so
large, could scarcely have escaped injury,
without both a firm coverins: to defend them,
and the capacity of collecting themselves up
under its protection.

II. Another contrivance, equally mechanic
cal, and equally clear, is the awl^ or borer,
fixed at the tails of various species of flies ;
and with which they pierce, in some cases,
plants ; in others, wood ; in others, the 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 substance, they deposit
their eggs in the hole. The descriptions
which naturalists give of this organ, are
such as the following : It is a sharp-point-
ed instrument, which, in its inactive state,
lies concealed in the extremity of the ab-
domen, and which the animal draws out at
pleasure, for the purpose of making a punc-
ture in the leaves, stem, or bark, of the par-
ticular plant, which is suited to the nourish-
ment of its young. In a sheath, M'hich di-
vides and opens whenever the organ is used,
there is enclosed a compact, solid, dentated

OF IXSECTS.

stem, along which runs n gutter or groove, by
which groove, after the penetration is effect-
ed, the egg, assisted, in some cases, by a pe-
ristaltic motion, passes to its destined lodge-
ment. In the oestrum or gad-fly, the wimble
draws out like the pieces of a spy-glass ; the
last piece is armed with three hooks, and is
able to bore through the hide of an ox. Can
any thing more be necessary to display the
mechanism, than to relate the fact ?

IIL The stings of insects, though for a dif-
ferent purpose, are, in their structure, not
unlike the piercer. The sharpness to w4iich
the point in all of them is wrought ; the tem-
per and firmness of the 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 and friable texture of the rest
of the body ; are properties of the sting to
be noticed, and n5t a little to be admired.
The stingof aZ)6e will pierce through a goat-
skin glove. It penetrates the human flesh
more readily than the finest point of a
needle. The action of the sting affords an
example of the union of chymistry and me-
c^hanism, such as, If it be not a proof of con-
trivance, nothing is. First, as to the chy-
mistry ; how highly concentrated must be

Y 2

324 OP INSECTS.

the venom, which, in so small a quantity, can
produce such powerful effects ! And in the
bee we 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 re-
spect to the mechanism, the sting is not a
simple, but a compound instrument. The
visible sting, though drawn to a point exqui-
sitely 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 launch-
ed 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 me--
chanism are here united : by v/hich observa-
tion 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 fur-
nished to it by the chymical elaboration
which was carried on in the insect's body ;

OF INSECTS. 325

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 abdo-
men, in had not found there a machinery, fit-
ted 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 ac-
tion, 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 in-
sects 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 ; there-
fore, 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 of-
fice 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 pro-
per nourishment of the animal, is sufficiently

S26 OF INSECTS.

evident. The food of the bee Is the nectar
of flowers ; a drop of syrup, lodged deep in
the bottom of the corollae, in the recesses of
the petals, or down the neck of a monope-
taloas glove. Into these cells the bee thrusts
its long narrow pump, through the cavity of
which it sucks up this precious fluid, inacces-
sible to every other approach. It is obser-
vable also, that the plant is not the worse for
what the bee does to it. The harmless plun-
derer rifles the sweets, but leaves the flower
uninjured. The ringlets of which the pro-
boscis 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
our purpose to observe, in general, the suit-
ableness of the S;tructure 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 are such), when the purpose
could be better answered by the deviation.

In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue,
or trunk, is shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath ;
which sheath, being of a much firmer texture
than the proboscis itself, as well as sharpened
at the point, pierces the substance which con-

OF INSECTS. 3^7

tains the food, and then opejis within the
wounds to allow the enclosed 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, turn-
ed into a black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with
gauze wings. These, as I said, are astonish-
ing 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 an-
other, all nourished by the same digestion,
and by a communicating circulation ; but in
diflferent stages of maturity. The latest dis-
coveries made by naturalistsj seem to favour
this supposition. The insect already equip-
ped with wings, is descried under the mem-
branes both of the worni and nymph. In

328 OF INSECTS.

some species, the proboscis, the antennse, the
limbs, and wings of the fly, have been observ-
ed to be folded up within the body of the ca-
terpillar ; and with such nicety as to occupy
a small space only under the two first wings.
This being so, the outermost animal, which,
besides its own proper character, serves as an
integument to the other two, being the far-
thest advanced, dies, as we suppose, and drops
off first. The second, the pupa 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 appear-
ance of the fly or moth. Now, if this be the
case, or indeed whatever explication be adopts
ed, we have a prospective contrivance of the
most curious kind : we have organisations
three deep ; yet a vascular system, which
supplies nutrition, growth, and life, to all of
them together.

VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Na-
ture keeps her butterflies, moths, and cater-
pillars, locked up during the winter in their
egg-state ; and we have to admire the vari-
ous devices to which, if we may so speak,
the same nature hath resorted, for the secii^
rity of the egg. Many insects enclose their
eggs in a silken web ; others cover them with

OF INSECTS. S29

&, coat of hair, torn from their own bodies ;
some glue them together ; and others, Hke
the moth of the silkworm, glue them to the
leaves upon which they are deposited, that
they may not be shaken off by the wind, or
washed away by rain : some again make in-
cisions 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, deposit
their eggs in it. In all which we are to ob-
serve, that the expedient depends, not so
much upon the address of the animal, as up-
on the physical resources of his constitution.
The art also with which the young insect
h coiled up 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,
notwithstanding 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
collocation of the parts w^ould be more various

330 OF INSECTS.

than it is. In the same species, I beUeve,
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 spe-
cies ; but not, perhaps, less important or
satisfactory.

I. The organisation in the abdomen of
the silkworm^ or spider^ whereby these in-
sects form their thready is as incontestably
mechanical as a wire-drawer's mill. In the
body of the silkworm are two bags, remark-
able for their form, position, and use. They
"wind round the intestine ; when drawn out,
they are ten inches in length, though the
animal itself be only two. Within these
bags, is collected a glue ; and communica-
ting with the bags, are two paps or outlets,
perforated, like a grater, by a number of
small holes. The glue or gum, being passed
through these minute apertures, forms hairs
of almost imperceptible fineness ; and these
hairs, when joined, compose the silk which
we wind off from the cone, in which the silk-
worm has wrapped itself up : in the spider,
the web is formed from this thread. In both
cases, the extremity of the diread, by means
of its adhesive quality, is first attached by
the animal to some external hold ; and th«

OF INSECTS. 331

end being now fastened to a point, the insect,
by turning round its body, or by receding
from that point, draws out the thread through
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, except in figure.
In the animal process, the nature of the sub-
stance is somewhat changed, as well as the
form ; for, as it exists withm 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
property, however, of the paste, is part of
the contrivance.

The mechanism itself consists of the bags,
or reservoirs, 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 pre-
pared through holes of proper dimensions.
The secretion is an act too subtile for our
discernment, except as we perceive it by the
produce. But one thing answers ta another;

S32 OF INSECTS.

the secretory glands to the quality and con-
sistence required in the secreted substance ;
the bag to its reception : the outlets and
orifices are constructed, not merely for re-
lieving the reservoirs of their burden, but
for manufacturing 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 furnished every naturalist with a set of
observations. 1 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 com-
modiously the honey is bestowed in the
comb ; and, amongst other advantages, how
effectually the fermentation 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, inde-
pendently 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^

OF INSECTS. 333

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 httle, come
from a different origin. The bee finds the
honey, but makes the wax. The honey is
lodged in the nectaria of flowers, and proba-
bly undergoes little alteration ; is merely
collected: whereas the wax is a ductile, tena-
cious 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 rendered of facts so
circumstanced, but that the animal, being
intended to feed upon honey, was, by a pe-
culiar external configuration, enabled to pro-
cure it? That, moreover, wanting the honey
when it could not be procured at all, it was
farther endued with the no less necessary fa-
culty, of constructing repositories for its pre-
servation? Which faculty, it is evident, must
depend, primarily, upon the capacity of pro-
viding suitable materials. Two distinct func-
tions 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-

534 OF INSECTS.

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 opera-
tion, there is, secondly, that v\hich doth not
rest in art or will, — a digestive faculty which
converts the loose powder into a stiff sub-
stance. This is a just account of the honey,
and the honey-comb ; and this account,
through every part, carries a creative intel-
ligence 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 w^hich invites so
many robbers.

III. Our business is with mechanism. In
the panorpa tribe of insects, there is a for-
ceps 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 its structure? or is any struc-
ture rmore 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 ex-
tremities, with which the fly dresses, as there
may be occasion, the anterior or the poste-

* Vol. i. p. 342.

OF INSECTS. S35

rior 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 dis-
tinction.

V. If the reader, looking to our distribu-
tions of science, wish to contemplate the
chymistry, as well as the mechanism, of na«
ture, 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 it, than for
other insects. That singularity seems to be
the difference which subsists between the
'male and the female ; which difference is
greater than what we find in any other spe-
cies of animal whatever. The glow-worm
is a female caterpillar ; the male of which
is a Jiy ; lively, comparatively small, dissi-
milar to the female in appearance, probably
also as distinguished from her in habits^ pur-

856 or INSECTS.

suits, and manners, as he is unlike in form
and external constitution. Here then is the
adversity of the case. The caterpillar can-
not meet her companion in the air. The
winged rover disdains the ground. They
might never therefore be brought together,
did not jhis 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 ingenious device, to make
phosphoric matches supply the place of light-
ed tapers. Now this very thing is done in
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^

IV. Nor is the last the only instance that
entomology affords, in which our discoveries,
or rather our projects, turn out to be imita-
tions of nature. Some years ago, a plan was
suggested, of producing propulsion by re-ac-
tion 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

OF INSECTS. 337

push the Boat itself forward ; it is, in truth,
the principle by which sky-rockets ascend in
the air. Of the use or practicability of the
plan, I am not speaking ; nor is it my con-
cern to praise its ingenuity : but it is certainly
a contrivance. Now, if naturalists are to be
believed, it is exactly the device which nature
has made use of, for the motion of some
species of aquatic insects. The larva of the
dragon-fiy^ according to Adams, swims by
ejecting water from its tail; is driven forward
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 sur-
prised by the elevation of bodies in the air
by means of a balloon. The discovery con-
sisted 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 Author of nature has
employed in the gossamer spider. We fre-
quently 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

z

338 OF INSECTS.

*

width. The animal which forms the thread,
has no wings wherewith to fly from one ex-
tremity to the other of this line ; nor mus-
cles 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 man-
ner. 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 itself, 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 traversing regions,
which, if we examined only the body of the
animal, might seem to have been forbidden to
its nature.

1 must now crave the reader's permission
to introduce into this place, for want of a
better, an observation or two upon the tribe
of animals, whether belonging to land or wa-
ter, which are covered by shells.

I. The slitlls of snails are a wonderful, a
^lechanical, and, if one might so speak con-
cerning the works of nature, an original pon-

OF tNSECTg. 33^

trivance. 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 egg 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, whereby it
avails itself of its gift, and of the constitution
of its glands (to say nothing of the work be-
ing commenced 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 ani-
mal 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 quality of the excretion. Add
to which, that the shell of a snail, with its
pillar and convolution, is a very artificial
fabric ; whilst a snail, as it should seem,
is the most numb and unprovided of all ar-
tificers. In the midst of variety, there is

z 2

34© OF INSECTS.

likewise a regularity, which would hardly be
expected. In the same species of snail, the
number of turns is usually, if not always, tlie
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-Jish, 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 hard-
ness of most of these shells. I do not know
whether, the weight being given, art can pro-
duce 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, settings 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; which may be
reckoned a kind of exsiccation, like the drying
of clay into bricks.

OF INSECTS. S41

III. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, coc-
kles, muscles, oysters, &c. 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 ar-
ticulations 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 co-
vering which may guard the part without
obstructing its motion. For this double
purpose, the art of man, expressly exercised
upon the subject, has not been able to de-
vise any thing better than what nature pre-
sents to his observation. Is not this there-
fore 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

545 OF INSECTS.

from it, in the instance before us, may be
disposed, possibly, to ask, why such imita-
tions are not more frequent than they are, if
it be true, as we allege, that the same prin-
ciple of intelligence, design, and mechanical
contrivance, was exerted in the formation of
natural bodies, as w^e employ in the making
of the various instruments by which our pur-
poses are served ? The answers to this ques-
tion are, first, that it seldom happens, that
precisely the same purpose, and no other, is
pursued in any work which w^e compare, of
nature and of art ; secondly, that it still more
seldom happens, that we caii imitate nature,
if we would. Our materials and our work^
nianship are equally deficient. Springs and
wires, and cork and leather, produce a poor
substitute for an arm or a hand. In the ex-
ample which we have selected, I mean a lob-
ster^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 contri-
vance, and imitates it closely,

But to return to insects. I think it is in

OF INSECTS. S4.^

this class of animals above all others, espe-
cially when we take in the multitude of spe-
cies which the microscope discovers, that w^e
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 w^ell 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 hun-
dred kinds of butterflies, nocturnal and diur-
nal. He likewise asserts, but, I think,
without any grounds of exact computation,
that the number of species of insects, reckon-
ing all sorts of them, may not be short of
ten thousandj*. 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 differ-
ent methods, or rather of the studiously di-
versified methods, by which one and the
same purpose is attained. In the article of
breathing, for example, which was to be pro-^
* Vol. i. p. 3, t ' Wisd. of God, p. 23,

344 OF INSECTS.

vided for in some way or other, besides the or-
dinary varieties of lungs, gills, and breathing-
holes (for insects in general respire, not by
the mouth, but through holes in the sides),
the nj^mphae of gnats have an apparatus to
raise their hacks to the top of the v, ater, and
so take breath. The hydrocanthari do the
hke by thrusting 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 na-
tural 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 ex-
pedient 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 fee tor, or of
blackening the water through which they are
pursued. The consideration of these appear-
ances might induce us to believe, that variety

* Derham, p. 7.

OF PLANTS. 345

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 organised life, the
Deity has given, or perhaps there arises out
of it, a corresponding variet}^ of animal ap-
petites. 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 ac-
commodated, than what at present live con-
veniently together, and find a plentiful sub-
sistence. What one nature rejects, another
deliohts in. Food which is nauseous to one
tribe of animals, becomes, by that very pro-
perty which makes it nauseous, an alluring
dainty to another tribe. Carrion is a treat
to dogs, ravens, vultures, fish. The exhala-
tions of corrupted substances, attract flies by
crowds. Maggots revel in putrefaction.

CHAPTER XX.

OF PLANTS.

I THINK a desi^ined and studied mechanism
to be, in general, more evident in animals
than in plants : and it is unnecessary to

S4G OF PLAIS^TS.

dwell upon a weaker argument, where si
stronger is at hand. There are, however, a
few^ observations upon the vegetable king-^
doiUj which lie so directly in our way, that
it would be improper to pass by them with-
out notice.

The one great intention of nature in the
structure of plants seems to be the perfect-
ing 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 ad-
vantage which can be given to them of situa-
tion in the plant, those parts which most
immediately contribute to fructification, viz.
the antheree, the stamina, and the stigmata.
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 exposure, 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 expansion of the petals; after which
they have, in many cases, by the very form i
of the flower during its blow, the light and

OF PLANTS. 347

warmth reflected upon them from the con-
cave side of the cup. What is called also
the sleep of plants, is the leaves or petals
disposing themselves in such a manner as to
shelter the young stems, buds, or fruit. They
turn up, or they fall down, according as this
purpose renders either change of position re-
quisite. 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 consistency. In some
w^ater- plants, the flowering and fecundation
are carried on within the stem, which after*
w^ards opens to let loose the impregnated
seed*. The ^ea or papilionaceous tribe, en^
close the parts of fructification within a beau-
tiful folding of the internal blossom, some-
times called, from its shape, the boat or
keel; itself also protected under a penthouse
formed by the external petals. This struc-
ture is very artificial ; and, what adds to the
value of it, though it may diminish the cu-
riosity, very general. It has also this farther
advantage (and it is an advantage strictly
mechanical), that all the blossoms turn their
backs to the wind, whenever the gale blows
strong enough to endanger the delicate parts

♦ Philos. Tranisact. partii. 179^', p. 502.

S4S OF PLANTS.

upon which the seed depends. I have ob-
served this a hundred times in a field of peas
in blossom. It is an aptitude which results
from the figure of the flower, and, as we have
said, is strictly mechanical ; as much so, as
the turning of a weather-board or tin cap up-
on 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 cur-
vature in the upper part of the stem giving to
it that position ; and in that position it is
impenetrable by rain or moisture. When the
head has acquired its size, and is ready to
open, the stalk erects itself, for the purpose,
as it should seem, of presenting the flower,
and with the flower, the instruments of fruc-
tification, to the genial influence of the sun's
Fays. This always struck me as a curious
property ; and specifically, as well as origi-
nally, provided for in the constitution of the
plant: for, if the stem be only bent by the
weight of the head, how comes it to straight-
en itself when the head is the heaviest? These
instances shew the attention of nature to
this principal object, the safety and matura-
tion of the p^rts upon which the seed de-
pends.

In trees^ especially in those which are na-
tives of colder climates, this point is taken up

OF PLANTS. 349

earlier. Many of these trees (observe in par-
ticular the asli and the horse-chestnut) pro-
duce the embryos of the leaves and flowers
in one year, and bring them to perfection the
following. There is a winter therefore to be
gotten over. Now what we are to remark is,
how nature has prepared for the trials and
severities of that season. These tender em-
bryos are, in the first place, wrapped up with
a compactness, which no art can imitate : in
which state, they compose what we call the
bud. This is not all. The bud itself is en-
closed in scales ; which scales are formed
from the remains of past leaves, and the ru-
diments of future ones. Neither is this the
whole. In the coldest climates, a third pre-
servative is added, by the bud having a coat
of gum or resin, which, being congealed, re-
sists the strongest frosts. On the approach
of warm weather, this gum is softened, and
ceases to be a hinderance 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

55Q OF PLANTS.

a tube, through which tube the farina, or
some subtile fecundating effluvium that issues
from it, is admitted to the seed. And here
also occurs a mechanical variety, accommo-
dated to the different circumstances under
which the same purpose is to be accomplish-
ed. 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 caught, in its descent, by the head
of the pistil, called the stigma. But how is
this managed when the flowers 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 pistil In these flowers is
usually longer, instead of shorter, than the
stamina, that its protruding summit may re-
ceive the pollen as it drops to the ground.
In some cases (as in the nigella)^ where the
shafts of the pistils or stiles are disproportion-
ably long, they bend down their extremities
upon the antherse, that the necessary ap-
proximation may be effected.

But (to pursue this great work in its pro-
gress), the impregnation, to which all this ma-
chinery relates, being completed, the other
parts of the flower fade and drop off, whilst

OF PLANTS. S5i

the gravid seed-vessel, on the contrary, pro-
ceeds to increase its bulk, always to a great,
and in some species (in the gourd, for exam-
ple, and melon), to a surprising comparative
size; assuming in different plants an incalcu-
lable variety of forms, but all evidently con-
ducing to the security of the seed. By vir-
tue of this process, so necessary, but so diver-
sified, we have the seed, at length, in stone-
fruits and nuts, incased in a strong shell, the
shell itself enclosed 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 over-
head 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 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,

* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led,
even without experience, to suppose, that part of this provi-
sion 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
gratification of animal natures; and when we observe aprovi-

Z52 OF PLAN'TS/

and grasses ; in trees, and shrubs, and flow-
ers ; the variety of the seed-vessels is income
pu table. We have the seeds (as in the pea
tribe) regularly disposed in parchment pods,
which, though soft and membranous, com-
pletely 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

sion to be more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for
another purpose, it is not unfair to conclude that both pur-
poses were contemplated together. It favours this view of the
subject to remark, that fruits are not (which they might have
been) ready all together, but that they ripen in succession
throughout a great part of the year; some in summer; some
in autumn; that some require the slow maturation of the win-
ter, and supply the spring; also that the coldest fruits grow in
the hottest places. Cucumbers, pine-apples, melons, are the
natural produce of warm climates, and contribute greatly, by
their coolness, to the refreshment of the inhabitants of those
countries.

