, BL 181 .P34
"' Paley, William, 1743-1805
IV, Natural theology
PLATE I.
PLATE II
IM.ATK III.
PLATK V.
I M
NATURAL THEOLOGY.
BY WILLIAM'^AIiKy. D.B,
ARCHDEACON OF CARLISL,E,
PROM A LATE LONDON EDJTICJI.
PUBLISHED BY THE
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK.
i'ALEY'B
NATURAL THEOLOGY,
H0RJ5 PAULINA
TC.ONTENTS
M
'^
CHAPTER I.
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.
Tlie stone and the watch, page 9 ; eight cases, 10-13.
CHAPTER II.
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 14
CHAPTER III.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.
Eye and telescope, 20 ; light— distance, 24 ; eyes of birds, 27 ; eyes of fishes, 28;
minuteness of picture, 29 ; socket — eyebrow — eyelid — tears. 30 ; nictitating
membrane — muscle, 31 ; expedients, 33 ; why means used, 33 ; ear, 35.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.
No account hereby of contrivance, 41; plants, 41; oviparous animals, 42;
viviparous — rational animals, 43 ; instance from the gardener, 44.
CHAPTER V.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.
Repetition from Chap. I., 45 ; imperfection, 45 ; superfluous parts, 46 ; athe-
istic argument, 47 ; remains of possible forms, 49 ; use arising out of the
parts, 51 ; a principle of order, 54 ; of our ignorance, 55,
CHAPTER VI.
THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 57
CHAPTER VII.
THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS AND
FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES,
imperfection of knowledge no proof of want of contrivance, 59 ; on chemistry,
62 ; secretion, 63.
CHAPTER VIII.
BIECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAN FRAME.
Of bones. 68; neck, 68; forearm, 69 ; spine, 71; chest, 76; kneepan, 77;
shoulder-blade, 78; joints, 79; ball-and-socket, 80; ginglymus, 81; knee,
81 ; ankle, 82 ; shoulder, 82 ; passage of bloodvessels, 83 ; gristle, 84 ;
movable cartilages, 85 ; mucilage, 85 ; how well the joints wear, 86 ; bonea
*f tJie skull, 86.
CHAPTER IX.
OF THE MUSCLES.
Suitableness to the joints, 87; antagonist muscles, 88; not obstructing one
another, 90; action wanted where their situation would be inconveaient,
6 CONTENTS.
90 ; variety of figure, 91 ; how many things must be right for health, 95 ,
variety, quickness, and precision of muscular motion. 93 ; tongue, 93 ;
mouth, 94 ; nose, 96 ; music — writing, 96 ; sphincters, 97 ; combination of
muscles, 97 ; delicacy of small muscles, 98 ; mechanical disadvantages, 98 ;
single muscles, 99 ; lower jaw, 99 ; slit tendons, 100 ; bandage at the ancles,
lOf ; hypothesis from appetency repelled, 101 ; Keill's enumeration of mus-
cles, 102 ; why mechanism is not more striking, 102 ; description inferisr
to inspection, 102; quotation from Steno, 103.
CHAPTER X.
OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.
I. The circulation of the blood, 104 ; disposition of the bloodvessels, 104 ;
arteries and veins, 105. II. Heart, as receiving and returning the blood,
106; heart, as referable to the lungs, 108; valves of the heart, 110; vital
motion involuntary, 113; pericardium, 113. III. Alimentary system, 114;
passage of the food through the stomach to the intestines. 114 ; passage of
the chyle through the lac teals and thoracic duct to the blood, 115; length
of intestines, 116; peristaltic motion, 116; tenuity of the lacteals, 116;
valves of the thoracic duct, 117 ; entrance in the neck, 117 ; digestion, 117.
IV. Gall-bladder, 120; oblique insertion of the biliary duct into the intes-
tines, 120. V. Parotid gland, 121. VI. Larynx, 122; trachea— gullet-
epiglottis, 122, 123 ; rings of the trachea, 123 ; sensibility, 124 ; musical
instrument, 124 ; lifting the hand to the head, 125.
CHAPTER XI.
OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS.