I will add to this note the following observation communi-
cated to me by Mr. Brinkley :

" The eatable part of the cherry or peach first serves the
purposes of perfecting the seed or kernel, by means of vessels
passing through the stone, and which are very visible in a
peach-stone. After the kernel is perfected, the stone becomes
hard, and the vessels cease their functions. But the substance
surrounding the stone is not then thrown away as useless;
That which was before only an instrument for perfecting the
kernel, now receives and retains to itself the whole of the sun's
influence, and thereby becomes a grateful food to man. Also
what an evident mark of design is the stone protecting the ker-
nel ! The intervention of the stone prevents the second use
from interfering with the first."

OF PLANTS. S53

(as in the senna) distended like a blown blad-
der : 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 spieks and prickles ; in mush-
rooms, placed under a penthouse ; in ferns,
within slits in the back part of the leaf: ot
(which is the most general organisation 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 grains and of
grasses.

In which enumeration, what we have first
to notice is, unity of purpose under variety of
expedients. Nothing can be more single
than the design ; more diversified than the
means. Pellicles, shells, pulps, pods, husks,
skin, scales armed with thorns, are all em-
ployed 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

2 A

354 OF PLANTS.

would overrun the soil ; or the seed be wasted
for want of room to sow itself. It is, some-
times, as necessary to destroy particular spe-
cies of plants, as it is, at other times, to en-
courage their growth. Here, as in many
cases, a balance is to be maintained between
opposite uses. The provisions for the preser-
vation of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly
against the inconstancy of the elements, or
the sweeping destruction of inclement sea-
sons. The depredation of animals, and the
injuries of accidental violence, are allowed for
in the abundance of the increase. The re-
sult is, that out of the many thousand differ-
ent plants which cover the earth, not a single
species, perhaps, has been lost since the cre-
ation.

When nature has perfected her seeds, her
next care is to disperse them. The seed can-
not answer its purpose, while it remains con-
fined in the capsule. After the seeds there-
fore are ripened, the pericarpium opens to let
them out ; and the opening is not like an ac-
cidental bursting, but, for the most part, is
according to a certain rule in each plant.
What I have always thought very extraordi-
nary ; nuts and shells, which we can hardly
crack with our teeth, divide and make way
for the little tender sprout which proceed*

OF PLANTS. 355

from the kernel. Handling the nnt, I could
hardly conceive how the plantule was ever to
get out of it. There are cases, it is said, in
which tVie seed-vessel by an elastic jerk, at
the moment of its explosion, casts the seeds
to a distance. We all however know, that
many seeds (those of most composite flowers,
as of the thistle, dandelion, &c.) are endowed
with what are not improperly called wings ;
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 re-
sistance 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 pur-
poses : first, for the safety of the germ ; se-
condly, for the temporary support of the fu-
ture plant. The sprout, as folded up in the
seed, is delicate and brittle beyond any
other substance. It cannot be touched with-
out being broken. Yet, in beans, peas,
grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on

2 a2

356 OF PLANTS.

all sides, so shut up and protected, that,
whilst the seed itself is rudely handled, toss-
ed into sacks, shoveled into heaps, the sacred
particle, the miniature plant, remains unhurt.
It is wonderful also, how long many kinds
of seeds, 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,
the germ composes a very small part of the
seed. The rest consists of a nutritious sub-
stance, from which the sprout draws its ali-
ment 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 oeconomy
also, in which we remark a close analogy be-
tween the seeds of plants, and the eggs of
animals. The same point is provided for, in

OF PLANTS. Sb^

the same manner, in both. In the egg, the
residence ot 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 nourish-
ment, till it have 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 contri-
vance belonging to it: in both it breaks the
transition from prepared to unprepared ali-
ment ; in both, it is prospective and com-
pensatory. In animals which suck, this in-
termediate nourishment is supplied by a dif-
ferent source.

In all subjects, the most common observa-
tions 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 touch-
ed upon, their germination. When a grain
of corn is cast into the ground, this is th^'
change which takes place. From one end of
the grain issues a green sprout ; from the'
other, a number of white fibrous threads.'

35S OF PLANTS.

How can this be explained ? 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 ru-
diments ; 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 remark-
able, the parts issuing from the seed take
their respective directions, into whatever po-
sition the seed itself happens to be cast. If
the seed be thrown into the wrongest possi-
ble position ; that is, if the ends point in the
ground, the reverse of what they ougljt 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 extraordinary
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

OF PLANTS. 359

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 experiment than it is, it only shifts the
contrivance. It does not disprove the con-
trivance ; it only removes it a little farther
back. Who, to use our author^s own lan-
guage, " 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 ele-
ment, and precisely by that which the suc-
cess of the vegetation 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 prepara-
tion 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 direc-
tion.

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

* Darwin's Phytologia, p. 144.

360 OF PLANTS.

shoots : one bearing the flower and fruit ;
the other, drawn out into a wire, a long, ta-
pering, spiral tendril, that twists itself round
any thing which lies within its reach. Con-
sidering, that in this class two purposes are
to be provided for (and together), fructifica-
tion and support, the fruitage of the plant,
and the sustentation of the stalk, what means
could be used more effectual, or, as I have
said, more mechanical, than what this struc-
ture presents to ovir eyes ? Why, or how,
without a view to this double purpose, do
two shoots, of such diflPerent and appropri-
ate forms, spring from the same joint, from
contiguous 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, ^ww^AecJ
with these tendrils.'' Make only so simple
a comparison as that between a pea and £^
bean. Why does the pea put forth terjdnls,
the bean, not ; but because the stalk of the-
pea. cai^/apt support itself, the stalk of th^
beai>j c^n ? \T^(e may/ add also, as a circum-
stance npt to be overlooked, that in the pea
tribe, these clasps do not make their appear-

OF PLANTS. 3GI

ance till they are wanted ; till the plant has
grown to a height to stand in need of sup-
port.

This word " support'" suggests to us a re-
flection upon a property of grasses, of corn,
and canes. The hollow stems of these classes
of plants are set, at certain 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
purpose designed by them, that they corro-
borate the stem ; which, by its length and
hollowness, would otherwise be too liable to
break or bend.

Grasses are Nature^s care. With these she
clothes the earth ; with these she sustains
its inhabitants. Gattle 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,
theit^ extraordinary means and powers of pre-
servation and increase, their hardiness, thein
almost unconquerable disposition to spread,
their faculties of reviviscence, coincide with
the. intention of nature concerning them.
They thrive under a treatment by which

362 OF PLANTS.

Other plants are destroyed. The more their
leaves are consumed, the more their roots
increase. The more they are trampled upon,
the thicker they grow. Many of the seem-
ingly dry and dead leaves of grasses revive,
and renew their verdure, in the spring. In
lofty mountains, where the summer heats are
not sufficient to ripen the seeds, grasses
abound, which are viviparous, and conse-
quently 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
strav/s which support the flowers*.

The GENERAL properties of vegetable na-
ture, or properties common to large portions
of that kingdom, are almost all which the
compass of our argument allows to bring for-
ward. 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 singular mechanism, or by some pe-
culiar provision, or by both.

I. In Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden (1. 395,
note), is the following account of the valliS"

* Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 28, ed. 2d.

OF PLANTS. 36 J

neria^ as it has been observed in the river
Rhone. — " They have roots at the bottom of
the Rhone. The flowers of the Jhnale plant
Hoat on the surface of the water, and are
furnished with an elastic^ spii^al stalky which
extends or contracts as the water rises or
falls ; this rise or fall, from the torrents
which flow into the river, 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,'*
which 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 produced under water,
to the female flower which floats upon the
surface.

11. My second example I take from Wi-
thering's Arrangement, vol. ii. p. 209- ed. 3.
" The cuscuta europcea is a parasitical plaqt.
The seed opens, and puts forth a little spiral
hody^ which does not seek the earth, to take
root ; but climbs in a spiral direction, from

SS4r OF PLAKTS.

right to left, up other plants, from which,
by means of vessels, it draws its nourishment/^
The " 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 down-
wards ; this points upwards. In the rule,
and in the exception, we equally perceive de-
sign.

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 endued 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 these seeds, insinuate their
fibres into the woody substance of the tree ;
and the event is, that a misseltoe plant is
produced next winter^. Of no other plant
do the roots refuse to shoot in the ground :

* Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203, ed. 2d.

J

OF PLANTS. 365

of no other plant do the seeds possess this
adhesive, generative quahty, when apphed
to the bark of trees.

IV. Another instance of the compensatory
system is in the autumnal crocus, or meadow
saffron {colchicum autumnale). I have pitied
this poor plant a thousand times. Its blos-
som rises out of the ground in the most for-
lorn 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 summer suns, but under all the disad-
vantages of the declining 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 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 stiles
in all cases reach the seed-vessel ; 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 \p,

366 OF J 'LA NTs.

the year, and, probably, would not have
time to ripen its seeds before the access of
winter, which would destroy them ; Provi-
dence 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 au-
tumn nothing is done above ground but the
business of impregnation ; which is an affair
between the anthera3 and the stigmata, and
is probably soon over. 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 perfected, 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, " 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 springs upon a fruit-stalk,

* Withering, ubi supra, p. 360.

OF PLAM9. 367

accompanied with leaves. The seeds now,
in common with those of other plants, have
the benefit of the summer, and are sown upon
the surface. The order of vegetation exter-
nally is this : — The plant produces its flowers
in September; its leaves and fruits in the
spring following.

V. I give the account of the dioncea mm-
cipula, an extraordinary American plant, as
some late authors 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 surfaces covered with a num-
ber of minute glands, which secrete a sweet
liquor that allures the approach 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 them-
selves fast together, and squeeze the unwary
animal to death ^." Here, under a new mo-
del, we recognise the ancient plan of nature,
viz. the relation of parts and provisions to
one another, to a common office, and to the
utility of the organised body to which they
belong. The attracting syrup, the rows of

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

368 THE ELEMENTS,

Strong prickles, their position so as to inter-
lock, the joints of the leaves ; and, what
is more than the rest, that singular irrita-
bility 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.

CHAPTER XXL

THE ELEMENTS,

When we come to the elements, we take
leave of our mechanics ; because Wje come to
those things, of the organisation of which, if
they be organised, we are confessedly igno-
rant. This ignorance 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 in-
stance, 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,

THE ELEMENTSt SG9

tvlthout knowing vvl>at water is/' Tiie ob-
servation of this excellent writer has motQ
propriety in it now, than it had at the time
it was made : for the constitution, and the
constituent parts, of water, appear in some
measure to have been lately discovered ; vet
it does not, I think, appear, that we can
make any better or greater use of water since
the discovery, than we did before it.

We can never think of the elements, with-
out reflecting upon the number of distinct
uses which are consolidated in the same sub*
stance. The air supplies the lungs, supports
fire, conveys sound, reflects light, difllises
smells, gives rain, wafts ships, bears up birds^
^E| vSarog rot 'iravroi : water ^ besides maintain-
ing its own inhabitants, is the universal
nourisher of plants, and through them of ter-
restrial animals ; is the basis of their juices
and fluids; dilutes their food; quenches their
thirst, floats their burdens. Wire warms, dis-
solves, enlightens; is the great promoter of
vegetation and life, if not necessary to the
support of both.

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

52 B

370 'TfiE ELBAlENTS.

I. Air is essentially different from earth.
There appears to be no necessity for an at-
mosphere's investing our globe ; 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 organised, beings, which are placed
upon the terrestrial surface. I think that
every one of these uses will be understood
upon the first mention of them, except it be
that of reflecting light, which may be ex-
plained thus : — If I had the powder 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 re-
flected light, yet by means only of light re-
flected from solid masses, 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 cf the sun being from
all sides, and in every direction, reflected to
the eye, by particles, as numerous, as thickly
scattered, and as widely diffused, as are
those of the air.

Another general q^rality of the atmosphere
is the power of evaporating fluids. The ad-
justment of this quality to our use is seen in

THE ELEMENTS. 3?!

its action upon the sea. In the sea, water
and salt are mixed together most intimately;
yet the atmosphere raises the water, and
leaves the saU. Pure and fresh as (h*ops of
rain descend, 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 whatever 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
re-converted into water, and descending like
a sheet : not in rushing; down in columns
from a spout ; but in moderate drops, as
from a colander. Our watering-pots are
made to imitate showers of ram. Yet, a pri-
ori, I should have thought either of the two

2 B 2

372 THE ELEMENTS.

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 corrupt-
ing principle:?, 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 eflicacy as-
certained by experiment. And so far as the
discovery has proceeded, it opens to us a
beautiful and a wonderful ceconomy. Vege-
tation 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 capei-
ble of supporting life or flame. Here, there-
fore, is a constant circulation of benefits main-
tained between the two great provinces of
organised nature. The plant purifies, what
the animal has poisoned ; in return, the con-
taminated air is more than ordinarily nutri-
tious 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 natur«

THE ELEMENTS. SJ6

works, we see the salutary effects of stoiviis
and tempests. The yesty waves, which con-
ibund the heaven and the sea, are doino- the
very thing which was done in the bottle.
Nothing can be of greater importance to the
living creation, than the salubrity of their
atmosphere. It ought to reconcile us there-
fore to these agitations of the elements, of
which we sometimes deplore the consequen-
ces, 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
admired, are those negative qualities which
constitute its puritij, Flad 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
withered ; 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 of every other. Had there
been a taste in water, be it what it might, it
would have infected every thing we ate or
drank, with an importunate repetition of the
same flavouro

Anotlier thing in this element, not less to
be admired, 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 tb^ habitable
globe. Frcm the sea are exhaled those va-
pours which form the clouds : these clouds
descend in showers, which, penetrating into
the crevices of the hills, supply springs ;
which springs flow in little streams into tbe
valleys ; and there uniting, become 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 ofJices to the earth ; and, having
executed tbe service which was assigned to
it, returns to the bosom which it left.

Some have thought, that we bave too «much
water upon the globe, the sea occupying
above three-quarters of its whole surface.
But the expanse of ocean, immense as it is,
Tiiay be no more than sufiicient to fertilize the
(^arth. Or, independently of this reason, I
know not why the sea may not have as good
a rigbt ^o its place as the hdnd. It may pro-
portionably support as many ii^habitants ;

THE ELEMENTS. $'J5

minister to as large an aggregate of enjoy-
ment. The land only aSbrds a habitable
surface; the sea is habitable to a great depth.

III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolve^.
The only idea probably which this term rais-
ed in the reader's mind, was that of fire melt-
ing metals, resins, and some other substan-
ces, fluxing ores, running glass, and assisting
us in many of our operations, chymical or
culinary. Now these are only uses of an oc-
casional kind, and give 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 it§elf would be a quarry of ice ; uni-
versal nature stiff and dead.

We see, therefore, that the elements bear
not only a strict relation to the constitution
of organised bodies, 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
^ub&t^uce), it i^ altogether superfluous to ex-

3/6 THE ELEMENTS,

patiale upon the use. No man disputes it^

fj»{rhe observations, therefore, which I shall
offer, respect that little which we seem to
know of its constitution.

' 'Light travels from the sun at the rate of
twelve millions of miles in a minute. Urged
bv such a velocity, with what /brce must its
particles drive against (I will not say the eye,
the tenderest of animal substances, but) every
substance, animate or inanimate, which stands
in its way ! It might seem to be a force suffi-
cient to shatter to atoms the hardest bodies.
How then is this effect, the consequence of

j-such prodigious velocity, guarded against?

J>By a proportionable jmriiiteness of the parti-
cles of which light is composed. It is impos-

Tsible for the human mind to imagine to itself
iin}^ thing so small as a particle of light. But
this extreme exility, though difficult to con-

,>eeive, it is easy to prove. A drop of tallow,
expended in the wick of a farthing candle,
shall send forth rays sufficient to fill a hemi-
sphere of a mile diameter ; and to fill it so full
of these rays, that an aperture not larger than
the pupd of an eye, wherever it be placed

i<within the hemisphere, shall be sure to receive
some of them. What floods of light are con-
tmually poured from the sun, we cannot
estimate; but the immensity of the sphere

THE ELEMENTS. 8/7

which IS filled with particles, even if it
reached no farther than the 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 lati-
tude at least, near to one another. The spis-
situde 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 observa-
tions, may be said to be proportioned to
each other; both surpassing our utmost
stretch of comprehension ; but proportioned.
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 distinfruishino: of ob-
jects ; which adds so much to the beauty of
the earth, and augments the stock of our in-
nocent pleasures.

With which may be joined another reflec-

S'JS ASTRONOMY.

tion, viz, that, considering light as compound-
ed of rays of seven different colours (of which
there can be no doubt, because it can be re-
solved into these rays by simply passing it
.through a prism), the constituent parts must
be well mixed and blended together, to pro-
duce a fluid so clear and colourless, as a
beam of light is, when received from the sun.

CHAPTER XXII.

ASTRONOMY**

CMy opinion of Astronomy has always been,
that it is not the best medium through which
to prove the agency of an intelligent Crea-
tor ; but that, this being proved, it shows, be-
yond all other sciences, the magnificence of his
operations. /The mind which is once convin-
ced, it raises to sublimer views of the Deity
than any other subject affords ; but it is not
so well adapted, as some other subjects are,
to the purpose of argument. We are desti-
tute of the means of examining the constitu-

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

AeTRONOM¥. 57^

tion of the heavenly bodies. The very sim-
phcity of their appearance is against tliem.
We see nothing, but bright points, kiniinous
circles, or the phases of spheres reflecting the
light which falls upon them. Now we de-
duce design from rehition, aptitude, and cor-
respondence of parts. Some degree there-
fore of complexity is necessary to render a
subject fit for this species of argument. But
the heavenly bodies do not, except {)erhaps
in the instance of Saturn's ring, present them-
iseWes to our observation as compounded of
parts at all. This, which niay be a perfec-
tion in them, is a disadvantage to us, as in-
quirers after their nature. They do not come
within our mechanics.

Aiid what w« say of their forms, is true of
their motions. Their motions are carried on
without any sensible intermediate apparatus ;
whereby w^e are cut off from one principal
ground of argumentation, analo[;y. We
have nothing wherewith to compare them ;
no invention, no discovery, no operation or
resource of art^ which, in this respect, resem-
bles them. Even those things which are made
-to imitate and represent them, such as or-
reries, planetaria, celestial globes, &c. bear
I30 aiffmity to them, in the cansc- and princi-
ple by which their motions are actuated. I

SSO ASTRONOMY.

can assif^n for this difFurence 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
sohd or fluid substances, yet central attrac-
tion does not operate in this manner. It was
necessary that the intervals between the pla-
netary orbs should be devoid of any inert
matter either fluid or solid, because such an
intervening substance would, by its resist-
ance, destroy those very motions, which at-
traction 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 inhabit-
ed, necessarily keeps from us the knowledge
of numberless utilities, relations, and subser-
Tiencies, 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 microscopic
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 necessities, and by mea^ns of the as-

ASTRONOMY. ' 3S1

sistants of those senses which it has had the art
to procure, should have been enabled to ob-
serve the whole system of worlds to which its
own belongs ; the changes of place of the im-
mense globes which compose it ; and with
such accurac}^ 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 saihng through
regions of void and trackless space, should ar^
rive at the place where they w^ere expected,
not within a minute, but within a few se-
conds 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 astrono-
mer has been able, out of the " mystic dance,'^
and 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
paj^hs.
(Our knowledge therefore of astronomy \$

S82 ASTRONOMY.

admirable, though imperfec^: and, amidst
the confessed desiderata and desideranda,
which impede our investigation of the wis-
dom of the Deity in these the grandest of
his works, there are to be found, in the pha3-
nomena, ascertained circumstances and laws,
sufficient to indicate an intellectual agencw-
in three of its principal operations, viz, ni
choosing, in determining, in regulating \ in
choosing^ out of a boundless variety of sup-
positions which were equally possible, that
which is beneficial ; in determining, what,
left to itself, had a thousand chances against
tonveniency, for one in its favour ; in regn^
lating subjects, as to quantity and degree,
which, by their nature, were unlimited with
fespect to either. It will be our business to
offer, under each of these heads, a few in-
stances^ such as best admit of a popular ex-
plication.

I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is^fixing
the source of light and heat in the centre of
the system. \ The sun is ignited and lumi-
nous ; the planets, which move round him,
cold and dark. There seems to be no ante-
cedent necessity for this order. The sun
might have been an opaque mass ; some one,
or two, or more, or any, or all, the planets,
globes of fire. ! There is nothing in the nature

of the heavenly bodies, which requires tlvM
those which are stationary should be on fire\,
that those which move should be cold } for^
in fact, comets are bodies on fire, or at least
capable of the most intense heat, yet revolve
round a centred nor does this order obtain
between the priiiiary planets and their secon-
daries, which are all opaque. When we con-*
sider, 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 al-
so, in what order, with respect to each other,
these two kinds of bodies are disposed ; we
may judge of the improbability of the present
arrangement taking pkice 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 folloxvs, that the sun also himself must
be in his progress towards growing cold ;
which puts an end to the possibility of his
havinsr existed, as he is. from eternity. This
consequence arises out of the hypothesis with
still more certainty^ if we make a part ©f it,

S84 ASTRONOMY.

what the philosophers who maintain it have
usually taught, that the planets were origin-
ally masses of matter, struck off in a state of
ftision, from ^he body of the sun by the per-
cussion of a comet, or by a shock from some
other cause, with which we are not acquaint-
ed : for, if these masses, partakinj^ of the na-
ture and substance of the sun's body, have in
process of time lost their heat, that body it-
self, in time likewise, no matter in how much
longer time, must lose its heat also, and there-
fore be incapable of an eternal duration in the
state in which we see it, either for the time to
come, or the tmie 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 show, in its particulars, 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 suppos-
ing the necessary proportion of magnitude be-
tween 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
would be imparted to the other planets much

ASTRONOMY. '^S,5.

more irregularly than light an/i J:i,eat ^re now
received from the sup.

(*) 11. (Another thing, in which a choice
appears to be exercised, and in whiclj^
amongst the possiEilTties'olit of which th^
choice was to be made, the nurpber of thosi^
which were wrong, bore an infinite proporr
tion to the number of thpae which were right,
is in what geometricians call the aiis of rota-
tion. This matter I will endeavour to ex:^
plain. The earth, it is well known, is not an
exact globe, but an oblate spheroid, something
like an orange. Now the axes of rotation, p^'
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 axp^
ru)ne 'drepermane^it^ except either its shortest
diameter, i. e. that which passes through the
heart jo£ the orange from the place where the
stalk is inserted into it, and which is but oae ;
or its longest diameters, at right angles with
the former, which must all terminate in t\}^,
single circumference which goes round the
thickest part of the orange. The shortest
diameter is that upon which in feet the eartj.i
turns, and it is, as the reader sees, what, it
ought to be, a permanent axjs; whereas, h^/i
blind chance, had a casual impulse, h^d ^

3 c

3S6 ASTRONOMY.

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 consequence ? The
difference between a permanent axis and an-
other axis is this : When a spheroid in a state
of rotatory motion gets upon a permanent ax-
is, it keeps there ; it remains steady and faith-
ful to its position ; its poles preserve their di-
rection wdth respect to the plane and to the
centre of its orbit : but, whilst it turns upon
an axis which is not permanent (and the num»-
ber 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 corresponding change in the inclination
of its poles. Therefore, if a planet once set
off revolving upon any other than its shortest,
or one of its longest axes, the poles on its sur-
face would keep perpetually changing, and it
never would attain a permanent axis of rota-
tion. The effect of this unfixedness and in-
stability would be, that the equatorial parts
of the earth might become 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 our-
selves, instead of rejoicing in oui* temperate

ASTRONOMY. SS?

2one, and annually preparing for the moderate
vicissitude, or rather 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 bodies nei-
ther inured to its rigours, 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 human inhabitant,
who can live under greater varieties of lati-
tude than any other animal ; still more nox-
ious would this translation of climate have
proved to life in the rest of the creation; and,
most perhaps of all^ in plants. The habit-
able 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
supposition of the earth having been formed
at first an oblate spheroid. There is another
supposition; and perhaps our limited informa-
tion 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

2 c 2

3S8 A STRONG MT.

have said, is a point in the historj of the
earth, which our observations are not suffi-
cient to determine. For a very small depth
below the surface (but extremely small, less,
perhaps, than an eight- thousandth part, com-
pared with the depth of the centre), we find
vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this fluidity
must have gone down many hundred times
farther 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 at-
traction with the force of attraction of a rock
of granite, the bulk of which could be ascer-
tained : 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 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, ^he solid parts must greatly exceed the
fluid parts : and the probability is, that it is
a solid mass throughout, composed of sub-
stances more ponderous the deeper we go.
Nevertheless, we may conceive the present
face of the earth to have originated from the

ASTRONOMY. 389

revolution of a sphere, covered by a surface
of a compound mixture ; the fluid and solid
parts separatmg, as the surface becomes qui-
escent. Here then comes in the moderating
hand of the Creator. If the water had ex^-
ceeded its present proportion, even but by a
trifling quantity compared with the whole
globe, all the land w^ould have been covered :
had there been much less than there is, there
would not have been enough to fertihse the
continent. Had the exsiccation been pro-
gressive, 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.
lIV. Of centripetal forces. By vir-
tue of the simplest law that can be imagined,
viz, that a body continues 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'^ith the same velocity,
unless there be some cause for change t by
virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to pass
(what may appear to be a strange conse-
quence), that cases arise, in which attraction,
incessantly drawing a body towards a centre,
never brings, nor ever will bring, the body to

3.yO A&TRO.\OMY.

that centre, but keep it in eternal circulation
round it.ijf it were possible to fire off a canr
non-ball with a velocity of five miles in a se-
cond, and the resistance of the air could be
taken away, the cannon-ball would 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 before, 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 attraction 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,
>v'e 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 in-
finite number of possible laws, those which
were admissible for the purpose of supporting
the heavenly motions, lay within certain nar-
row Umits : 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 proposi-?

ASTRONOMY. 391 ,

tions 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 in-
definite.

L 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
law as of another. It might have been the
same at all distances; it might have increased
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, thought it to be, a
primordial property of matter, not dependent
upon, or traceable to, any other material
cause ; then, by the very nature and defini-
tion of a primordial property, it stood indif-
ferent 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 at-

392 ASTRONOMY.

traction, 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 neces-
sity- : and it is the account, which ascribes
attraction to an emanation from the attract-
ing body. It is probable, that the influence
of such an emanation will be proportioned to
the spissitude of the rays of which it i?
composed ; which spissitude, supposing the
rays to issue in right lines on all sides from
a point, will be reciprocally as the square of
tb'e distancie. The mathematics of this solu-
tion \\^e do not call in question : the question
with us is, whether there be any sufficient
reason for believing that attraction is pro-
duced by an emanation. For my part, I am
totally at a loss to comprehend how particles
streaming yrom 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 sup-

ASTRONOMY. 3D3

pose an eetliereal fluid to act^ but not to
resist ; powerful enough to carry down bodies
with great force towards a centre, yet, incon-
sistently with the nature of inert matter,
powerless and perfectly yielding with respect
to the motions which result from the projec-
tile impulse. By calculations drawn from an-
cient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can
prove that, if such a fluid exist at all, its re-
sistance has had no sensible effect upon the
moon's motion for two thousand five hundred
years. The truth is, that, except this one
circumstance of the variation of the attract-
ing 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, al-
most insuperable reasons against it.

(*) 11. Our second proposition is, that,
w4iilst the possible laws of variation were in-
iinite, the admissible laws, or the laws com-
patible with the preservation of the system,
lie within narrow hmits. if the attracting
force had varied according to any direct 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 w^ould, it is true,
have produced an ellipse: but the perturbing

?j04 astronomy.

forces would have acted with so much ad-
vantage, as to be continually changing the
dimensions of the ellipse, in a manner incon-
sistent with our terrestrial creation. For in-
stance ; if the planet Saturn, so large and so
gemote, had attracted the earth, both in pro-
portion to the quantity of matter contained
in it, which it does ; and also in any propor-
tion to its distance, i. e. if it had pulled the
harder for being the farther off (instead of
the reverse of it), it would have dragged out
of its course the globe which we inhabit, and
have perplexed its motions, to a degree in-
compatible 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 un-
learned), if, at double the distance, the at-
tractive force had been diminished 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, increased their dis-
tance from the centre, would for ever have
receded from it. The laws therefore of at-
traction, by which a system of revolving
bodies could be upholden in their motionSj

ASTRONOMYp 3.95

lie within narrow limits, compared with the
possible laws. I much under-rate the re-r
striction, 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 demonstra-
ble consequence, that every the least change
of distance would, under the operatior^ of
such la\ys, have been fatal to the repose and
order of the system. We do not know, that
is, we seldom reflect, how interested 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 attrac-
tion falls within the limits which utility re-
quires, when these limits bear so small a
proportion to the range of possibilities upon
which chance might equally have cast it, is
not, with any appearance of reason, to be
accounted for, by any other cause than a
regulation proceeding from a designing mind.
But our next proposition carries the matter
somewhat farther. We say, in the third
place, that, out of the different laws which

S0<5 ASTRONOMY.

lie within the limits of admissible laws, the
best is made choice of; that there are ad*
vantages in this particular law which cannot
be demonstrated to belong to any other law;
and, concerning some of which, it can be
demonstrated that they do not belong to any
other.

(*) 1. Whilst this law prevails between
each particle of matter, the imited attrac-
tion of a sphere, composed of that matter,
observes the same law. Tliis property of
the law is necessary, to render it applicable
to a system composed of spheres, but it is
a property which belongs to no other law of
attraction that is admissible. The law of
variation of the united 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
distance ; the inconveniency of which law in
other respects, we have already noticed.

We may follow this regulation somewhat
farther, and still more strikingly perceive
that it proceeded from a designing mind*
A law both admissible and convenient was
requisite. In what way is the law of the at*
tracting globes obtained ? Astronomical ob-
servations and terrestrial experinients show
that the attraction of the globes of the sys-

ASTRONOMY. 39;

tern is made up of the attraction of their
parts ; the attraction of each globe being
compounded of the attractions of its parts.
Now the admissible and convenient law
which exists, could not be obtained in a sys--
tem of bodies gravitating by the united gra-
vitation of their parts, unless each particle of
matter were attracted by a force varying by
one particular law, viz. varying inversely as
the square of the distance : for, if the action
of the particles be according to any other law
whatever, the admissible and convenient law,
which is adopted, could not be obtained.
Here then are clearly shown regulation and
design. A law both admissible and conve-
nient was to be obtained : the mode chosen
for obtaining that law was by making each
particle of matter act. After this choice was
made, then farther attention was to be given
to each particle of matter, and one, and one
only particular law of action to be assigned
to it. No other law would have answered
the purpose intended.

('^) 2. All systems must be liable to per -
turbations. 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

Sr/S ASTRONOMY.

able to demonstrate of our law of attraction,;
what can be demonstrated of no other, and
what quahfies the dangers which arise from
cross but unavoidable influences ; that the
action of the parts of our system upon onfe
another will not cause permanently increasing
irregularities, but merely periodical or vibra-
tory ones ; that is, they will come to a limit,
and then go back again. This we can de-
monstrate 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 se-
cure. The mean distances and periodic
times, upon which depend 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 temperature and season. The same as to
the obliquity of the planes of the orbits.
For instance, the inclination of the ecliptic
to the equator will never change above two
degrees (out of ninety), and that will require
many thousand years in performing.

ASTRONOMT. 399

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 dis-
turbing 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 pla-
nets; 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 perturbing forces. The system retain-
ing 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 attrac-
tion had 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 besn, out of its

400 V ASTRONOMY.

course, would have wandered in endless
error.

(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the
centripetal force, viz. a choice guided by
views of utility, and a choice of one law out
of thousands which might equally have taken
place, we see no less m the figures of the
planetar}^ 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 possessing so great a degree
of eccentricity, as, in the course of every re-
volution, to be brought ^^evy near to the Sun,
and carried away to immense distances from
hirn. The comets actually move in orbits of
this sort : and, had the planets done so, in-
stead of going round in orbits nearly circu-
lar, the change from one extremity of tempe-
rature 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 fix-
ed, the figure of its orbit, its being a circle,
or nearer to, or farther off from a circle, viz.
a rounder or a longer oval, depends upon two
things, the velocity with which, and the di-

ASTRONOMY*. 401

rection 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 pro-
duce a perfect circle. And the velocity must
be near to this velocity, and the direction
also near to this direction, to produce orbits,
such as the planetary orbits are, nearly circu-
lar ; that is, ellipses with small eccentricities.
The velocity and the direction must both be
right. If the velocity be wrong, no direction
will cure the error ; if the direction be in any
considerable degree oblique, no velocity will
produce the orbit required. Take for exam-
ple the attraction of gravity at the surface of
the earth. The force of that attraction beinor
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 purpose 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 inconvenlency. - If the velocity
reached the rate of seven miles in a second.

402 ASTRONOMY,

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 mnumerable angles in which the ball
might be sent off (1 mean angles formed with
a line drawn to the centre), none would serve
but what was nearly a right one : out of the
various directions 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 num-
ber of directions, which would have made it
approach much nearer to, or recede much
farther 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 that
stroke projected into their, present orbits.
Now, beside that this is to attribute to chance
the fortunate concurrence of velocity and di-

ASTRONOMY. 403

rection 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 return to the surface of the sun again.
Nor will this difficulty be got rid of, by sup-
posing that the same violent blow which shat-
tered the sun's surface, and separated large
fragments from it, pushed the sun himself out
of his place ; for, the consequence of this
would be, that the sun and system of shatter-
ed fragments would have a progressive mo-
tion, which, indeed, may possibly be the case
with our system ; but then each fragment
would, in every revolution, return to the sur-
face of the sun again. The hypothesis is also
contradicted by the vast difference which
subsists between the diameters of the pla-
netary orbits. The distance of Saturn from
the sun (to suy nothing of the Georgium
Sid us) is nearly five- and- twenty times that of
Mercury ; a disparity, which it seems im-
possible to reconcile with Buffo n'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

2 D 2

404 ASTRONOMY*

must have been carried to their proper dis-
tances, before they were projected*.

To conclude : In astronomy, the great
thing is to raise the imagination to the sub*
ject, and that oftentimes in opposition to the
impression made upon the senses. An illu-
sion, for example, must be gotten over, aris-
ing from the distance at which we view the
heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent slowness
of their motions. 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 consider-
ably more than two thousand mil-es in an
hour ; which is more than double of that

* " If we suppose the matter of the system to he accu-
mulated 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
iheir several directions, preserving still the quality of action
and re-action, or the state of the centre of gravity of the syst^-nj.
Such an exquisite structure of things could only arise from the
contrivance and powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and
most potent agent. The same powers, therefore, which,- at
present, govern the material universe, and conduct its various
motions, are veri/ difereiit 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." — Maclaurin's Ac-
eemt of Nixvim's F kilos, p. 407. ed. 3. .^

ASTRONOMy, 403

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 conducted
in its course inch by inch. It is also difiicult
to bring the imagination to conceive (what
yet, to judge tolerably of the matter, it is
necessary to conceive) how loose^ if we may
so express it, the heavenly bodies are. Enor-
mous globes, held by nothing, confined by
nothing, are turned into free and boundless
space, each to seek its course by the virtue
of an invisible principle ; but a principle,
one, common, and the same in all ; and ascer-
tainable. 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
continuing order ; h. e. to cause them to form
planetary systems, systems that, when form-
ed, can be upheld, and, most especially, sys-
tems accommodated to the organised 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 adjustment of force,
distance, direction, and velocity, out of the

406 ASTRONOMY:^'

reach of chance to have prodiiced ; an adjust^
ment, in its view to iitihty, similar to that
which we see in ten thousand subjects of na-
ture 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 farther ; if attraction
act at all distances, there can only be one
quiescent centre of gravity in the universe :
and all bodies whatever must be approach-
ing this centre, or revolving round it. Ac-
cording 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 controlled or suspend-
ed by a superior agent ; that there is a pow-
er above the highest of the powers of mate-

ASTRONOMY. 40?

rial nature ; a will which restrains and cir-
cumscribes the operations of the most exten-
sive*. ]

* It must here however be stated, that many astronomers
deny that any of the heavenly bodies are absolutely stationary.
Some of the brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small
motions ; and of the rest the distance is too great, and the
intervals of our observation too short, to enable us to pronounce
with certainty that they may not have the same. The
motions in the fixed stars which have been observed, are con-
sidered cither as proper to each of them, or as compoundcu of
the motion of our system, and of motions proper to each star.
By a comparison of these motions, a motion in our system is
supposed to be discovered. By continuing this analogy to
other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose that attrac-
tion is unlimited, and that the whole material universe is re-
volving round some fixed point within its containing sphere of
space.

408 OF THE PERSONALITY

CHAPTER XXIII.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY,

CoNTRiVAisrcE, if established, appears to
me to prove every thing which we wish to
prove. Amongst other things, it proves the
perso7iality of the Deity, as distinguished
from what is sometimes called nature, some-
times called a principle : which terms, in the
mouths of those who use them philosophical-
ly, seem to be intended, to admit and to ex-
press an efficacy, but to exclude and to deny
a personal agent. Now that which can con-
trive, which can design, must be a person.
These capacities constitute personality, for
they imply consciousness and thought. They
require that which can perceive an end or
purpose ; 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 exist-
ence of a mind ; and in whatever a mind re-
sides, is a person. The seat of intellect is a

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

OF THE DEITY. 409

person. We have no authority to Umit the
properties of mind to any particular corpo-
real form, or to any particular circumscription
of space. These properties subsist, in cre-
ated 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 ex-
erted. This sphere may be enlarged to an
indefinite extent; may comprehend the uni-
verse; 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, infinite, as
well in essence as in power ; yet nevertheless
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 reflect what
limited capacities animal senses are. Many
animals seem to have but one sense, or per-
haps two at the most; touch and taste.
Ought such an animal to conclude against
the existence of odours, sounds, and colours r
To another species is given the sense of smell-
ing. This is an advance in the knowledge of

410 OF THE PERSONALITY

the powers and properties of nature : but, if
this favoured animal should infer from its su-
periority 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 pro-
ceeded 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 re-
mote 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 claimed 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 ani-
mal what the human animal is ; but to infer,
that possibility stops here; that either this
fifth sense is the last sense, or that the five
comprehend all existence ; is just as unwar-
rantable a conclusion, as that which might
have been made by any of the different spe-
cies which possessed fewer, or even by that,
if such there be, which possessed onlv one.

OF THE DEITY. 411

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 rationed agents ; for there is not the small-
est reason for supposing that we are the high-
est, or that the scale of creation stops with
us.