I. Correspondence of sides, 127; not belonging to the separate limbs, 128;
nor the internal contents, 129 ; nor to the feeding vessels. 129. II. Pack-
age, 130; heart, 131; lungs, 131; liver, 132; bladder, kidneys, pancreas,
spleen, 132; omentum, 132; septa of the brain, 133; guts, 133. 111.
Beauty, 134 ; in animals, 135 ; in flowers, 135 ; whether any natural sense
of beauty, 136. IV. Concer^-ncr.t, 137. V. C. ending, 138. VI. Inter-
rupted analogies, 140; periosteum at the teeth, 141; scarf-skin at the
nails, 141 ; soft integuments at the skull, 141.
CHAPTER XII.
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.
I Covering of animals, 144 ; of man, 144 ; of birds, 145 ; structure of feathers,
145 ; black down, 148. II. Mouths of animals, 149 ; bills of birds, 150 ;
serrated bills, 150; affinity of mouths, 151. III. G-ullets of animals, 153.
IV. Intestines of animals, 153; valves or plates, 153; length, 154. V.
Bones of animals, 154; bones of birds, 154. VI. Lungs of animals, 155;
lungs of birds, 155. VII. Birds oviparous, 155. VIII. Instruments of
motion, 155 ; wings of birds, 156 ; fins of fish, 157 ; web-feet of water-fovr*,
159 IX. Senses of animals, 160.
CHAPTER XIII.
PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.
Pax-wax of quadrupeds, 162; oil of birds, 163; air-bladder of fisli, 163; fang
of viper, 165 ; bag of opossum, 165 ; claw of heron, 166 ; stomach of camel
167; tongue of woodpecker, 167; babyroussa. 168.
CONTENTS. V
CHAPTER XIV.
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.
Teeth, 169; milk, 170; eye of the foetus, 171; lungs of the foetus, 172; fora-
men ovale, etc., 173.
CHAPTER XV.
RELATIONS.
A'.i Tientary system, 176 ; kidneys, ureters, and bladder, 179 ; eyes, hands, feet,
179 ; sexes, 180 ; teats and mouths, 180 ; particular relations, _80 ; swan,
180 ; mole, 181.
CHAPTER XVI.
COMPENSATION.
Elephant's proboscis, 184 ; hook in the bat's wing, 185 ; crane's neck, 185 ;
parrot's bill, 186 ; spider's web, 186 ; multiplying-eyes of insects, 186 ; eye-
lid of the chameleon, 187 ; intestines of the alopecias, 188 ; snail — mussel-
cockle— lobster, ISS ; sloth— sheep, 190 ; more general compensations, 190;
want of fore-teeth— rumination, 190 ; in birds, want of teeth and gizzard,
191 ; reptiles, 192.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TO INANIMATE
NATURE.
Wings of birds— fins of fish— air and water, 194 ; ear to the air, 194 ; organs
of speech— voice and respiration to air, 194; eye to light. 195; size of ani-
mals to external things, 195 ; of the inhabitants of the earth and sea to
their elements, 196 ; sleep to night, 196.
CHAPTER XVIII.
INSTINCTS.
Intubation of eggs, 199 ; deposition of eggs of insects. 203; solution from sen-
sations considered, 207.
CHAPTER XIX.
OF INSECTS.
Elytra of the scarabeeus, 211 ; borer of flies, 212; sting, 213; proboscis, 214 ,
metamorphosis of insects, 215 ; care of eggs, 216 ; observations limited to
particular species, 217; thread of silk-worm and spider, 217; wax and
honey of bee, 218 ; sting of bee, 220 ; forceps of the panorpa tribe, 220 ;
brushes of flies, 220 ; glowworm, 220 ; motion of the larva of the dragon-
fly, 221 ; gossamer spider, 221 ; shell animals, 222 ; snail shells, 222 ; uni-
valve sheU-fish, 22.3 ; bivalve, 223 ; lobster shell, 224 ; variety of insects,
CHAPTER XX.
OF PLANTS.
Prwervation, perfecting, and dispersing of seed, 227 ; germination, 234 ; ten-
drils, 235; particular species, 237; vallisneria, 237; cuscuta Europaea,
238; mistletoe, 238 ; colchicum autumnale, 238 ; dionsa muscipula. 240.