The gve^dt 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 it-
self. Gravitation, though constantly present,
though constantly exerting its influence,
though every w here around us, near us, and
within us ; though diffused throughout all
space, and penetrating the texture of all bo-
dies 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 distin-
guishable impressions. Is it then to be won-
dered at, that it should, in some measure,
be the same v/ith the Divine nature?

412 OF THE PF.RSONALrTY

Of this however we are certain, that what-
ever the Deity be, neither the universe^ not
any part of it which we see, can be He. The
universe itself is merely a collective name:
its parts are all which are real ; or which are
things. Now inert matter is out of the ques-
tion : and organised substances include marks
of contrivance. But whatever includes marks
of contrivance, whatever, in its constitution,
testifies desi^jn, necessarily carries us to some-
thing beyond itself, to some olher being, to
a designer prior to, and out of, itself. No
animal, for instance, can have contrived its
own limbs and senses ; can have been the au-
thor to itself of the design with which they
were constructed. That supposition involves
all the absurdity of self-creation, i. e. of act-
ing without existing. Nothing can be God,
which is ordered by a wisdom and a will,
%vhich itself is void of; which is indebted for
any of its properties to contrivance ab extra.
The not having that in his nature which re-
quires the exertion of another prior being
(which property is sometimes called self-suffi-
ciency, and sometimes self-comprehension),
appertains to the Deity, as his essential di-
stinction, and removes his nature from that of
all things which we see. Which consideration
contains the answer to a question that has

OF THE DEITY. #IS

sometimfs been asked, namely, W'ly, since
something "or other must have existed from
eternity, may not the present universe be that
something? The contrivance perceived m it,
proves that to be impossible. Nothing con-
trived, can, 'in a strict and proper sense, be
eternal, forasmuch as the contriver must have
existed before the contrivance.

Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we
are led for its cause to an intelligent author.
And this transition of the understand ins: is
founded upon uniform experience. We see
intelligence constantly contriving; that is, we
see intelligence constantly producing effects,
marked and distinguished by certain proper-
ties ; not certain particular properties, but by
a kind and class of properties, such as rela-
tion to an end, relation of parts to one an-
other, and to a common purpose. We see,
wherever we are witnesses to the actual forma-
tion of things, nothing except intelligence
producing effects so marked and distinguish-
ed. Furnished with this experience, we view
the productions of nature. We observe them
also marked anil distinguished in the same
manner. We wish to account for their ori^-in.
Our experience suggests a cause perfectly ad-
equate to this account. No experience, no
single instance or example, can be offered in

414 OF THE PERSONALITY

favour of any other. In this cause therefore
we ought to rest; in this cause the com-
mon 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 experience. The
reasoning is the same as that, by which we
conclude any ancient appearances to have
been the effects of volcanoes or inundations;
namely, because they resemble the effects
which fire and water produce before our eyes ;
and because we have never known these ef-
fects to result from any other operation.
And this resemblance may subsist in so many
circumstances, as not to leave us under the
smallest doubt in forming our opinion. Men
are not deceived by this reasoning: for when-
ever it happens, as it sometimes does happen,
that the truth comes to be known by direct
information, it turns out to be what was ex-
pected. In like manner, and upon the same
foundation (which in truth is that of experi-
ence) we conclude that the works of nature
proceed from intelligence and design ; because,
in the properties of relation to a purpose, sub-
serviency to a use, they resemble what intel-
ligence and design are constantly producing,
and what nothing except intelligence and de^
sign ever produce at all. Of every argu*

OF THE DEITY. 415

ment, which would raise a question as to the
safety of this reasoning, it may be observed,
that if such argument be hstened to, it leads
to the inference, not only that the present or-
der of nature is insufficient to prove the exist-
ence of an intelligent Creator, but that no
imaginable order would be sufficient to prove
it; that no contrivance, were it ever so me-
chanical, ever so precise, ever so clear, ever
so perfectly like those which we ourselves
employ, would support this conclusion. A
doctrine, to which, I conceive, no sound mind
can assent.

The force however of the reasoning is some-
times sunk by our taking up with mere names.
We have already noticed*, and we must here
notice again, the misapplication of the term
" law,'' and the mistake concerning the idea
which that term expresses in physics, when-
ever sucli 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 organised bodies
(plants for instance, or animals), owing their
production, their form, their growth, their
qualities, their beauty, their use, to any law

* Ch. I. sect. ^viiii^Cvu:' .:^

416 OF THE PERSONALITY

or laws of nature ; and when we are content-
ed to sit down with that answer to our in-
quiries concerning them. I say once more,
that it is a perversion of language to assign
any law, as the efiicient, 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 according to which that power acts.
Without this agent, without this power, which
are both distinct from itself, the " law '' does
nothing ; is nothing.

What has been said concerning " law,"
holds true of mechanism. Mechanism is not
itself power. Mechanism, 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 spring acting at the
centre, will produce different motions and
different results, according to the variety of
the intermediate mechanism. One and the
self-same spring, acting in one and the same
manner, viz. by simply expanding itself,
may be the cause of a luindred different and
all useful movements, if a hundred different

OF THE DEITY. 41?

and well-devised sets of wheels be placed be-
tween 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 move-
ments may fulfil their purposes M'ith more or
less perfection, according as the mechanism
is better or worse contrived, or better or worse
executed, or in a better or worse state of re-
pair: but in all cases, it is necessary that the
spring act at the centre. The course of our
reasoning upon such a subject would be this :
By inspecting the watch, even when standing-
still, we get a proof of contrivance, and of a
contriving mind, having been employed about
it. In the form and obvious 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 secret spring, or a gravitating
plummet; — in a word, that there is force,
and energy, as well as mechanism.

^2 £

418 OF THE PERSONALITY

--^ I^So then, the watch in motion establishes
to the observer two conclusions : One ; that
thought, contrivance, 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 time, acting upon it. If I saw a
hand-mill even at rest, I should see contri-
^'ance : 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 m
nature. In the works of nature we trace
inechanism ; and this alone proves contri-
vance : but living, active, moving, produc-
tive nature, proves also the exertion of a
power at the centre : for, wherever the power
resides may be denominated the centre. j"<f ^
The intervention and disposition of what
are called " second causes'' fall under the
*ame observation. This disposition is or is
not mechanism, according as we can or can-
not trace it by our senses and means of ex-
amination. That is, all the difference there
is ; and it is a difference which respects our
faculties, not the things themselves. Now
where the order of second causes is mechani-
cal, what is here said of mechanism strictly

OF THE DEITY. 419

applies to it. But it would be always me-
chanism (natural chymistry, for instance,
would be mechanism), if our senses were
acute enough to descry it. Neither mecha-
nism, therefore, in the works of nature, nor
the intervention of what are called second
causes (for I think that they are the same
thing), excuses 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 7na'
naging 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 se-
cretions to be elective attractions, and that
such and such attractions universally belong
to such and such substances ; in all which
there is no intellect concerned ; still the
choice and collocation of these substances,
the fixing upon right substances, and dispo-
sing them in right places, must be an act of
intelligence. What mischief would follow,
were there a single transposition of the se-
cretory organs ; a single mistake in arran-
ging the glands which compose them !

There may be many second causes, and

2 E 2

420 OF THE PERSONALITY

many courses of second causes, one behind
another, between what we observe of nature,
and the Deity : but there must be intelU-
gence somewhere: there must be more in na-
ture than what we see ; and, amongst the
things unseen, there must be an inteUigent,
designing author. The philosopher beholds
with astonishment the production of things
around him. Unconscious particles of mat-
ter take their stations, and severally range
themselves in an order, so as to become col-
lectively plants or animals, i, e, organised
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 dis-
cretion. There may be particular intelligent
beings, guiding these motions in each case :
or they may be the result of trains of me-
chanical dispositions, fixed beforehand by an
intelligent appointment, 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 pha3nomena.
Yet this principle, this simplicity, resides

OF THE DEITY. 421

merely in the name ; which name, after all,
comprises, perhaps, under it a diversified,
multifarious, or progressive operation, dis-
tinguishable into parts. The power in or-
ganised 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 mode of pro-
duction, this principle (if such he choose to
call it), requires ; how much it presupposes ;
what an apparatus of instruments, some of
which are strictly mechanical, is necessary
to its success ; what a train it includes of
operations and changes, one succeeding
another, one related to another, one mini-
stering to another ; all advancing, by inter-
mediate, 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, intelli-
gent 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

4'J2 OF THE PERSONS ALU Y

call spinning and weaving principles : and
then, referring the texture of cloths, the fa-
bric of muslins and calicoes, the patterns of
diapers and damasks, to these, as principles,
pretend to dispense with intention, thought,
and contrivance, on the part of the artist ;
or to dispense, indeed, with the necessity of
any artist at all, either in the manufacturing
of the article, or in the fabrication of the
machinery by which the manufacture 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 covering, produces a white, smooth,
soft worm ; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait
riiaggot. These, by a progress through dif-
ferent stages of life, and action, and enjoy-
ment (and, in each state, provided with im-
plements and organs appropriated to the
temporary nature which they bear), arrive
at last at the form and fashion of the parent
animal. But all this is process, not princi-
ple; and proves, moreover, that the property
of animated bodies, of producing their like,

OF THE DEITY,

belongs to them, not as a primordial pro-
perty, not by any blind necessity in the na-
ture of things, but as the effect of oeconomy,
wisdom, and design ; because the property
itself assumes diversities, and submits to
deviations dictated by intelligible utilities,
and serving distinct purposes of animal hap-
piness.

The opinion, which would consider " ge-
neration'^ as a principle in nature ; and
which would assign this principle as the
cause, or endeavour to satisfy our mind*
with such a cause, of the existence of or-
ganised bodies; is confuted, in my judge-
ment, not only by every mark of contrivance
discoverable in those bodies, for which it
gives us no contriver, offers no account what-
ever ; but also by the farther consideration,
that things generated, possess a clear relation
to things not generated. If it were merely
one part of a generated body bearing a rela-
tion 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 ge-
nerated body bearing a relation to another
generated body ; as the sexes of the same

424 OF THE PERRONALIXy

species to each other, animals of prey to their
prey, herbivorous and granivorous animals to
the plants or seeds upon which they feed ;
it might be contended, that the whole of this
correspondency was attributable to genera-
tion, the common origin from which these
substances proceeded. But what shall we
say to agreements which exist between
things generated and things 7iot generated ?
Can it be doubted, was it ever doubted, but
that the lu7igs of animals bear a relation to
the ttzV, as a permanently 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 ei/e is made for lights
and light for the eye. The eye would be of
no use without light, and light perhaps of lit-
tle without eyes; yet one is produced by ge<^
neration, the other not. The ear depends
upon undulations of air. Here are two sets
of motions: first, of the pulses of the air; se-
condly, of the drum, bones, and nerves of the
ear ; sets of motions bearing an evident re-
ference to each other : yet the one, and the
apparatus for the one, produced by the in-
tervention of generation ; the other altoge-
ther independent of it.

If it be said, that the air, the light, the

<yp THE DEITY. 125

de^nents, the world itself, is generated ; I
answer, that I do not comprehend the propo-
sition. If the term mean any things similar
to what it means when applied to plants or
animals, the proposition is certainly without
proof; and, I think, draws as near to absur^
dity, as any proposition can do, which does
not include a contradiction in its terms. I
am at a loss to conceive, how the formation
of the world can be compared to the genera-
tion of an animal. If the term generation
signify something quite different from what it
signifies on ordinary occasions, it may, by the
same latitude, signify any thing. In which
case, a word or phrase taken from the lan-
guage of Otaheite, 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, and the
action of which is constantly before our eyes,
we are invited to resort to suppositions, de-
stitute of a single fact for their support,
and confirmed by no analogy with which
we are acquainted. Were it necessary to in-

426 OF THE PERSONALITY

quire into the motives of men^s opinions, I
mean their motives separate from their argu-
ments ; I should almost suspect, that, because
the proof of a Deity drawn from the consti-
tution of nature is not only popular but vul-
gar (which may arise from the cogency of the
proof, and be indeed its highest recommen-
dation), and because it is a species almost of
puerility to take up with it ; for these rea-
sons, minds, which are habitually in search of
invention and originality, feel a resistless in-
clination to strike off into other solutions and
other expositions. 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 common
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 intelligence ; that is to
say, with the exertion of an intending, con-
triving mind, in the structure and formation
of the organised constitutions which the
world contains. They would resolve all pro-
ductions into unconscious energies, of a like

OF THE DEITY. 42/

kind, in that respect, with attraction, mag-
netism, electricity, &c. ; without any thing
lUrther.

In this, the old system of atheism and the
new 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 antiqua-
ted system of atoms, and Buffon's organic
molecules. This philosopher, having made a
planet by knocking off from the sun a piece
of melted glass, 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 organisation or senses
of their own ; and endovi^ed also with a ten-
dency to marshal themselves into organised
forms. The concourse of these particles, by
virtue of this tendency, but without intelli-
gence, 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 philo-

428 OF THE PERSONALITY

sophers hazard upon these subjects, have
more of pretension in tliem, than the challen-
ging you to show 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 re-
presented, new combinations ought to be per-
petually taking place; new^ plants and animals,
or organised bodies which were neither,
ought to be starting up before our eyes
every day. For this, however, our philoso-
pher has an answer. Whilst so many forms
of plants and animals are already in exist-
ence, and, consequently, so many " internal
Tnoulds,"*' as he calls them, are prepared and
at hand, the organic particles run into these
moulds, 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 philosopher, should any
general loss or destruction of the present con-
stitution of organised bodies take place, the
particles, for want of" moulds^' into which
they might enter, would run into different
combinations, and replenish the waste with
new species of organised substances.

Is there any history to countenance this no-

OF THE DEITY. 429

tion? Is it known, that any destruction has
been so repaired? any desert thus re-peopled?
So far as I remember, the only natural ap-
pearance mentioned by our author, by way of
fact whereon to build his hypothesis, is the
formation of worms m the intestines of ani-
mals, which is here ascribed to the coalition
of superabundant organic particles, floating
about in the first passages; and which have
combined themselves into these simple animal
forms, for want of internal moulds, or of va-
cancies in those moulds, 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 included under it. But to make it a facl^
at all, or, in any sort, applicable to the ques-
tion, we must begin with asserting an eqidvo^
ca/ generation, contrary to analogy, and with-
out 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 procreation from a pa-
rent form : without necessity ; for I appre-
hend that it is seldom difficult to suggest
methods, by which the eggs, or spawn, or
yet invisible rudiments of these vermin, may
have obtained a passage into the cavities in

430 OF THE PERSONALITY

which they are found ^. Add to this, that
their constancy to their species^ which, I be-
lieve, is as regular in these as in the other
vermes, decides the question against our phi-
losopher, if, in truth, any question remained
upon the subject.

Lastly; these wonder-working instruments,
these " internal moulds,'' what are they after
all ? what, when examined, but a name with-
out signification ; unintelligible, if not self-
contradictory ; at the best, differing in no-
thing from the " 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 mould of an animal or vegetable,
and finds a proper matrix, or receptacle, it
gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the
same species." Does any reader annex a
mieaning to the expression " internal mould,"
in this sentence? Ought it then to be said,
that, though we have little notion of an in-
ternal mould, we have not much more of a
designing mind? The very contrary of this

* 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 horns, S\xc\i facts merit no discussion.

OF THE DEITY. 481

assertion is the trath. When we speak of an
artificer or an architect, we talk of what is
comprehensible to our understanding, and fa-
miliar to our experience. We use no other
terms, than what refer us for their meaning to
our consciousness and observation ; what ex-
press 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 appetencies. 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, car-
ried on through a long series of generations,
work themselves gradually into suitable forms;
and, at length, acquire, though perhaps by
obscure and almost imperceptible improve-
ments, an organisation fitted to the action
which their respective propensities led them
to exert. A piece of animated matter, for ex-
ample, that was endued with a propensity to
fly^ though ever so shapeless, though no other
we will suppose than a round ball to begin
with, would, in a course of ages, if not in a mil-
lion of years, perhaps in a hundred millions of

432 OF THE PERSONALITY

years (for our theorists, having eternity tor
dispose of, are never sparing in time), acquire
wings. The same tendency to loco-motion
in an aquatic animal, or rather in an anima-
ted lump which might happen to be surround-
ed by water, would end in the production of
Jiiis : in a living substance, confined 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 crazding
upon the ground.

Although I have introduced the mention
of this theory into this place, I am 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 original pro-
pensities and the numberless varieties of them
(so different, in this respect, from the laws
of mechanical nature, which are few and sim-
ple), are, in the plan itself, attributed to the
ordination and appointment of an intelligent
and designing Creator : secondly, because,
likewise, that large postulatum, which is all
along assumed and presupposed, the faculty
in living bodies of producing other bodies
organised like themselves, seems to be refer-
red to the same cause ; at least is not at-
tempted to be accounted for by any other.
In one important respect, however, the the-

OF THE BEITV. 433

ory before us coincides with atheistic sys-
tems, viz, in that, in the forniation 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 particu-
lar structure of the parts, having been in-
tended for the action or the use to which we
see them applied; according to this theory,
they have themselves grovv^n out of that ac-
tion, sprung from that use. 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 organised bodies bear. Give our phi-
losopher these appetencies; give him a por-
tion 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 of their alteration, of
propagating their like ; and, if he is to be be-
lieved, 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 tendencv, viz, a total defect of evi-
dence. No changes, like those which the
theory requires, have ever been observed.

2 F

4Si OF THE PERSONALITY

All the changes in Ovid's Metamorphoses
might have been effected by these appeten-
cies, if the theory vv ere true : yet not an ex-
ample, nor the pretence of an example, is of-
fered 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 cm^to-
rum^ per multa scBcula, Judceorum propagini
deest prcBputium. It is easy to say, and it
has been said, that the alterative 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 hu-
man records can trace the steps. It is easy
to say this ; and yet it is still true, that the
hypothesis remains destitute of evidence.

The analogies which have been alleged, arc
of the follov^ing kind : The hunch of a camel,
is said to be no other than the effect of carry-
ing burdens ; a service in which the species

* I confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reason,^
either final or efficient, for this part of the animal frame ; un-
less there be some foundation for an opinion, of which I dravr
the hint from a paper of Mr. Everard Home (Phil, Transact.
'^799^ P* 2), 'VIZ. that the mammae of the foetus may be formed,
bfifore^the sex is determined.

OF THE DEITY. 436

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 which thev were destined,
would increase it. The cause which first
generated the tubercle being continued, it
w^ould 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 w^ading in water, and from
the effect of that element to check the growth
of feathers upon these parts ; in consequence
of which, the health and vegetation of the
feathers declined through each generation of
the animal ; the tender down, exposed to
cold and wetness, became w^eak, and thin,
and rare, till the deterioration 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

2 f2

436 OF THE PERSONALITY

were from passive habits ; and that is the
pouch of the pelican. The description which
naturalists give of this organ, is as follows :
" From the lower edges of the under
chap, hangs a bag, teaching from the whole
length of the bill to the neck, which is said
to be capable of containing fifteen quarts
of w^ater. 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 suc-
cess, it is 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 burden 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 con-
ceal it in this monstrous pouch, thus adapted
for very singular purposes*.'' Now this ex-
traordinary conformation is nothing more,
say our philosophers, than the result of ha-
bit ; not of the habit or effort of a single peli-
can, or of a single race of pelicans, but of a
habit perpetuated through a long series of
generations. The pelican soon found the
conveniency of reserving in its mouth, when

* Goldsmith, vol. vi. p. 52,

OF THE DEITY. 487

its appetite 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 origi-
nal bird, and man}^ generations which suc-
ceeded him, might find difficulty enough in
making the pouch answer this. purpose: but
future pelicans, entering upon life with a
pouch derived from their progenitors, of con-
siderable capacity, would more readily acce-
lerate its advance to perfection, by frequently
pressing down the sac with the weight of fish
which it might now be made to contain.

These, or of this kind, are the analogies
relied upon. Now, in the first place, the in-
stances themselves are unauthenticated by
testimony; and, in theory, to say the least
of them, open to great objections. Who
ever read of camels without bunches, or with
bunches less than those with which they are
at present usually formed? A bunch, not un-
like the camel's, is found between the shoul-
ders of the buffalo ; of the origin of which
it is impossible to give the account here given.
In the second example ; Why should the ap-
plication of water, which appears to promote
and thicken the growth of feathers upon the

438 OF THE PERSONALITY

bodies and breasts of geese, and swans, and
other water-fowls, have divested of this cover-
ing 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 ; where-
as, if it had its commencement 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 ven tress, and her descendants the
only inheritors, of this curious resource ?

But it is the less necessary to controvert the
instances themselves, as it is a straining of
analogy beyond all limits of reason and credi-
bility, to assert that birds, and beasts, and fish,
with all their variety and complexity of orga-
nisation, 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 it
ever been actually noticed) as might seem to
serve for the gradual generation 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 pha^nomena, and totally inadequate to
others. The ligaments or strictures, by

OF THE DEITY. 43^

which the tendons are tied down at the angles
of the joints, could, by no possibihty, be
formed by the motion or exercise of the ten-
dons themselves ; by any appetency exciting
these parts into action ; or by any tendency
arising therefrom. The tendency is all the
other way; the conatus in constant opposi-
tion to them. Length of time does not help
the case at all, but the reverse. The valves
also in the blood-vessels, could never be form-
ed in the manner which our theorist proposes.
The blood, in its right and natural course,
has no tendency to form them. When ob-
structed or refluent, it has the contrary.
(These parts could not grow out of their use, )
though they had eternity to grow in. "^

The senses of animals appear to me altoge-
ther incapable of receiving the explanation of
their origin which this theory affords. In-
cluding under the word "sense'' the organ
and the perception, we have no account of
either. How will our philosopher get at vi*
sion, or make an eye ? How should the blind
animal affect sight, of which blind animals,
w^e 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 inchoate the for-
mation of an eye ? or, suppose the eye form-

440 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITT.

ed, 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 chan-
ges too slow to be observed by man, or
brought within any comparison which he is
able to make of past things with the present:
concede what yoii please to these arbitrary
and unattested suppositions, how will they
help you? Here is no inception. No laws,
no course, no powers of nature which prevail
at present, nor any analogous to these, would
give commencement to a new sense. And
it is in vain to inquire, how that might pro-
ceed, which could never begin,

I think the senses to be the most incon-r
sistent with the hypothesis before us, of any
part of the animal frame. But other parts
are sufficiently so. The solution does not
apply to the parts of animals, which have lit-
tle in them of motion. If we could suppose
joints and muscles to be gradually formed by
action and exercise, what action or exercise
could form a skull, and fill it with brains?
No effort of the animal could determine the
clothing of its skin. What conatiis could
give prickles to the porcupine or. hedgehog,
or to the sheep its fleece ?

In the last place ; What do these appeten-

OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY. 4^1

eies 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 organisation 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 schemes
and struggles of a reluctant philosophj^, the
necessary resort is to a Deity. The marks
of design are too strong to be gotten over.
Design must have had a designer. That de-
signer must have been a person. That per-
son is God.

CHAPTER XXIV.

OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITV.

It is an immense conclusion, that there is a
God ; a perceiving, intelhgent, designing
Being ; at the head of creation, and from
whose will it proceeded. The attributes of
such a Being, suppose his reality to be prov-
ed, must be adequate to the magnitude,
extent, and multiplicity of his operations:
which are not only vast beyond comparison

442 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

with those performed by any other power ;
but, so far as respects our conceptions of
them, infinite, because they are unhmited on
all sides. \«?'"

Yet the contemplation of a nature so ex-
alted, however surely we arrive at the proof
of its existence, overwhelms our faculties.
The mind feels its powers sink under the sub-
ject. One consequence of which is, that
from painful abstraction the thoughts seek
relief in sensible images. 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 natu-
ral propensity ; true religions, or such as
have derived themselves from the true, re-
sist it.

It is one of the advantages of the revelations
which we acknowledge, that, whilst they reject
idolatry with its many pernicious accompa-
niments, they introduce the Deity to human
apprehension, under an idea more personal,
more determinate, more within its compass,
than the theology of nature can do. And
this they do by representing him exclusively
under the relation in which he stands to
ourselves ; and, for the most part, under
some precise character, resulting from that

OF THE DEITY. 44S

relation, or from the history of his providen-
ces : which method suits the span of our
intellects much better than the universality
which enters into the idea of God, as dedu-
ced from the views of nature. When, there-
fore, these representations are well founded
in point of authority (for all depends upon
that), they afford a condescension to the state
of our faculties, of which, they who have
most reflected on 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 explanations 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 compre-
hension.

These terms are; Omnipotence, omnisci- f,
ence, omnipresence, eternity, self-existence, m
necessary existence, spirituality.

" Omnipotence,'' " omniscience," " infi-
nite'' power, *' infinite" knowledge^ are super^
latives ; expressing our conception of these
attributes in the strongest and most elevated
terms which language supplies. We ascribe

444 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

power to the Deity under the name of " om-
nipotence/' the strict and correct conclusion
being, that a power which could create such
a world as this is, mast be^ beyond all com-
parison, greater than any which we experi-
ence in ourselves, than any which we observe
in other visible agents ; greater also than
any which v»e can want, for our individual
protection and preservation, in the Being
upon whom we depend. It is a powder, like-
wdse> to which we are not authorised, by our
observation or knowledge, to assign any
limits of space or duration.

Very much of the same sort of remark is
applicable to the term " omniscience/' in-
finite knowledge, or infinite wisdom. In
strictness of language, there is a difference
between knowledge and wisdom ; wisdom
alwaj^s supposing action, and action directed
by it. With respect to the first, viz. hiow^
ledge, the Creator must know, intimately,
the constitution and properties 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 intelHgent being.

OF THE DEITY. 445

joined with the extent, or rather the univer-
sahty, 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, supasses all idea we have of wis-
dom, drawn from the highest intellectual
operations of the highest class of intelligent
beings with whom we are acquainted ; and,
which is of the chief importance to us, what-
ever be its compass or extent, which it is
evidently impossible that we should be able
to determine, it must be adequate to the con-
duct of that order of things under which we
live. And this is enough. It is of very in-
ferior consequence, by what terms we express
our notion, or rather our admiration, of this
attribute. The terms, which the piety and
the usage of language have rendered habitual
to us, may be as proper as any other. We
can trace this attribute much beyond what
is necessary for any conclusion to which we
have occasion to apply it. The degree of
knowledge and power requisite for the for-
mation of created nature, cannot, with re-
spect 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 thdl

446 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

exertion of a power, which we beUeve, me-
diately 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 reo^ions
do we not find hght? In what accessible
portion of our globe, do we not meet with
gravity, magnetism, electricity ; together
with the properties also and powers of or-
ganised substances, of vegetable or of ani-
mated nature ? Nay, farther, we may ask,
What kingdom is there of nature, what cor-
ner 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, andj
perhaps, without much deviation from phi-
losophical strictness, be called universal :

OF THE DEITY. 44?

and, with not quite the same, but with no
inconsiderable propriety, the person, or Be-
ing, in whom that power resides, or from
whom it is derived, may be taken to be
omnipresent. He who upholds all 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 ubiquity ; and which idea the lan-
guage of Scripture seems to favour : but the
former, I think, goes as far as natural theo-
logy carries us.

V " Eternity'" is a negative idea, clothed
with a positive name. It supposes, in that
to which it is applied, 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
acknowledge a Deity at all. Most assuredly,
there never was a time in which nothing ex-
isted, because that condition must have con-
tinued. The universal blank must have
remained ; nothing could rise up out of it ;
nothing could ever have existed since ; no-
thing could exist now. In strictness, how-
ever, we have no concern with duration prior
to that of the visible world. Upon this ar-
ticle therefore of theology, it is sufficient to

443 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.

know, that the contriver necessarily existed
before the contrivance.

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

" Necessary existence'' means demonstra-
ble existence.

" 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 inertice, and
of gravitation. The positive part comprises
perception, thought, will, power, action^ by
which last term is meant, the origination of
motion ; the quality, perhaps, in which re-
sides the essential superiority of spirit over
matter, " which cannot 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 Natural Religion, p. 105.

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 419

CHAPTER XXV.

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

Of the " Unity of the Deity/' the proof is,
the uniformitij of plan observable in the
universe. The universe itself is a system ;
each part either depending upon other parts,
or being connected with other parts by some
common law of motion, or by the presence
of some common substance. One principle
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 gravitation. They all experi-
ence vicissitudes of days and nights, and
changes of season. They all, at least Jupiter,
Mars, and Venus, have the same advantages
from their atmosphere as w^e have. In all
the planets, the axes of rotation are perma-
nent. Nothing is more probable than that

2o

450 THH UNITY or THE DEITY.

the same attracting influence, acting accord-
ing 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 re-
fracted and reflected according to the same
laws, as the light of a candle. The velocity
of the light of the fixed stars is also the same
as the velocity of the li2:ht of the sun, re-
fleeted from the satellites of Jupiter. The
heat of the sun, in kind, differs nothing
from the heat of a coal fire.

In our own globe, the case is clearer.
New countries are continually discovered,
but the old laws of nature are always found
ui 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 proper-
ties. 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 direction
of a different will. In truth, the same or-
der of things attends us, wherever we go.
The elements act upon one another, electri-
city operates, the tides rise and fall, the
magnetic needle elects its position, in one

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 451

region of the earth and sea, as well as in an-
other. One atmosphere invests all parts of
the globe, and connects all; one sun illu-
minates, one moon exerts its specific attrac-
tion 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 circum-
stances. In many cases this is proved ; in
all, is probable.

The inspection and comparison of living
forms, add to this argument examples with-
out number. Of all large terrestrial animals,
the structure is very much alike ; their senses
nearly the same ; their natural functions and
passions nearly the same ; their viscera near-
ly the same, both in substance, shape, and
office : digestion, nutrition, circulation, se-
cretion, go on, in a similar manner, in all :
the great circulating fluid is the same ; for.
I think, no difference has been discovered in
the properties of bloody 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 larger
terrestrial animals, show particular varieties,
but still under a great general affinity. The
resemblance is somewhat less, vet sufficient-

2 G 2

452 THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

ly evident, between quadrupeds and bird&.
They are all alike in five respects, for one in
which they differ.

In Jish^ which belong to another depart-
ment, as it were, of nature, the points of com-
parison 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 variation, 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, mz. to the different re-
fraction of light passing into the eye out
of a denser medium). The provinces, also,
themselves 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 cetaceous tribe,
which have hot blood, respiring lungs, bow-
els, and other essential parts, like those of land-
animals. This similitude, surely, bespeaks
the same creation and the same Creator.

Insects 'dx\di shell-fish appear to me to dif-
fer from other classes of animals the most
widely of any. Yet even her€, beside many

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY, 453

points of particular resemblance, there exists
a general relation of a peculiar kind. It is
the relation of inversion ; the law of contra-
riety : namely, that, whereas, in other ani-
mals, the bones, to which the muscles are at-
tached, 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, vv'ith-
out which, mechanically, they could not act.
The crust of an insect is its shell, and an-
swers the like purpose. The shell also of an
oyster stands in the 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 won-
derful varieties, indeed, and adaptations of
form) confesses an imitation, a remembrance,
a carrying on, of the same plaq.

The observations here made, are equally
applicable to plants ; but^ I think, unneces-
sary to be pursued. It is a very striking
circumstance, and alone sufficient to prove
all which we contend for, that, in this part
hkewise of organised nature, we perceive a
continuation of the sexual system.

Certain however it is, that the whole argu-

454 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITV*.

ment for the divine unity, goes no farther
than to a unity of counsel.

It may likewise be acknowledged, that no
arguments which we are in possession of, ex-
clude the ministry 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 employed.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

The proof of the divine goodness rests upon
two propositions : each, as we contend, capa-
ble of being made out by observations draw^n
from the appearances of nature.

"^he first is, " that, in a vast plurality of
instances in which contrivance is perceived>
the design of the contrivance is beneficial.''

The second, "that the Deity has super-
padded p/ecf5i^re to animal sensations, beyond
what was necessary for any other purpose, or
when the purpose, so far as it was necessary,

*rat. GooPNEss of the deity. 45h

might have been eifected by the operation of
pain/'

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

No productions of nature display contri-
vance so manifestly as the parts of animals ;
and the parts of animals have all of them, I
behevCj a real, and, with very few exceptions^
all of them a known and intelligible, subser-
viency to the use of the animal. Now, when
the multitude of animals is considered, the
number of parts in each, their figure and fit-
ness, the faculties depending upon them, the
variety of species, the complexity of struc-
ture, the success, in so many cases, and fe-
licity of the result, we can never reflect, with-
out the profoundest adoration, upon the cha-
racter of that Beino; from whom all these
things have proceeded: we cannot help ac-
knowledging, what an exertion of benevo-
lence creation was ; of a benevolence how
minute in its care, how vast in its compre-
hension !

When we appeal to the parts and faculties
of animals, and to the limbs and senses of
animals in particular, we state, I conceive,
the proper medium of proof for the conclu-
sion which we wish to establish. I will not

456 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

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 rela-
tion to sensitive being. Without this refer-
ence, or referred to any thing else, the attri-
bute has no object ; the term has no mean-
ing. 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 instruments
of perception, they compose what may be
called the whole of visible nature, estimated
with a view to the disposition of its Author.
Consequently, 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 be-
nevolent design.

Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy
world after all. The air, the earth, the wa-
ter, teem with delighted existence. In a
spring noon, or a summer evening, on which-
ever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy
beings crowd upon my view. " The insect
youth are on the wing.'^ Swarms of new-
born j?/e5, are trying their pinions in the air.
Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes,
their gratuitous activity, their continual

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. AoJ

change of place without use or purpose, tes-
tify their joy, and the exultation which they
feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee
amongst the flowers in spring, is one of the
most cheerful objects that can be looked up-
on. Its life appears to be all enjoyment ; so
busy, and so pleased ; yet it is only a speci-
men of insect life, with which, by reason of
the animal being half domesticated, we hap-
pen to be better acquainted than we are with
that of 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 offices which the
Author 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, greedily sucking their
juices, and constantly, as it should seem, in
the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted
but that this is a slate of gratification. What
else should fix them so close to the operation,
and so long? Other species are running about ^
with an alacrity in their motions, wliich car-
ries with it every mark of pleasure. Large
patches of ground are sometimes half cover-
ed with these brisk and sprightly natures.
If we look to what the waters produce, shoals

458 THE GOODNES5 OF THE ©ElTli .

of the fry of fish frequent the margins of ri-
vers, of lakes, and of the sea itself. These
are so happy, that they know not what to do
with themselves. Their attitudes, their vi-
vacity, their leaps out of the water, their fro-
r lies in it (which I have noticed a thousand
times with equal attention and amusement),
all conduce to show their excess of spirits, and
are simply the effects of that excess. Walk-
ing by the sea-side, in a calm evening, upon
a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, J
have frequently remarked the appearance of
a dark cloud, or, rather, very thick mist,
hanging over the edge of the water, to the
height, perhaps, of half a yard, 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 nothing 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 happiness, they could not have done
it more intelligibl}^ Suppose then, what I
have no doubt of, each individual of this
number to be in a state of positive enjoy-

THE QOODNESS OF TilE DEITY. WJ

fiient ; what a sum, collectively, of gratifica-
tion 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 re-
ference 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 lan-
guage, is in a high degree delighted with
being able to speak. Its incessant repetition
of a few articulate sounds, or, perhaps, of the
single word which it has learnt to pro-
nounce, proves this point clearly. Nor is it
less pleased with its first successful endea-
vours to walk, or rather to run (which pre-
cedes 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 delighted with
speaking, without having any thing to say;
and with walking, without knowing where
to go. And, prior to both these, I am dis-
posed to believe, that the waking hours of
infancy are agreeably taken up with the ex-
ercise of vision, or perhaps, more properly
speaking, with learning to see.

But it is not fiDr youth alone that the great
Parent of creation hath provided. Happi-

4C0 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

ness 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
sprighthness of the dance, or the animation
of the chase. To novelty, to acuteness of
sensation, to hope, to ardour of pursuit, suc-
ceeds, what is, in no inconsiderable degree,
an equivalent for them all, '' perception of
ease/' Herein is the exact difference between
the young and the old. 1 he young are not
happy, but when enjoying pleasure ; the old
are happ3% when free from pain. And this
constitution suits with the degrees of animal
power which they respectively possess. The
vigour of youth was to be stimulated to ac-
tion by impatience of rest; whilst to the im-
becility 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 at-
tainable than a state of pleasure. A con-
stitution, 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 in-
terval of repose and enjoyment, between the

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4Gi

hurry and the end of life. Flow far the same
eause extends to other animal natures, can*
not be judged of with certainty. The ap-
pearance 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 advan-
ced 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 think-
ing that youth is its happiest season, much
less the only happy one : as a Christian, I
am willins: to believe that there is a oreat
deal of truth in the following reprensentation
given by a very pious writer, as well as excel-
lent man'* : '' To the intelligent and virtu-
ous, old age presents a scene of tranquil en-
joyments, of obedient appetite, of well-regu-
lated 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 tlie
complacency of an approving conscience; and
looks forward, with humble confidence in the
mercy of Goc], and with devout aspirations tq?
wards his eternal and ever-increasing favour.''-

* Father's Instructions ; by Dr. Percival of Mancbester, p, ZWu'

452 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

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 organisation of different 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, whe-
ther of vivacity or repose, or of apparent en-
joyment derived from either, are picked and
favourable instances. We answer, flrst,^ that
they are instances, nevertheless, which com-
prise 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 my-
riads of animals are eating their food, grati-
fying their appetites, ruminating in their
holes, accomplishing their wishes, pursuing
their pleasures, taking their pastimes ! In

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4.G3

each individual, how many things must go
right for it to be at ease; yet how large a
proportion out of every species is 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 ac-
quainted with it, looking to the average of
sensations, the plurality and the preponder-
ancy is in favour of happiness by a vast ex-
cess. In our own species, in which perhaps
the assertion may be more questionable than
in any other, the prepoUency of good over
evil, of health, for example, and ease, over
pain and distress, is evinced by the very no-
tice which calamities excite. What inquiries
does the sickness of our friends produce !
what conversation their misfortunes! This
shows that the common course of things is in
favour of happiness ; that happiness is the
rule, misery the exception. Were the order
reversed, our attention would be called to
examples of health and competency, instead
of disease and want.

One great cause of our insensibility to the
goodness of the Creator, is the very exten-
siveness of his bounty. We prize but little
what we share only in common with the resty
or with the generality of our species. When

46 i THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITT.

we hear of blessings, we think forthwith of
successes, of prosperous fortunes, of honours,
riches, preferments, L e, of those advantages
and superiorities over others, which we hap-
pen 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
oTeat thing's. These constitute 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 comparison with any
other. Yet, because almost every man we
meet with possesses these, we leave them out
of our enumeration. They raise no senti-
ment; ihey move no gratitude. Now, here-
in, is our judgement perverted by our self-
ishness. A biessino* ouffht 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 cheap-
ness ; by its falling to the lot, and forming
the happiness, of the great bulk and body of
our species, as well as of ourselves. 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4-65

court distinction. That is not the worst :
we see nothing but what has distinction to
recommend it. This necessarily contracts
our views 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 numerous instances, and to a degree^
which, collectively, 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 proposition
to that mixed state of things which these ex-
ceptions induce, 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 resolve all ap-
pearances into benevolence of design, we
make the few give place to the many; the little
to the great; that we take our judgement
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 : —

" When God created the human species,; {

2 H

466 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

either he wished their happiness, or he wish-
ed their misery, or he was indifferent and un-
concerned about either.