8 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE ELEMENTS.
Consolidation of uses, 242. I.- Air, 242 ; reflecting light, 242 ; evaporating
fluids, 242; restoratives of purity, 243. II. Water, 243; purity, 244;
insipidity, 244; circulation, 244. III. Fire, 245; dissolvent power, 245.
IV. Light, 245 ; velocity, 245 ; tenuity, 246 ; color, 246.
CHAPTER XXII.
J^STRONOMY.
Fixing the source of light and heat in the centre, 249 ; permanent axis of rota-
tion, 251 ; spherodicity of the earth, 252 ; of centripetal torces, 2-j ; attrac-
tion indifferent to laws, 254 ; admissible laws, within narrow iin.its, 256 ;
of admissible laws, the present the best, 257 ; united attraction of a sphere,
the same as of the constituent particles, 257; the apsides fixed, 258; fig-
ures of the planetary orbits, 260 ; Buffon's hypothesis, 261.
CHAPTER XXIII.
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.
Not the object of our senses, 265 ; contrivance proves personality, 267 ; misap-
plication of laws. 269 ; mechanism, 270; second causes, 271 ; of generation
as a principle, 274 ; atheistic suppositions, 275 ; Buffon's organic nodules,
276 ; appetencies, 279 ; analogies by which they are supported, 281 ; cam-
el's bunch, 281 ; crane's thighs, 281 ; pelican's pouch, 281 ; analogy strain-
ed, 282; solutions contradicted, 283 ; by ligaments — valves, 283; by senses
of animals, 284; by the parts without motion, 281; by plants, 284.
CHAPTER XXIV.
OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.
Omnipotence, 287; omniscience, 287 ; omnipresence, 288 ; eternity, 289 ; self-
existence, 289 ; necessary existence, 290 ; spirituality, 290.
^ CHAPTER XXV.
THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.
Prom the laws of attraction, and the presence of light among the heavenly
bodies, 291 ; from the laws of nature upon our globe, 291 ; resemblance of
animals, 292 ; fish, 292 ; insects and shell-fish, 293.
CHAPTER XXVI.
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.
From the parts and faculties of animals, 295; the actual happiness of young
animals, 296 ; of winged insects and aphides, 296 ; of fish, 297. I. Proper-
ties of old age, 298; of different animal habits, 299; prepollency of happi-
ness, 299; causes of not observing it, 300; quotation, 301; apparent ex-
ceptions, 303; venomous animals, 304; animals of prey, 306. II. Pieas-
ures of sense, 311; adaptation of senses, 312; property, origin of, 317;
physical evils of imperfection, 318; of finiteness, 319; of bodily pain, 320;
of mortal diseases, 322; of death, 323; civil evils of population, 324; of
distinctions, 326 ; of wealth, 327 ; of idleness, 329; objections from chance
answered, 330 ; must be chance in the midst of design. 330 ; ignorance of
observance, 331; disease, 333; seasons, 333; station, 334; acquirabil'ty,
334; sensible interposition, 335; probation, 337.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CONCLUSION,
natural religion prepares the way for revelation, 344.
i
NATURAL THEOLOGY
CHAPTER I
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.
In crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against a
itone, 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 sup-
pose I had found a watch upon the ground, and it should be
inquired how the watch happened to be in that place, I
should hardly think of the answer which I had before given,
that for any thing I knew the watch might have always
been there. Yet why should not this answer serve for the
watch as well as for the stone ; why is it not as admissible
in the second case as in the first ? For this reason, and for
no other, namely, 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 purpose,
e. g. that they are so formed and adjusted as to produce mo-
tion, and that motion so regulated as to point out the hour
of the day ; that if the difierent parts had been differently
shaped from what they are, or placed after any other man
ner or m any other order than that in which they are placed,
either no motion at all would have been carried on in the
machine, or none which would have answered the use that
is now served by it. To reckon up a few of the plainest of
these parts and of their offices, all tending to one result :
We see a cylindrical box containing a coiled elastic spring,
1*
10 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
which, by its endeavor to relax itself, turns round the box.