" 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 gratifica-
tion and enjoyment : or by placing us amidst
objects, so ill suited to our perceptions as to
have continually offended us, instead of mi-
nistering to our refreshment and delight.
He might have made, for example, every
thing we tasted, 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
happmess or misery, we must impute to our
good fortune (as all design by this supposi-
tion 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 GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 46/

" The same argument may be proposed in
different terms ; thus : Contrivance proves
design: and the predominant tendency of the
contrivance indicates the disposition of the
designer. The world abounds with contri-
vances : and all the contrivances which we are
acquainted with, are directed to beneficial
purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists ; but is
never, that we can perceive, the object of con*
trivance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to
ache ; their aching now and then is incidental
to the contrivance, perhaps inseparable from
it : or even, if you will, let it be called a de-
fect in the contrivance : but it is not the ob-
ject 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 tor-
ture, or execution : this engine, you would
J5ay, is to extend the sinews ; this to dislo-
cate 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, nothing of this sort is to
be found in the works of nature. We never

2h 2

468 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

discover u train of contrivance to bring about
an evil purpose. No anatomist ever dis-
covered a system of organisation calculated
to produce pain and disease ; or, in explain-
ing 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 annov,
or to torment.'^

The TWO CASES which appear to me to
have the most of difficulty in them, as form-
ing 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 referred to design ; because there
is in all cases of the first, and in most cases
of the second, an express and distinct or-
ganisation provided for the producing of
them. Under the iirst head, the fangs of
vipers, the stings of wasps and scorpions, are
as clearly intended for their purpose, as any
animal structure is for any purpose the most
incontestably beneficial. And the same thing

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 409

must, under the second head, be acknow-
ledged of the talons and beaks of birds, of
the tusks, teeth, and claws of beasts, of prey ;
of the shark's mon^h, of the spider's web,
and of numberless weapons of offence belong-
ing to different tribes of voracious insects.
We cannot, therefore, avoid the difficulty
by saying, that the effect Avas not intended.
The only question open to us is, whether it
be ultimately evil. From the confessed and
felt imperfection of our knowledge, we ought
to presume, that there may be consequences
of this oeconomy which are hidden from us ;
from the benevolence which pervades the
general designs of nature, we ought also to
presume, that these consequences, if they
could enter into our calculation, would turn
the balance on the favourable side. Both
these I contend to be reasonable presump-
tions. Not reasonable presumptions, 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 multi-
tude of intentions, all proceeding from the
«5ame author, and all, except these, directed
to ends of undisputed utility. Of the vindi-
cations, however, of this oeconomy, which we

470 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

are able to assign, such as most extenuate the
difficulty are the following.

With respect to venomous bites and stings,
it may be observed, —

1. That, the animal itself being regarded,
the faculty 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 sto-p
mach, 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 bodies and to those of large
quadrupeds, is greatly overdone ; that it
might have fulfilled its use, and yet have
been much less deleterious than it is. Now^
I believe 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 Abb6 Fontana, w^hich were numerous,

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4?!

go strongly to the proof of this point. He
found that it required the action of five ex-
asperated 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 rattle-snake would
not usually be mortal ; allowing, however,
that in certain particularly u nfortunate cases,
as when the puncture had touched some very
tender part, pricked a principal nerve for in-
stance, or, as it is said, some more consider-
able lymphatic vessel, death might speedily
ensue.

3. It has been, I think, very justly re-
marked, concerning serpents ; that, whilst
only a few species possess the venomous pro-
perty, 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 rep-
tiles, is its protection ; and this terror is
founded on the formidable revenge, which a
few of the number, compared with the whole,
are capable of taking. The species of ser-
pents, described by Linnaeus, amount to
two hundred and eighteen, of which thirty-
two only are poisonous.

4^2 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

4. It seems to me, that animal constitu-
tions are provided, not only for each element,
but for each state of the elements, i, e, for
every chmate, 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 neces-
sities proceeding from these causes, have
driven multitudes of the species to seek a re-
fuge amongst burning sands, w^hilst countries,
blessed with hospitable skies, and with the
most fertile soils, remain almost without a
human tenant. We invade the territories of
wild beasts and venomous reptiles, and then
complain that w^e 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 pro-
duce 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 en-
joy their existence ; let them have their
country. Surface enough will be left to
man, though his numbers were increased a

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4/3

Imnd red-fold 5 and left to him, where he
might Uve, exempt from these annoyances.

The SECOND CASE, viz, that of animals
devouring one another, fainishes a considera-
tion of much larger extent. To judge
whether, as a general provision, this can be
deemed an evil^ even so far as we understand
its consequences, which, probably, is a par-
tial understanding, the following reflections
are fit to be attended to.

1. Immortality upon this earth is out of
the question. Without death there could be
no generation, no sexes, no parental relation,
i. e, as things are constituted, no animal
happiness. The particular duration of life,
assigned to different animals, can form no
part of the objection ; because, whatever
that duration be, whilst it remains finite and
limited, it may always be asked, why it is
no longer. The natural age of different
animals varies, from a single day to a cen:
tury of years. No account can be given of
this ; nor could any be given, whatever other
proportion 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.

474 IHE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

Now, according to the established order of
nature (which we must suppose to prevail, or
we cannot reason at all upon the subject), the
three methods by which life is usually put an
end to, are acute diseases, decay, and vio»
lence. 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, there-
fore, in what a condition of suffering and mi-
sery a brute animal is placed, which is left to
perish by decay. In human sickness or in-
firmity, there is the assistance of man's ra-
tional 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
absolute famine, or to the protracted wretch-
edness of a life slowly wasted by the 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 475

pursuit of its prey, forms the employment,
and appears to constitute the pleasure, of a
considerable part of the animal creation.
The using of the means of defence, or flight,
or precaution, forms also the business of an-^
other part. And even of this latter tribe, we
have no reason to suppose, that their happi-
ness is much molested by their fears. Their
danger exists continually ; and in some cases
they seem to be so far sensible of it as to pro-
vide, in the best manner they can, against it;
but it is only when the attack Is actually
made upon them, that they appear to suffer
from it. To contemplate the insecurity of
their condition with anxiety and dread, re-
quires a degree of reflection, which (happily
for themselves) they do not possess. A haix^
notwithstanding the number of its dangers
^nd 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 connexion with an-^
other property of animal nature, viz. super-'
fecundity. They are countervailing qualities.
One subsists by the correction of the other.
In treating, therefore, of the subject under
this view (which is, I believe, the true one),
our business will be, first, to point out the ad-

4/6 I'HE GOODNESS OP THE DEITIT.

vantages which are gained by the powers in
nature of a superabundant multipHcation;
and, then, to show, that these advantages are
so many reasons for appointing that system
of national hostihties, which we are endea-
vouring 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 inhabitants 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 constitu-
tion are two : first, that it tends to keep the
world always full; whilst, secondly, it allows
the proportion between the several species of
animals to be differently modified, as differ-
ent purposes require, or as different situations
may afford for them room and food. Where
this vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fit-
ted 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 mul-
tiplication of some troublesome insects ; not
reflecting, that large portions of nature might

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 477

be left void without it. If the accounts of
travellers may be depended upon, imniense
tracts of forest in North America would be
nearlv lost to sensitive existence, if it were
not for gnats, " In the thinly inhabited re-
gions of America, in which the waters stag-
nate and the climate is warm, the whole air
is filled with crowds of these insects/' Thus
it is, that where we looked for solitude and
death-like silence, we meet with animation,
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 au-
thority, would be lifeless without them. The
Caspian deserts are converted by their pre-^
sence 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 so envy these blissful abodes, as to pro-
nounce the fecundity by which they are sup-
plied with inhabitants, to be an evil ; a sub-
ject of complaint, and not of praise? Farther;
by virtue of this same superfecundity, what
we term destruction, becomes almost instant-
ly the parent of life. What we call blights,

478 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

are, oftentimes, legions of animated beings,
claiming their portion in the bounty of na-
ture. What corrupts the produce of the earth
to us, prepares it for them. And it is by
means of their rapid multiphcation, that they
take possession of their pasture ; a slow pro-
pagation would not meet the opportunity.

But in conjunction with the occasional use
of this fruitfulness, we observe, also, that it
allows the proportion between the several
species of animals to be differently modified,
as different purposes of utility 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 mice will retire before
the husbandman and the shepherd, 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 population. In this oeconomy,
it is possible that there may be the foUowmg
advantages: When old countries are become
exceedingly corrupt, simpler modes of life,
purer morals, and better institutions, may
rise up in new ones, whilst fresh soils reward
the cultivator with more plentiful returns.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4*^9

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 sudden multiphcation,
fill the chasm. In domesticated animals, we
find the effect of their fecundity to be, that
we can always command 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 superfecundity^ though of
great occasional use and importance, exceeds
the ordinary capacity of nature to receive or
support its progeny. All superabundance
supposes destruction, or must destroy itself*
Perhaps there is no species of terrestrial ani-
mals whatever, which would not overrun the
earth, if it were permitted to multiply in per-
fect safety ; or of fish, which would not fill
the ocean: at least, if any single species were
left to their natural increase without disturb-
ance or restraint, the food of other species
would be exhausted by their maintenance*
It is necessary, therefore, that the effects of
such prolific faculties be curtailed. In con-
junction with other checks and limits, all sub-
servient to the same purpose, are the thin'-

4S0 THE GOODNESS OF THE DBITY*

nings which take place among animals, by
their action upon one another. In some in-
stances we ourselves experience, very direct-
ly, the use of these hostilities. One species
of insects rids us of another species ; or re-
duces their ranks. A third species, perhaps^
keeps the second within bounds : and birds or
lizards are a fence against the inordinate in-
crease 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 spe-
cies : or even for the preventing of the loss
of certain species from the universe : a mis-
fortune which seems to be studiously guard-
ed against. Though there may be the ap»
pearance of failure in some of the details of
Nature^s works, in her great purposes there
never are. Her species never fail. The pro-
vision which was originally made for continu-
ing the replenishment of the world, has prov-
ed itself to be effectual through a long suc-
cession of ages.

What farther shows, that the system of
destruction amongst animaks holds an express
relation to the system of fecundity ; that
they are parts indeed of one compensatory

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 431

scheme; is, that, in each species, the fecun-
dity bears a proportion to the smaUness (rf
the animal, to the weakness, to the shortness
of its natural term of life, and to the dangers
and enemies by which it is surrounded. An
elephant pro(hjces 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 thou-
sand minnows for one pike; in the sea, a mil-
lion of herrings for a single shark. Compen-
sation obtains throughout. Delencelessness
and devastation are repaired by fecundityo

We have dwelt the longer on these consi-
derations, because the subject to which they
apply, namely, that of animals devouring one
another, forms the chief, if not the only in-
stance, in the works of the Deity, of an oeco-
nomy, 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 inferior 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 possession.

Our FIRST PROPOsiTiOTsT, and that which
we have hitherto been defending, was, " that,

2 I

4S2 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

in a vast plurality of instances, in which con^
trivance is perceived, the design of the con-
trivance is beneficial/'

Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, " that the
Deity has added p/easwre to animal sensations,
beyond what was necessary for any other pur-
pose, 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 esta-
blished course of nature, are necessary to the
support or preservation of an animal, however
manifestly they may be the result of an or-
ganisation 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 itself; 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 proper-
ties, therefore, which fall under this descrip-
tion, 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 ; forasmuch as they must
have been found in any creation which was
capable of continuance, although it is possi-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 483

ble to suppose, 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 superadded from an inten-
tion expressly directed to happiness; an in-
tention to give a happy existence distinct
from the general intention of providing the
means of existence ; and that is, of capacities
for pleasure, in cases wherein, so far as the
conservation of the individual or of the spe-
cies is concerned, they were not wanted, or
wherein the purpose might have been secured
by the operation of pain. The provision
which is made of a variety of objects, not ne-
cessary to life, and ministering only to our
pleasures; and the properties given to the
necessaries of hfe themselves, by which they
contribute to pleasure as well as preservation;
show a farther design, than that of giving
existence*.

A single instance will make all this clear.
Assuming the necessity of food for the sup-
port of animal life ; it is requisite, that the
animal be provided with organs, fitted for the

* See this topic considered in Dr. Balguy's Treatise upon
the Divine Benevolence. This excellent author first, I think,
proposed it; and nearly in the terms in which it is here stated.
Some other observations also under this head are taken from
that treatise.

3 i2

4^4 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY,

procuring, receiving, and digesting of its
food. It may also be necessary, that the
animal be impelled by its sensations to exert
its organs. Bat 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 consti-
tution which, so far as appears to me, can
be resolved into nothing but the pure bene-
volence of the Creator. Eating is necessary ;
but the pleasure attending it is not neces-
sary : 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 or-
gan in which it resides, a felicitous adap-
tation of the organ to the object, will be con-
fessed by any one, who may happen to have
experienced that vitiation of taste which fre-
quently occurs in fevers, when every taste is
irregular, and every one bad.

In mentioning the gratifications of the pa-
late, 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 485

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 plea-
sure is doubled. Their whole time almost is
divided between browsing upon their pas-
ture and chewing their cud. Whatever the
pleasure be, U 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 drawing out, or relish-
ing, the taste in the mouth, is it an improba-
ble conjectnre, 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 the de-
fect 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 without

486 THE GOODNESS OF YHE DEITY.

harmony ; of smell, without fragrance ; of
vision, without beauty. Now, " if the Deity
had been indifferent about our happiness
or misery, we must impute to our good for-
tune (as all design by this supposition is ex-
cluded), both the capacity of our senses to
receive pleasure, and the supply of external
objects fitted to excite it.'' 1 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 objects being fixed,
the sense might not have agreed with them.
A coincidence is here required, which no
accident can account for. There are three
possible suppositions upon the subject, and
no more. The first ; that the sense, by its
original constitution, was made to suit the
object: The second; that the object, by its
original constitution, was made to suit the
sense : The third ; that the sense is so con-
stituted, as to be able, either universally,
or within certain limits, by habit and fami-
harity, to render every object pleasant.
Whichever of these suppositions we adopt,
the effect evinces, on the part of the Author
of nature, a studious benevolence. If the
pleasures which we derive from any of our
senses, depend upon an original congruity

THE GOODNESS OF THB DEITT. 48?

between the sense and the properties per-
ceived by it, we know by experience, that
the adjustment demanded, with respect to
the quahties which were conferred upon the
objects that surround us, not only choice and
selection, out of a boundless variety of possi-
ble qualities with which these objects might
have been endued, but a proportioning also
of degree^ because an excess or defect of in-
tensity spoils the perception, as much almost
as an error in the kind and nature of the
quality. Likewise the degree of dulness or
acuteness in the sense itself, is no arbitrary
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 dulness of the senses forms
the complaint of old age. Persons in fevers,
and, I believe, in most maniacal cases, expe-
rience great torment from their preternatural
acuteness. An increased, no less than an
impaired sensibility, induces a state of dis-
ease and suffering.

The doctrine of a specific congruity be-
tween animal senses and their objects, is
strongly favoured by what is observed of in-
sects in the election of their food. Some of
these will feed upon one kind of plant or ani-
mal, and upon no other : some caterpillars

488 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

upon the cabbage alone ; some upon the
black currant alone. The species of caterpil-
lar 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 show so
strong a preference, as to afford reason to be-
lieve that, though they may be driven by
hunger to others, they are led by the plea-
sure of taste to a few particular plants alone :
and all this, as it should seem, independently
of habit or imitation.

But should we accept the third hypothe-
sis, 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 ani-
mal capacity, not less perhaps to be admi-
red than the native congruities which the
other scheme adopts. It cannot be shown
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 accom-
modation provided in these senses by the
Author of their structure, and forms a part
of their perfection.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 489

In whichever way we regard the senses,
they appear to be specific gifts, ministering,
not only to preservation, but to pleasure*
But what we usually call the senses, are pro-
bably themselves far from being the only ve-
hides of enjoyment, or the whole of our con-
stitution which is calculated for the same
purpose. We have many internal sensations
of the most agreeable kind, hardly referable
to any of the five senses. Some physiologists
have holden, that all secretion is pleasural)le ;
and that the complacency which in health,
without any external assignable object to
excite it, we derive from life itself, is the ef-
fect of our secretions going on well within us.
All this may be true : but if true, what rea-
son 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 tne ques-
tion, but that which refers it to appointment.

We can give no account whatever of our
pleasures in the simple and original percep-
tion ; and, even when physical sensations 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

490 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

tell me in what the sport consisted ; who
could resolve it into its principle, and state
that principle. I have been a great follower
of fishing myself, and in its cheerful solitude
havel 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 always an unjust com-
plaint. If trifles engage, and if trifles make
us happy, the true reflection suggested by
the experiment, is upon the tendency of na-
ture to gratification and enjoyment ; which
is, in other words, the goodness of its Author
towards his sensitive creation.

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 mere preservation.
The pleasure of choosing for themselves, and
of prosecuting the object of their choice,
should seem to be an original source of en-
joyment. The pleasures received from things,
great, beautiful, or new, from imitation, or

THE GOODNESS OF TFIE DEITY. 4.91

from the liberal arts, are, in some measure,
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 reason, or even than the mere
effect of association. Property communi-
cates 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 sup-
plies the place of prospect and scenery. In-
stead of coveting the beauty of distant situa-
tions, 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 were.
They were, firstly, that in a vast plurality of
instances, in which contrivance is perceived,
the design of the contrivance is beneficial :
secondly, that the Deity has added pleasure
to animal sensations beyond what was neces-
sary for any other purpose ; or when the pur-

* Balguy on the Divine Benevolence.

492 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY,

pose, SO far as it was necessary, might have
been effected by the operation of pain.

Whilst these propositions can be main-
tained, we are authorised to ascribe to the
Deity the character of benevolence : and
what is benevolence at all, must in him be
infinite benevolence, by reason of the infinite,
that is to say, the incalculably great, num-
ber of objects, upon which it is exercised.

Of the ORIGIN OF EVIL, no universal so-
lution has been discovered; I mean, no so-
lution which reaches to all cases of complaint.
The most comprehensive is that which arises
from the consideration oi general rules > We
may, I think, without much difficulty, be
brought to admit the four following points :
jfirst, that important advantages may accrue
to the universe from the order of nature pro-
ceeding according to general laws : secondly,
that general laws, however well set and con-
stituted, often thwart and cross one another :
thirdly, that from these thwartings and cross-
ings, frequent particular inconveniencies wil
arise: /and, fourth! v, that it ao;rees with our
observation to suppose, that some degree of
these inconveniencies takes place in the works
of nature. These points may be allowed ; and

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 493

it may also be asserted, that the general laws
with which we are acquainted, are directed 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 conservation of
them may be of importance in other respects,
or to other beings, but we are uninformed
of their value or use; uninformed, conse-
quently, when, and how far, they may or
may not be suspended, or their eff*ects turned
aside, by a presiding and benevolent will,
without incurring greater evils than those
which would be 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 propositions as
principles, whatever uncertainty we may find
in the application, we lay a ground for believ-
ing, that cases of apparent evil, for which

494 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITV.

we can suggest no particular reason, are go-
verned by reasons, which are more general,
which lie deeper in the order of second causes,
and which 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 dif-
ferent 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 appear to be reasons
of wisdom and goodness.

In like manner, Jiniteness, or what is re-
solvable into finiteness, in inanimate sub-
jects, can never be a just subject of com-
plaint ; because if it were ever so, it would be
always so : we mean, that we can never rea-

THB GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 495

sonably demand that things should be larger
or more, when the same demand might
be made, whatever the quantity or number
was.

And to me it seems, that the sense of
mankind has so far acquiesced in these rea-
sons, as that we seldom complain of evils of
this class, when we clearly perceive them to
be such. What I have to add, therefore, 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 complain, 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 author
rised to murmur, simply because the island
is not larger than it is. Yet these are the
same griefs.

The above are the two metaphysical an-
swers 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 reasoning:

496 THE GOOt)NESS OF THE DEfTV.

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. Out
speculations, therefore, are perhaps better
employed when they confine themselves with-
in a narrower circle.

The observations which follow, are of this
more limited, but more determinate, kind.

Oi bodily pahi^ the principal observation,
no doubt, is that which we have already
made, and already dwelt upon, viz, '' that
it is seldom the object of contrivance ; that
when it is so, the contrivance rests ultimate-
ly in good/'

To which, however, may be added, that
the annexing of pain to the means of destruc-
tion is a salutary provision ; inasmuch as it
teaches vigilance and caution ; both gives
notice of danger, and excites those endea-
vours which may be necessary to preserva-
tion. The evil consequence, which some-
times arises from the want of that timely
intimation of danger which pain gives, is
known to the inhabitants of cold countries
by the example of frost-bitten limbs. I
have conversed with patients who had lost
toes and fingers by this cause. They have
in general told me, that they were totally
unconscious of any local uneasiness at the

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 4^

time. Some I have heard declare, that,
whilst they were about their employment,
neither their situation, nor the state of the
air, was unpleasant. They felt no pain ; they
suspected no mischief; till, by the applica-
tion of warmth, they discovered, too late, the
fatal injury which some of their extremities
had suffered. I say that this shows the use
of pain, and that we stand in need of such a
monitor. I believe also that the use extends
farther 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 be-
come so familiar, as not easily to be referred
to their origin.

Pain also itself is not without Its allevia"
tions. It may be violent and frequent; but
it is seldom both violent and long-continued:
and its pauses and intermissions become posi-
tive 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, indeed, it
depends upon the duration and urgency of

2 K

498 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

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 inter-
ruption of bodily ease for a couple of hours
out of the four-and-twenty. Two very com-
mon observations favour this opinion : one
is, that remissions of pain call forth, from
those who experience them, stronger expres-
sions of satisfaction and of gratitude towards
both the author and the instruments of their
relief, than are excited by advantages of any
other kind : the second is, that the spirits of
sick men do not sink in proportion to the
acuteness of their sufferings ; but rather ap-
pear to be roused and supported, not by pain,
but by the high degree of comfort which
they derive from its cessation, or even its
subsidency, whenever that occurs ; and which
they taste with a relish, that diffuses some
portion of mental complacency over the whole
of that mixed state of sensations in which
disease has placed them.

In connexion with bodily pain may be
considered bodily disease^ whether painful or
not. Few diseases are fatal. I have before
me the account of a dispensary in the neigh-
bourhood, which states six years' experience
as follows :

THE GOODNKSS Of THE DSITY. 499

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 propor-
tion of the maladies which were brought for-
ward, 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 constitu-
tion under many of the distempers by which
it is visited, to two benefactions of our na-
ture. One is, that she works within certain
limits ; allows of a certain latitude within
which health may be preserved, and wdthin
the confines of which it only suffers a gra-
duated diminution. Different quantities of
food, different degrees of exercise, different
portions of sleep, different states of the at-
mosphere, are compatible with the posses-
sion of health. So likewise it is with the se-
cretions 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 with-

^ K 2

St)d THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

out destroying life, but without occasioning
any high degree of inconveniency. The
other property of our nature, to which we
are still more beholden, is its constant en-
deavour 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 mea-
sure 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 obstruction is removed, but
they struggle with the impediment. They
take an action as near to the true one, as
the difficulty and the disorganisation, with
which they have to contend, will allow of. :t
Of nwrtal diseases, the great use is to re-
concile 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 im-
perceptible gradation. Every man who has
been placed in a situation to observe it, is
surprised with the change which has been

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY, 501

wrought in himself, when he compares 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. Tliere is no simiUtude 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
through which, it is possible that he may
experience no shocks or sudden transitions.j^.
Death itself, as a mode of removal and
of succession, is so connected with tl^
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 seeiji
likewise impossible to separate the fear of
death from the enjoyment of life, or the per-
ception 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
preservation, and no farther. But would a
human being wish to purchase this immu-
nity at the expense of those mental p<;)^w^$
which enable him to look forward, it^s^e .

future.'^ vT 098n(iTiJ?:

502 THB GOODNESS OF THE DEITV.

Death implies separation : and the loss of
those whom we love, must necessarily, so
far as we can conceive, be accompanied with
pain. To the brute creation, nature seems
to have stepped in with some secret provi-
sion for their relief, under the rupture of
their attachments. In their instincts to-
wards their offspring, and of their offspring
to them, I have often been surprised to ob-
serve how ardently they love, and how soon
they forget. The pertinacity of human sor-
row (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
w€ should possess affections, the sources of
so many virtues, and so many joys, although
they be exposed to the incidents of life, as
w^ell as the interruptions of mortality, than,
by the want of them, be reduced to a state of
selfishness, apathy, and quietism.

Of other external evils (still confining our-
selves to what are called physical or natural
evils), a considerable part come within the
scope of the following observation : — The
great principle of human satisfaction is en-
gagement. It is a most just distinction, which
the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt upon so largely

THE GOODNESS OF THE DitlTY. 50S

in his works, between pleasures in which we
are passive, and pleasures in which we are
active. And, I beheve, every attentive ob-
server of human hfe will assent to his posir
tion, thatj 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 supply
that regular stream of moderate and mis-
cellaneous enjoyments, in which happiness, as
distinguished from voluptuousness, consists.
Now for rational occupation, which is, in
other words, for the very material of con-
tented existence, there would be no place left,
if either the things with which we had to
do were absolutely impracticable to our en-
deavours, or if they were too obedient to our
uses. A world, furnished with advantages on
one side, and beset with difliculties, wants,
and inconveniences 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, contri-
butes to this purpose. A world in which
nothing depended upon ourselves, however it
might have suited an imaginary ra^e of t3e-
ings, would not have suited mankind. Their
skill, prudence, industry; their various arts,

504 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

and their best attainments, from the applica-
tion of which they draw, if not their highest,
their most permanent gratifications, would
be insignificant, if things could be either
moulded by our volitions, or, of their own
accord, conformed themselves to our views
and wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness
that we discern the seed and principle of phy^
sical evil, as far as it arises from that which is
external to us.

Cwi 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 because they result, by
a kind of necessity, not only from the consti-
tution 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 dif-
ferent 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, accord-
ing as the quantity of provision, which is
either produced in the country, or supplied
to it from other countries, may happen to
vary. But there must always be such a point,
and the species will always breed up to it.

tHE GOODNESS 5F THE DEITV. 505

The order of generation proceeds by some-
thing Hke a geometrical progression. The in-
crease of provision, under circumstances even
the most advantageous, can only assume the
form of an arithmetic series. Whence it fol-
lows, that the population will always overtake
the provision, will pass beyond the line of
plenty, and will continue to increase till
checked by the difficulty of procuring sub-
sistence*. Such difficulty therefore, along
with its attendant circumstances, must be
found in every old country : and these cir-
cumstances constitute what we call poverty,
which, necessarily, imposes labour, servitude,
restraint.

It seems impossible to people a country
with inhabitants who shall be all easy in cir-
cumstances. For suppose the thing to be
done, there would be such marrying and giv-
ing in marriage amongst them, as would in a
few years change the face of affiiirs entirely:
i. e, as would increase the consumption of
those articles, which supplied the natural or
habitual wants of the country, to such a de-
gree of scarcity, as must leave the greatest
part of the inhabitants unable to procure

* See a statement of this subject, in a late treatise upon^
population.

dOG THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

them without toilsome endeavours, or, out of
the different kinds of these articles, to pro-
cure 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: h condition unavoidably, as
it should seem, resulting from the provision
which is made in the human, in common with
all animal constitutions, for the perpetuity
and multiplication of the species.

It need not however dishearten any endea-
vours for the public service, to know that
population naturally treads upon the heels of
improvement. If the condition 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 together. There may be limits
fixed by nature to both, but they are limits
not yet attained, nor even approached, in any
country of the world.

And when we speak of limits at all, we
\ have respect only to provisions for animal
"svants. There are sources, and means, and
auxiliaries, and augmentations of human hap-
piness, communicable without restriction of
numbers; as capable of being possessed by
a thousand persons as by one. Such are

#

THE GOODNESS OF THE DlilTY. 507

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 found in the possession of well-di-
rected tastes and desires, compared with the
dominion of tormenting, pernicious, contra-
dictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable pas-
sions.

The distinctions of civil life are apt enough
to be regarded as evils, hy those who sit un-
der them ; but, in my opinion, with very lit-
tle reason.

In the first place, the advantages which the
higher conditions of life are supposed to con-
fer, bear no proportion in value to the ad-
vantages which are bestowed by nature. The
gifts of nature always surpass the gifts of for-
tune. How much, for example, is activity
better than attendance ; beauty than dress ;
appetite, digestion, and tranquil bowels, than
all the studies of cookery, or than the most
costly compilation of forced, or far-fetched
dainties !

Nature has a strong tendency to equalisa-
tion. Habit, the instrument of nature, is a
great leveller; the familiarity which it in-

SOS THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

duces, taking off the edge both of our plea-
sures and our sufferings. Indulgences which
are habitual, keep us in ease, and cannot be
carried much farther. So that, with respect
to the gratifications of which the senses are
capable, the difference is by no means pro-
portionable to the apparatus. Nay, so far as
superfluity generates fastidiousness, the dif-
ference is on the wrong side.

It is not necessary to contend, that the ad-
vantages derived from wealth are none (un-
der due regulations they are certainly consi-
derable), but that they are not greater than
they ought to be. Money is the sweetener
of human toil; the substitute for coercion;
the reconciler of labour with liberty. It is,
moreover, the stimulant of enterprise in all
projects and undertakings, as well as of dili-
gence in the most beneficial arts and employ-
ments. Now did affluence, when possessed,
contribute nothing to happiness, or nothing
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 are, at present, derived to us
through this important medium. Not only
would the tranquillity of social hfe be put in
peril by the want of a motive to attach meii
to their private concerns ; but the satisfac-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 505

tion which all men receive from success in
their respective occupations, which collec-
tively constitutes the' great mass of humaa
comfort, would be done away in its very
principle.

With respect to station, as it is distinguish-
ed from riches, whether it confer authority
over others, or be invested with honours
which apply solely to sentiment and imagina-
tion, the truth is, that what is gained by ri-
sing through the ranks of life, is not more
than sufficient 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 encouraged. Dis-
tinctions 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
Loi'd Mat/or 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 personal comfort, becomes
fitill more problematical ; even allowing to
ambition all its pleasures. The poet asks,
*' What is grandeur, what is power?" The
philosopher answers, " Constraint and plague:

'610 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITT.

et in maximd qudque fortima minimum It-
cere" One very common error misleads the
opinion of mankind on this head, viz. that,
universally, authority is pleasant, submission
painful. In the general course of human af-
fairs, 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 re*
spect attached by public opinion to particu-
lar professions, they serve to confront that
grand and unavoidable distinction which
arises from property, and which is most over-
bearing where there is no other. It is of the
nature of property, 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 of his pro-
perty which ought to be left to the subject,
will not be sufficient to counteract this ten-
dency. There must always therefore be the
diffi:irence 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 511

called, which spring either from the necessary
subordinations of civil life, or from the dis-
tinctions which have, naturally, though not
necessarily, grown up in most societies, so
long as they are unaccompanied by privileges
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 which mankind are the
occasion to one another, by their private
wickednesses and cruelties ; by tyrannical
exercises of power; by rebellions against just
authority ; by wars ; by national jealousies
and competitions operating to the destruction
of third countries ; or by other instances of
misconduct either in individuals or societies,
are all to be resolved into the character of man
as ?ifree agent. Free agency in its very es-
sence 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 character, to virtue, to merit, to ac-
countableness, to the use indeed of reason.
To which must be added the observation,
that even the bad qualities of mankind have
an origin in their good ones. The case is

512 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

this : Human passions are either necessary to
human welfare, or capable of being made,
and, in a great majority of instances, in fact
made, conducive to its happiness. These
passions are strong and general ; and, per-
haps, would not answer their purpose unless
they were so. But strength and generality,
when it is expedient that particular circum-
stances 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 mi-
sery) appear to spring. This account, whilst
it shows us the principle of vice, shows us, at
the same time, the province of reason and of
self-government; the want also of every sup-
port which can be procured to either from
the aids of religion ; and it shows this, with-
out having recourse to any native, gratuitous
malignity in the human constitution. Mr.
Hume, in his posthumous dialogues, asserts^
indeed, of idleness, or aversion to labour
(which he stales to lie at the root of a consi-
derable part of the evils which maniiind suf-
fer), that it is simply and merely bad. But
how does he distinguish idleness from the love
of ease ? or is he sure, that the love of ease in
individuals is not the chief foundation of so-
cial tranquillity ? It will be found, I believe,

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY 513

to be true, that in every community there is
a large class of its members, whose idleness
is the best quality about them, being the
corrective of other bad ones. If it were pos-
sible, in every instance, to give a right de-
termination to industry, we could never have
too much of it. But this is not possible, if
men are to be free. And without this, no-
thing w^ould be so dangerous, as an incessant,
universal, indefatigable activity. In the ci-
vil world, as well as in the material, it is the
pis inertice which keeps things in their places.

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 be-
yond 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 considerable
number of cases.

'* Li There must be chance in the midst of
design : by which we mean, that events
which are not designed, necessarily arise from
the pursuit of events which are designed.

2 L

514 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

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, undertaken with design and from de-
liberation. The meeting, though accidental,
was nevertheless hypothetically necessary
(which is the only sort of necessity that is in-
telligible) : for if the two journeys were com-
menced at the time, pursued in the direction,
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 rencounter
might be most unfortunate, though the er-
rands, upon which each party set out upon
his journey, were the most innocent or the
most laudable. The bye effect may be un-
favourable, without impeachment of the pro^
per purpose, for the sake of which the train,
from the operation of which these consequen-
ces ensued, was put in motion. Although
no cause act without a good purpose ; acci-
dental consequences, like these, may be
either good or bad.

II. The appearance of chance will always
bear a proportion to the ignorance of the ob-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITT. 515

server. The cast of a die as regularly fol-
lows the laws of motion, as the going of a
watch ; yet, because we can trace the opera-
tion 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 point-
ing 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, accord-
ing 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 appear-
ance of chance, viz. the ignorance of the ob-
server, comes to be applied to the operations
of the Deity, it is easy to foresee how fruitful

516 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

it must prove of difficulties and of seeming
confusion. It is only to think of the Deity,
to perceive what variety of objects, what dis-
tance of time, M^hat extent of space and ac-
tion, his counsels may, or rather must, com-
prehend. Can it be wondered at, that, of
the purposes which dwell in such a mind as
this, so small a part should be known to us ?
It is only necessary, therefore, to bear in our
thought, that in proportion to the inadequate-
ness 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 observable rule whatever.
This is not seldom the case even in human
arrangements. Each person's place and pre-
cedency, in a public meeting, may be deter-
mined by lot. Work and labour may be aU
lotted. Tasks and burdens may be allot-
ted :

Operumque laborem

Partibus sequabat 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. SlJ

eases also, the distribution of favours 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 would or could arise from regu-
lation. In all these cases also, though events
rise up in the way of chance, it is by appoint-
ment that they do so.

In other events, and such as are independ-
ent of human will, the reasons for this prefer-
ence of uncertainty to rule, appear to be still
stronger. For example : it seems to be ex-
pedient that the period of human life should
be uncertain. Did mortality 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. 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 apprehen-
sion or restraint. On the other hand, were
sudden deaths very frequent, the sense of
constant jeopardy would interfere too much

5 IS THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY,

with the degree of ease and enjoyment in-
tended for us ; and human Ufe be too pre-
carious for the business and interests which
belong to it. Tiiere could not be depend-
ence either upon our own lives, or the lives
of those with whom we were connected, suf-
ficient to carry on the regular offices of hu-
man society. The manner, therefore, in
which death is made to occur, conduces to
the purposes of admonition, without over-
throwing the necessary stability of human
affairs.

Disease 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 cultivators of the soil, a
necessity for personal attendance, for activity,
vigilance, precaution. It is this necessity
w^hich 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 519

agricultural life, of all modes of life the best,
being the most conducive to health, to vir*
tue, to enjoyment. I believe it to be found
in fact, that where the soil is the most fruit-
ful, and the seasons the most constant, there
the condition of the cultivators of the earth
is the most depressed. Uncertainty, there-
fore, has its use even to those who sometimes
complain of it the most. Seasons of scarcity
themselves are not without their advantages.
Thev call forth new exertions ; they set con-
trivance and ingenuity at work ; they give
birth to improvements in agriculture and
oeconomy ; they promote the investigation
and mcinagement of pubhc resources.

Again ; there are strong intelhgible rea-
sons, why there should exist in human so-
ciety great disparity of wealth and station ;
not only as these things are acquired in dif-
ferent degrees, but at the first setting out
of life. In order, for instance, to answer
the various demands of civil life, there ought
to be amongst the members of every civil
society a diversity of education, which can
only belong to an original diversity of cir-
cumstances. As this sort of disparity, which
ought to take place from the beginning of
life, must, ex hypothesis be previous to th^
merit or demerit of the persons upon whom

520 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

it falls, can it be better disposed of than by
chance ? Parentage is that sort of chance :
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 distinctions. 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 necessary 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. Ine-
qualities, therefore, of fortune, at least the
greatest part of them, viz, those which at-
tend us from our birth, and depend upon
our birth, may be left, as they are left, to
chance^ without any just cause for question-
ing the regency of a supreme Disposer of
events.

But not only the donation, when by the
necessity of the case they must be gifts, but
even the acquirability of civil advantages,
ought, perhaps, in a considerable degree, to
lie at the mercy of chance. Some would
have all the virtuous rich, or, at least, re-
moved from the evils of poverty, without
perceiving, I suppose, the consequence, that
all the poor must be wicked. And how such

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 521

a society could be kept in subjection to go-^
vernment, has not been shown : for the poor^
that is, they who seek their subsistence b}?^
constant manual labour, must still form the
mass of the community; otherwise the ne-
cessary labour of life could not be carried on;
the work would not be done, which the wants
of mankind in a state of civilisation, and
still more in a state of refinement, require to
be done.

It appears to be also true, that the Exi-
gencies of social life call not only for an
original diversity of external circumstances,
but for a mixture of different faculties, tastes,
and tempers. Activity and contemplation;
restlessness and quiet, courage and timidity,
ambition and contentedness, not to say even
indolence and dulness, 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 dif-
ferent 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 gf talents, dispositions, and the

522 THB GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

constitutions upon which they depend, be
better made than by chance?

The opposites of apparent chance, are con-
stancy and sensible interposition ; every de-
gree of secret direction being consistent with
it. Now of constancy^ or of fixed and known
rules, we have seen in some cases the inap-
plicability: and inconveniences which we do
not see, might attend their application in
Other cases.