"We next observe a flexible chain — artificially wrought for the
sake of flexure — communicating the action of the spring from
the box to the fusee. We then find a series of wheels, the
teeth of which catch in and apply to each other, conducting
the motion from the fusee to the balance and from the bal-
ance to the pointer, and at the same time, by the size and
shape of those wheels, so regulating that motion as to ter-
minate in causing an index, by an equable and measured
progression, to pass over a given space in a given time. We
take notice that the wheels are made of brass, in order to
keep them from rust ; the springs of steel, no other metal
being so elastic ; that over the face of the watch there is
placed a glass, a material employed in no other part of the
work, but in the room of which, if there had been any other
than a transparent substance, the hour could not be seen
without opening the case. Tliis mechanism bemg 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, observed
and understood, the inference we think is inevitable, that
the watch must have had a maker — that there must have
existed, at some time and at some place or other, an artificer
or artificers who formed it for the purpose wliich we find it
actually to answer, who comprehended its -construction and
designed its use.
I. Nor would it, I apprehend, weaken the conclusion,
that we had never seen a watch made — that we had never
.niown an artist capable of making one — that we were alto-
gether incapable of executing such a piece of workmanship
ourselves, or of understanding in what manner it was per-
formed ; all this being no more than what is true of soma
exquisite remains of ancient art, of some lost arts, and, to
the generality of mankind, of the more curious productions
of modern manufacture. Does one man in a million know
how oval frames are turned ? Ignorance of this kind exalte
THE ARGUMENT STATED 11
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 con-
cerning 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 irregularity 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 necessary, where the only question is whether it were
made with any design at all.
III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertamty into the
argument, if there were a few parts of the watch, concern-
ipg which we could not discover or had not yet discovered
in what manner they conduced to the general effect ; or even
some parts, concerning which we could not ascertain whether
they conduced to that effect in any manner whatever. For,
as to the first branch of the case, if by the loss, or disorder,
or decay of the parts in question, the movement of the watch
were found in fact to be stopped, or disturbed, or retarded,
no doubt would remain in our minds as to the utility or in-
tention of these parts, although we should be unable to in-
vestigate the manner according to which, or the connection
by which, the ultimate effect depended upon their action or
assistance ; and the more complex the machine, the more
likely is this obscurity to arise. Then, as to the second thing
supposed, namely, that there were parts which might be
spared without prejudice to the movement of the watch, and
that we had proved this by experiment, these superfluous
12 NATQUAL THEOLOar.
parts, even if we were completely assured that they were
such, would not vacate the reasoning which we had institut-
ed concerning other parts. The mdication of contrivance
remained, with respect to them, nearly as it was before.
lY. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses tliink the
existence of the watch with its various machinery account-
ed for, by being told that it was one out of possible combi-
nations 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 configu-
ration might be the structure now exhibited, namely, of the
works of a watch, as well as a different structure.
V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more satisfac-
tion, 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 watchmaker.
VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear that the mech-
anism of the watch was no proof of contrivance, only a mo-
tive to induce the mind to think so :
VII. And not less surprised to be informed, that thf
watch in his hand was nothing more than the result of the
laws of tnetallic nature. It is a perversion of language to
assign any law as the efficient, operative cause of any thing.
A law presupposes an agent ; for it is only the mode accord-
ing 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 laiu does notliing, is nothing. The expression,
" the law of metallic nature," may sound strange and harsh
to a philosophic ear ; but it seems quite as justifiable as
some others which are more familiar to him, such as " the
law of vegetable nature," "the law of animal nature," or,
indeed, as " the law of nature" in general, when assigned
THE ARGUMENT STATEL. 13
as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion of agency and power,
or when it is substituted into the place of thes(?.
VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be driven out
of his conclusion or from his confidence in its truth, by being
told that he knew nothing al all about the matter. He
knows enough for his argument ; he knows the utility of the
end ; he knows the subserviency and adaptation of the means
to the end. These points being known, his ignorance of
other points, his doubts concerning other points, affect not
the certainty of his reasoning. The consciousness of know-
ing little need not beget a distrust of that which he does
know.
14 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
CHAPTER II.
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTIJ^UED
Suppose, in the next place, that the person who found
the watch should after some time disco,ver, 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 another watch hke itself — the thing is con-
ceivable ; 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 cal-
culated for this purpose ; let us inquire what effect ought
such a discovery to have upon his former conclusion.
I. The first effect would be to increase his admiration
of the contrivance, and his conviction of the consummate
skill of the contriver. Whether he regarded the object of
the contrivance, the distinct apparatus, the intricate, yet in
many parts intelligible mechanism by which it was carried
on, he would perceive in this new observation nothing but
an additional reason for doing what he had already done —
for referring the construction of the watch to design and to
supreme art. If that construction ivitliout this property, or
which is the same thing, before this property had been no-
ticed, proved intention and art to have been employed about
it, still more strong would the proof appear when he came
to the knowledge of this further property, the crown and
perfection of all the rest.
II. He would reflect, that though the w^atch before liim
were iji some soise the maker of the watch which was fab-
ricated in the course of its movements, yet it was in a very
different sense from that in which a carpenter, for instance,
is the maker of a chair — the author of its contrivance, the
cause of the relation of its parts to their use. With respect
to these, the first watch was no cause at all to the second :
in no such sense as this was it the author of the constitution
THE ARGUMENT STATED. 15
and order, either of the parts which the new watch contain-
ed, or of the parts by the aid and instrumentality of which it
was produced. We might possibly say, but with great lati-
tude of expression, that a stream of water ground corn ; but
ao latitude of expression would allow us to say, no stretch
cf 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 intelligence,
an effect is produced, namely, the corn is ground. But the
effect results from the arrangement. The force of the stream
cannot be said to be the cause or the 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 indi-
vidual watch which our observer had found was made imme-
diately by the hand 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 contrivance are no more accounted for now than they
were before. In the same thing, we may ask for the cause
of different properties. We may ask for the cause of the
color of a body, of its hardness, of its heat ; and these causes
may be all different. We are now asking for the cause of
that subserviency to a use, that relation to an end, which
we have remarked in the watch before us. No answer is
given to this question, by telling us that a preceding watch
produced it. There cannot be design without a designer ;
contrivance, without a contriver ; order, without choice ; ar-
16 NATUKAL THEOLOGY.
rangement, without any thing capable of arranging ; subser-
viency and relation to a purpose, without that which could
intend a purpose ; means suitable to an end, and executing
their office in accomplishing that end, without the end ever
having been contemplated, or the means accommodated to it.
Arrangement, disposition of parts, subserviency of means to
an end, relation of instruments to a use, imply the presence
of intelligence and mind. No one, therefore, can rationally
believe that the insensible, inanimate watch, from which the
watch before us issued, was the proper cause of the mechan-
ism we so much admire m it — could be truly said to have
constructed the instrument, disposed its parts, assigned theu
office, determined their order, action, and mutual dependen-
cy, combined their several motions into one result, and that
also a result connected with the utihties of other beings. All
these properties, therefore, are as much unaccomited for aa
they were before.
IV. Nor is any thing gained by running the difficulty
farther back, that is, 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 sub-
ject. Contrivance is still unaccounted for. "We still want
a contriver. A designing mind is neither supplied by this
supposition nor dispensed with. If the difficulty were dimin-
ished the farther we went back, by going back indefinitely
v/e might exhaust it. And this is the only case to which
this sort of reasoning applies. "Where there is a tendency,
or, as we increase the number of terms, a continual approach
towards a limit, there, by supposing the number of terms to
be what is called infinite, we may conceive the limit to be
attained ; but where there is no such tendency or approach,
nothing is effected by lengthening the series. There is no
difference as to the point in question, whatever there may
be as to many points, between one series and another — be«
Iween a series which is finite, and a series which is infinite.
THE ARGUMENT STATED. 17
A. chain composed of an infinite number of links can no more
support itself than a chain composed of a finite rmmber of
links. And of this we are assured, though we never can
have tried the experiment ; because, by increasing the num-
ber of links, from ten, for instance, to a hundred, from a hun-
dred to a thousand, etc., we make not the smallest approach,
we observe not the smallest tendency towards self support.