Of sensible interposition, we may be per-
initted to remark, that a Providence, always
and certainly distinguishable, would be nei-
ther more nor less than miracles rendered
frequent and common. It is difficult 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 subvert, 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE BEITY. 523

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 in-
stance: so long as bodily labour continues,
on so many accounts, to be necessary for the
bulk of mankind, any dependency upon su-
pernatural aid, by unfixing those motives
which promote exertion, or by relaxing those
habits which engender patient industry,
might introduce negligence, inactivity, and
disorder, into the most useful occupations of
human life; and thereby deteriorate the con-
dition of human life itself.

As moral agents, we should experience a
still greater alteration; of which, more will
be said under the next article.

Although therefore the Deity, who pos-
sesses 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 interpo-
sition would have taken place ; yet it is by no
means incredible, that his Providence, which
always rests upon final good, may have made
a reserve with respect to the manifestation of
his interference, a part of the very plan which
he has appointed for our terrestrial existence,
and a part conformable with, or, in some
iiort, required by, other parts of the same

524 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITT.

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 interruption 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 incalcu-
lable combinations, would of their own ac-
cord produce. And if it be said, that the
doctrine of Divine Providence, by reason of
the ambiguity under which its exertions pre-
sent themselves, can be attended with no
practical influence upon our conduct; that,
although we believe ever so firmly that there
is a Providence, we must prepare, and pro-
vide, and act, as if there were none ; I an-
swer, that this is admitted; and that we fur-
ther allege, that so to prepare, and so to pro-
vide, is consistent with the most perfect as-
surance of the reality of a Providence: and
not only so, but that it is, probably, one ad-
vantage of the present state of our informa-
tion, 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 525

greatest use, bdt that it is a doctrine of sen-
timent and piety, not (immediately at least)
of action or conduct ; that it applies to the
consolation of men^s minds, to their devo-
tions, to the excitement of gratitude, the
support of patience, the keeping alive and
the strengthening of every motive for en-
deavouring to please our Maker ; and that
these are great uses.

Of all views under which human life
has ever been considered, the most reason-
able in my judgement is that, which regards
it as a state of probation. If the course of
the world was separated from the contrivances
of nature, 1 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 connexion, led to believe,
that the appearance, under which events take
place, is reconcileable with the supposition of
design on the part of the Deity. It is enough
that they be reconcileable with this supposi-
tion ; and it is undoubtedly true, that they
may be reconcileable, though we cannot re-

526 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

concile them. The mind, however, which
contemplates tlie works of nature, and, m
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
benevolence; a mind, I say, drawn into the
habit of thought which these observations ex-
cite, can hardly turn its view to the condi-
tion of our own species, without endeavour-
ing 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 sup*
position to be, that it is a state of moral pro-
bation ; and that many things in it suit with
this hypothesis, which suit no other. It is
not a state of unmixed happiness, or of hap-
piness simply ; it is not a state of designed
misery, or of misery simply : it is not a
state of retribution : it is not a state of pu-
nishment. It suits with none of these suppo-
sitions. It accords much better with the idea
of its being a condition calculated for the pro*
duction, exercise, and improvement of moral
qualities, with a view to a future state, iti
which these qualities, after being so produced,
exercised, and improved^ may, by a new and

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 52?

more favouring constitution of things, receive
their reward, or become their own. If it be
said, that this is to enter upon a rehgious ra-
ther than a philosophical consideration; I an-
swer, than 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 probability they contain. The de*
gree of beneficence, of benevolent intention,
and of power, exercised in the construction
of sensitive beings, goes strongly in favour,
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 is 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 shown, that the
appearance of disorder is consistent 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.

528 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

• In the wide scale of human condition,
there is not perhaps one of its manifold di-
versities, which does not bear upon the de-
sign here suggested. Virtue is infinitely va-
rious. There is no situation in which a ra-
tional being is placed, from that of the best-
instructed Christian, down to the condition
of the rudest barbarian, which affords not
room for moral agency ; for the acquisition,
exercise, and display, of voluntary qualities^
good and bad. Health and sickness, enjoy-
ment and suffering, riches and poverty, know-
ledge and ignorance, power and subjection,
liberty and bondage, civilisation and barba-
rity, have all their offices and duties, all
serve for the formation of character : 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 formed^ by circum-
stances. The best dispositions may subsist
under the most depressed, the most afflicted
fortunes. A West-Indian slave, who, amidst
his wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my
part, look upon as amongst the foremost of
human candidates for the rewards of virtue.
The kind master of such a slave, that is,
he who, in the exercise of an inordinate au^
thority, postpones, in any degree, his own in-

rUB GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. ^20

tierest to his slave's comfort, is likewise a me-
ritorious character: but still he is inferior to
his slave. All however which I contend for*,
is, that these destinies, opposite as they may
be in every other view, are both trials ; and
equally such. The observation may be ap-
plied to every other condition; to the whole
range of the scale, not excepting even its
lowest extremity. 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 inartifi-
cial societies, 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 and vo-
luntary conduct of those about him, than it
does or ought to do, under regular civil insti-
tutions, and 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 oc-
cupied by mankind enjoying the benefits of
learning, together with the lights of revela*
tion ; there also, the advantage is all along
probationary, Christianity itself, I mean the
revelation of Christianity, is not only a bless-

2 M

530 TUB GOODNESS OF THE J^EITY.

ing, but a trial. It is one of the diversified
means by which the character is exercised :
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 oeco-
nomy*.

Now if this supposition be well founded;
that is, if it be true, that our ultimate, or our
most permanent happiness, will depend, not
upon the temporary condition into which we
are cast, but upon our behaviour in it ; thea
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 circum*
stances, which subsist in the human world, is
distributed amongst the individuals of the
species. " This life being a state of proba-

* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of
Christianity as distinct from Christianity itself. The dispensa-
tion may already be universal. That part of mankind whict
never heard of Christ^s name, may nevertheless be redeena^d,
that is^. be placed in a better eondition, with respect, to their
future state, by his intervention ; may be the objects of his
benignity and intercession, as well as of the propitiatory virtue
of his passion. But this is not " natural tlieology;" there-
i©ift,i will not dwell longer upon it. , , ^ ,

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 531

tion, 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 appear to be very opposite^
whilst in truth it is the same : for though, in
many respects, there be great disparity be-
tween the conditions assiojined, in one maia
article there may be none, viz. in that they
are alike trials ; have both their duties and
temptations, not less arduous or less danger-
ous in one case than the other ; so that if
the final award follow the character, the ori-
ginal distribution of the circumstances under
which that character is formed, may be de-
fended upon principles not only of justice
but of equality. What hinders, therefore, bat
that mankind may draw lots for their condi-
tion? They take their portion of faculties
and opportunities, as any unknown cause, or
concourse of causes, or as causes acting for
other purposes, may happen to set them out ;
but the event is governed by that which de-
pends upon tliemselves, the application of
what they have received. In dividing the
talents j DO rmle was observed; none was neces-
sairy : in rewarding the use of them, that of

2 M 2

a32 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

the most correct justice. The chief difference
at last appears to be, that the right use of
more talents, i, c. 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 hereafter, though all remunera-
tory ; can any rule, adapted to that inequa-
lity, 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 probation, but
that it promotes these uses.

Passive virtues, of all others the severest
and the most sublime ; of all others, perhaps,
the most acceptable to the Deity ; would, it
is evident, be excluded from a constitution,
in which happiness and misery regularly fol-
lowed virtue and vice. Patience and com-
posure under distress, affliction, and pain ; a
steadfast keeping up of our confidence in
God, and of our reliance upon his final good-
ness, at the time when every thing present
is adverse and discouraging ; and (what is
no less difficult to retain) a cordial desire

THE GOODNESS OP THK DEITY. 53S

for the. happiness of others, even when we
are deprived of our own : these dispositions,
which constitute, perhaps, the perfection of
our moral nature, would not have found
their proper office and object in a state of
avowed retribution ; and in which, conse-
quently, endurance of evil would be only
submission to punishment.

Again : one man's sufferings may be an-
other man's trial. The family of a sick pa-
rent 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 en-
deavours to relieve, must be really or ap-
parently 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 administration of moral government,
eould not be prevented 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 autho-
rity. This consideration, which is founded
in our most acknowledged apprehensions of

534 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEH Y.

the nature of penal justice, may possess its
weight in the Divine counsels. Virtue per-
haps 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 be, apparently at least,
misfortunes; that is, the effects of apparent
chance. It may 1)0 in pursuance, therefore,
and in furtherance of the same scheme of
probation, that the evils of life are made 60
to present themselves.

I have already observed, that, when we
let in religious considerations, we often let
in light upon the difficulties of nature. So
in the fact now to be accounted for, the de-
gree of happiness, which we usually enjoy in
this life, may be better suited to a state of
trial and probation, than a greater degree
^ould be. The truth is, we are rather too
much delighted with the world, than too
little. Imperfect, broken, and precarious as
our pleasures are, they are more than suffi-
cient to attach us to the eager pursuit of
them. A regard to n future j^t3.te can hard-
ly keep its place as it is. If we were de-
signed therefore to be influenced by that
regard, might not a more indulgent system,

i

CONCLUSION. 535

•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,
disappointment, and satiety, are not without
the most salutary tendencies.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CONCLUSION.

In all cases, wherein the mind feels itself iti
danger of being confounded by variety, it is
sure to rest upon a few strong points, oT per-
haps upon a single 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 in-
stance, the diversity of choice shows the
sti^ngth of the argument, because it shows
the number and competition of the examples.
There i*s no subject in which the tendency to
dwell upon select or single topics is so usual,

536 CONCLUSION.

\ t.. ;

because there is no subject, of which, in itt
full extent, the latitude is so great, as that
of natural history applied to the proof of an
intelligent 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 t,he hip-jointj^ii
the pulley or trochlear muscles of the eye,
the epiglottis, the bandages which tie down
tlie tendons of the wrist and instep, the slit
or perforated muscles at the hands and feet,
the knitting qf the intestines to the mesen-
tery, the course of the chyle into the blood,
and the constitution of the sexes as extended
throughout the whole of the animal creation.
Tp^ these instances, the reader's memory will
gQ back, as they are severally set forth in
their places ; there is not one of the number
which I do not think decisive; not one 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.

Put^ of the greatest part of those, who,
either in this book or any other, read argu-
ments to prove the existence of a God, it
will be said, that they leave off only where

CONCLUSION. 537

they began ; that they were never ignorant
of this PI eat truth, never doubted of it; that
it does not therefore appear, what is gained
by researches 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. Oc-
casions will arise to try the firmness of our
most habitual opinions. And upon these oc-
casions, it is a matter of incalculable use to
feel our foundation • to find a support in argu*-
ment for what we had taken up upon autho-
rity. 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 recondite, they would not have found
their way to the understandings of the mass
of mankind; if they had been merely popu-
lar, they might have wanted solidity.

But, secondly, what is gained by research
in the stability of our conclusion, is also gain-

533 CONCLUSION.

ed from it in impression. Physicians tell u«,
that there is a great deal of difference be-
tween taking a medicine, and the medicine
getting into the constitution. A difference
not unlike which, obtains with respect to
those great moral propositions, which ought
to form the directing principles of human
conduct. It is one thing to assent to a pro-
position of this sort; another, and a very dif-
ferent thing, to have properly imbibed its
iailuence. I take the case to be this: per-
haps almost every man living has a particular
train of thought, into which his mind glides
and falk, when at leisure from the impres-
sions and ideas that occasionally excite it ;
perhaps, also, the train of thought here spo-
ken of, more than any other thing, determines
the character. It is of the utmost conse-
quence, therefore, that this property of our
constitution be well res:ulated. Now it is
by frequent or continued meditation upon a
subject, by placing a subject in different
points of view, by induction of particulars,
by variety of examples, by applying princi-
ples to the solution of phaenomena, by dwell-
ing upon proofs and consequences, that men-
tal exeixise is drawn into any particular
channel. It is by these means, at least, that
we have any power over it. The train of

r

coNCLtJsroN. 539

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 re-
gards the phaenomena of nature with a con-
stant reference to a supreme intelligent Au-
thor. To have made this the ruling, the ha-
bitual sentiment of our minds, is to have laid
the foundation of every thing which is reli-
gious. The world thenceforth becomes a
temple, and life itself one continueid act of
adoration. The change is no less than this ;
that, wheVeas formerly God was seldom in
our thoughts, we can x\ovj scarcely look up-
on any thing without perceiving its relation
to him. Every organised natural body, in
the provisions which it contains for its sus-
tentation and propagation, testifies a care, on
the part of the Creator, expressly direct-
ed to these purposes. We are on all sides
surrounded by such bodies ; examined in
their parts, wonderfully curious ; compared
with one another, no less wonderfully diver-
sified. So that the mind, as well as the eye,
may either expatiate in variety and multi-

540 CONCLUSION.

tude, or fix itself down to the investigation
of particular divisions of the science. And
ijni either case it will rise up from its occupa-
tion, possessed by the subject, in a verj' dif-
ferent manner, and with a very dirTerent de-
gree of influence, from what a mere assent to
any verbal proposition which can be formed
concerning the existence of the Deity, at
least tliat merely complying assent with
which those about us are satisfied, and with
which we are too apt to satisfy ourselves, will
or can 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 repre-
sented to the understanding by its own re-
marks, its own reflections, and its own reason-
ings, compared with what is excited 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 discoveries 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 two hun-
dred thousand miles diameter, to surround
^his body, and be suspended like a magnifi-

CONCLUSION. ^*^

cent arch over the heads of his Inhabitarit^s^
and, at the other, bending a hooked toothy^
concerting and providing an appropriate
mechanism, for the clasping and reclasping
of the filaments of the feather of the hum-
ming-bird. We have proof, not only of
both these works proceeding from an intelli-
gent agent, but of their proceeding from the
same agent : for, in the first place, we can
trace an identity of plan, a connexion of sys-
tem, from Saturn to our own globe : and
when arrived upon our globe, we can, in the
second place, pursue the connexion through
all the organised, 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 happiness, our existence, is in his hands.
"All we expect 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 attention be-
stowed upon even the minutest parts. The
hinges in the wings of an earwigs and the

540

CONCLUSION.

- x^s of its antennae, are as highly wrought,
9s if the Creator had nothing else to finish.
We see no signs of dimination of care by
multiplicity of objects, or of distraction of
thought by variety. We have no reason to
fear, therefore, our being forgotten, or over-
looked, or neglected.

The existence and character of the Deity,
is, in every view, the most interesting of all
human speculations. In none, however, is it
more so, than as it facilitates the belief of the
fundamental articles of Revelations^ It is a
step to hav^e it proved, that there must be
something in the world more than what we
see. It is a farther step to know, that,
amongst the invisible things of nature, there
must be an inteUigent mind, concerned in
its production, order, and support. These
points being assured to us by Natural Theo-
logy, V we may well leave to Revelation the
disclosure of many particulars, which our re-
searches cannot reach, respecting either the
nature of this Being as the original cause of
all things, or his character and designs as a
moral governor; and not only &o, but the
more full confirmation of other particulars,
of which, though they do not lie altogether
beyond our reasonings and our probabilities,
the certainty is by no means equal ta the im-

coNCLUsroK. 545

portance. The true theist will be the first
to listen to any credible communication of
Divine knowledge. Nothing which he has
learnt from Natural Theology, will di-
minish his desire of farther instruction, or
his disposition to receive it with humility
and thankfulness. He wishes for light : he
rejoices in light. His inward veneration 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 nature, but to all that is
taught by a revelation, which gives reason-
able 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 im-
portance to all the rest, — the resurrection of
the human dead. The thing might appear
hopeless, did we not see a power at work ade-
quate to the efiect, a power under the guid-
ance of an intelhgent will, and a power pene-
trating the inmost recesses of all substance.
I am far from justifying the opinion of tbose>
who " thought it a thing incredible, that God
should raise the dead:"' but I admit, that it
is first necessary to be persuaded, that thei^^
u a God, to do so* This being thoroughly

514 CONCLUSION^

settled in our minds, there seems to be no-
thing in this process (concealed as we confess
it to be) which need to shock our beUef.
They who have taken up the opinion, that
the acts of the human mind depend upon or^
ganisation^ that the mind itself indeed con-
sists in organisation, are supposed to find a
greater difficulty than others doj in admitting
a transition by death to a new state of sen-
tient existence, because the old organisation
is apparently dissolved. But I do not see
that any impracticability need be appre-
hended 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 derivation
of plants and animals, from one another, a
particle, in many cases, minuter than all as-
signa];)le, all conceivable dimension ; an aura,
an effluvium, an infinitesimal ; determines
the organisation 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 philosopher ; makes all these differences ;
gives to the future body its qualities, and na-
ture, and species. And this particle, from
which springs, and by which is determined, a

CONCLUSION.

who}e future nature, itst If proceeds from, and
owes its constitution to, a prior body: ne-
vertheless, which is seen in plants most der
cisively, the incepted organisation, though
formed within, and through, and by, a pre-
ceding organisation, is not corrupted by its
corruption, or destroyed by its dissolution :
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 organisation
from one individual to another, may have
something analogous to it, when the purpose
is to transmit an organisation from one state
of being to another state: and they who found
thought in organisation, may see something
in this analogy apphcable to their difficulties.;
for, whatever can transmit a similarity of or-
ganisation will answer their purpose, because^
according even to their own theory, it mav
be the vehicle of consciousness, and because
consciousness carries identity and individu-
ality along with it through all changes of
form or of visible qualities. In the most ge-
neral casCy that, as we have said, of the deri-
vation of plants and animals from one another,
the latent organisation is either itself sigiilg^r

2 N

.546 CONCLUSION.

to the old organisation, 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 pro-
gress of insect life, in which the dormant
organisation does not much resemble that
which encloses it, and still less suits with
the situation in which the enclosing body is
placed, but suits with a different situation to
which it is destined. In the larva of the li-
bellula, 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 alnaogy? It serves at least to show, that
even in the observable course of nature, or-
ganisations are formed one beneath another ;
and, amongst a thousand other instances, it
shows completely, that the Deity can mould
and fashion the parts of material nature, so
as to fulfil any purpose whatever which he is
pleased to appoint.

They who refer the operations of mind to
a substance totally and essentially different
from matter (as most certainly these opera-
tions, though affected by material causes,
hold very little affinity to any properties of
matter with which we are acquainted), adopt
perhaps a juster reasoning and a better phi-

CONCLUSION. 547

losophy: 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 diffi-
culty in shaking off an adherence to those
analogies, which the corporeal world is con-
tinually suggesting to their thoughts ; to
such, I say, every consideration will be a
relief, which manifests the extent of that in-
telligent power which is acting in nature, the
fruitfulness of its resources, the variety, and
aptness, and success of its means ; most es-
pecially every consideration, which tends to
show that, in the translation of a conscious
existence, there is not, even in their own way
of regarding it, any thing greatly beyond, or
totally unlike, what takes place in such parts
(probably small parts) of the order of na-
ture, as are accessible to our observation.

Again ; if there be those who think, that
the contractedness and debility of the human
faculties in our present state, seem ill to ac-
cord with the high destinies which the ex-
pectations 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 far-

* See Search's Light of Nature, passim.

548 CONCLUSION.

ther amplification of intellectual 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 en-
dowed with a sensorium adapted, as it un-
doubtedly will be, and as our present senses
are, to the perception of those substances,
and of those properties of things, with which
our concern may lie.

Upon the whole; in every thing which
respects this awful, but, as we 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 appointment
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 terrestrial creation. That great
office rests with him ; be it ours to hope and
to prepare, under a firm and settled persua-
sion, that, living and dying, we are his ; that
life is passed in his constant presence, that
death resigns us to his merciful disposal.

FINIS. "^

Panted by S. Hannlton, Weybridgc.

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3 1197 00386 1918

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