There is no difference in this respect — yet there may be a
great difTerence in several respects — between a chain of a
greater or less length, between one chain and another, be-
tween 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. Contrivance must have had a contriver, de-
sign a designer, whether the m.achine immediately proceed-
ed from another machine or 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 ; the contrivance must have had a contriver. That for-
mer one from one preceding it : no alteration still ; a contriv-
er is still necessary. No tendency is perceived, no approach
towards a diminution of this necessity. It is the same with
any and every succession of these machines — a succession of
ten, of a hundred, of a thousand ; with one series, as with
another — a series which is finite, as with a series which is
infinite. In whatever other respects they may difier, in this
they do not. In all equally, contrivance and design arc
unaccounted for.
The question is not simply. How came the first watch
into existence ? which question, it may be pretended, is done
away by supposing the series of watches thus produced from
one another to have been infinite, and consequently to have
had no such first, for which it was necessary to provide a
cause. Tliis, perhaps, would have been nearly the state of
the question, if nothing had been before us but an unorgan-
ized, unmechanized substance, without mark or indication
18 NATURAL THEOLOGi'.
of contrivance. It might be difficult to show that such sub
stance could not have existed from eternity, either in suc-
cession— if it were possible, which I think it is not, for unor-
ganized bodies to spring from one another — or by individual
perpetuity. But that is not the question now. To suppose
it to be so, is to suppose that it made no difference whether
he had found a watch or a stone. As it is, the metaphysics
of that question have no place ; for, in the watch which we
are examining, are seen contrivance, design, an end, a pur-
pose, means for the end, adaptation to the purpose. And
the question which irresistibly presses upon our thoughts is.
Whence this contrivance and design ? The thing required
is the intending mind, the adapted hand, the intelligence by
which that hand was directed. Tliis question, this demand,
is not shaken off by increasing a number or succession of
substances destitute of these properties ; nor the more, by
increasing that number to infinity. If it be said, that upon
the supposition of one watch being produced from another in
the course of that other's movements, and by means of the
mechanism within it, we have a cause for the watch in my
hand, namely, 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, all ol
which we discover hi the watch, we have any cause what-
ever. It is in vain, therefore, to assign a series of such causes, .
or to allege that a series may be carried back to infinity ; foi
I do not admit that we have yet any cause at all for the
phenomena, still less any series of causes either finite or infi-
i^ite. Here is contrivance, but no contriver ; proofs of design,
but no designer.
V. Our observer would farther also reflect, that the mak-
er of the watch before him was, in- truth and reality, the
maker of every watch produced from it : there being no dif-
ference, except that the latter manifests a more exquisite
skill, between the making of another watch with his own
hands, by the mediation of files, lathes, chisels, etc., and ih.9
THE ARGUMENT STATED. 19
ili&posing, fixing, and inserting of these instruments, or oi
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 i\iQ first examination of the watch,
of its works, construction, and movement, suggested, was,
that it must have had, for cause and author of that construc-
tion, an artificer who understood its mechanism and designed
its use. This conclusion is invincible. A second examina*
tiou 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 organization separately calculated for that pur-
pose. What effect would this discovery have, or ought it to
have, upon our former inference? What, as hath already
been said, but to increase beyond measure our admiration
of the skill which had been employed in the formation of
such a machine ? Or shall it, instead of this, all at once
turn us round to an opposite conclusion, namely, that no art
or skill whatever has been concerned in the business, al-
though 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 1
Yet this is atheism.
20 NATUilAL TIIEOLO&Y.
CHAPTER III.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.
This is atheism ; for every indication of contrivance,
every manifestation of design which existed in the watch,
exists in the works of nature, with the difference on the
side of nature of being greater and more, and that in a de
gree which exceeds all computation. I mean, that the con
trivances of nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the
complexity, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism ; and
still more, if possible, do they go beyond them in number
and variety ; yet, in a multitude of cases, are not less evi-
dently mechanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less
evidently accommodated to their end or suited to their office,
than are the most perfect productions of human ingenuity.
I know no better method of introducing so large a sub-
ject, than that of comparing a single thmg with a single
tiling : an eye, for example, with a telescope. As far as the
examination of the instrument goes, there is precisely the
same proof that the eye was made for vision, as there is that
the telescope was made for assisting it. They are made
upon the same principles ; both being adjusted to the laws
by which the transmission and refraction of rays of light are
regulated. I speak not of the origin of the laws themselves ;
but such laws being fixed, the construction in both cases is
adapted to them. For instance, these laws require, in order
to produce the same effect, that the rays of light, in passing
from water into the eye, should be refracted by a more con-
vex 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 animals. What plainer manifestation of design can
there be than this difference ? What could a mathematical
instrument maker have done more to show his knowledge of
bis principle, his application of that knowledge, his suiting
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 23
of his means to his end — I will not say to display the com-
pass or excellence of his skill and art, for in these all com-
parison is indecorous, hut to testify counsel, choice, consider-
ation, purpose ?
To some it may appear a diflference sufficient to destroy
all similitude between the eye and the telescope, that the
one is a perceiving organ, the other an unperceiving instru-
ment. The fact is that they are both instruments. And as
to the mechanism, at least as to mechanism being employed,
and even as to the kind of it, this circumstance varies not
the analogy at all. For observe what the constitution of the
eye is. It is necessary, in order to produce distinct vision,
that an image or picture of the object be formed at the bot-
tom of the eye.* Whence this necessity arises, or how the
picture is connected with the sensation or contributes to it,
it may be difficult, nay, we will confess, if you please, im-
possible 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 something wliich is not me-
chanical, or which is inscrutable. But this aflects not the
certainty of our investigation, as far as we have gone. The
difference between an animal and an automatic statue con-
sists in this, that in the animal we trace the mechanism to
a certain point, and then we are stopped ; either the mech-
anism being too subtile for our discernment, or something else
* Plate I., Fig. 1. A section of the human eye. It is formed of
various coats, or membranes, enclosing pelkicid humors of different
degrees of density, and adapted for collecting the rays of light into a
focus upon the nerve situated at the bottom of the eyeball : a, is the
xqueous hvimor, a tliin fluid like water ; 6, the crystalline lens, of a
dense texture ; c, the viti ;ous hmnor, a very delicate gelatinous sub-
stance, named from its resemblance to melted glass. Thus the crys ■
rallhie is more dense than the vitreous, and the vitreous more dense
than the aqueous humor. They are all perfectly transparent, and
together make a compound lens which refracts the rays of light issuing
from an object, d, and delineates its figure, e, in the focus 'zpon th?
retina, inverted.
22 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
besides the known laws of mechanism taking place ; where-
as, in the automaton, for the comparatively few motions ol
which it is capable, we trace the mechanism throughout.
But, up to the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in
the one case as in the other. In the example before us it
is a matter of certainty, because it is a matter which expe
rience and observation demonstrate, that the formation of ai;
image at the bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision
The image itself can be shown. Whatever affects the dis-
tinctness of the image, affects the distinctness of the vision.
The formation then of such an image being necessary — no
matter how — to the sense of sight and to the exercise of
that sense, the apparatus by which it is formed is construct-
ed and put together not only with infinitely more art, but
upon the selfsame principles of art, as in the telescope or
the camera-obscura. The perception arising 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 contrivance for accomplisliing that purpose is
in both alike. The lenses of the telescopes and the humors
of the eye bear a complete resemblance to one another, in
their figure, their position, and in their power over the rays
of light, namely, in bringing each pencil to a point at the
right distance from the lens ; namely, in the eye, at the ex-
act place where the membrane is spread to receive it. How
is it possible, under circumstances of such close affinity, and
under the operation of equal evidence, to exclude contriv-
ance from the one, yet to acknowledge the proof of contriv-
ance having been employed, as the plainest and clearest ni
all propositions, in the other ?
The resemblance between the two cases is still more ac-
curate, and obtains in more points than we have yet repre-
sented, 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
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 23
are separated into diilerent colors, thereby tinging the object,
especially the edges of it, as if it were viewed through a
prism. To correct this inconvenience had been long a desid-
eratum in the 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 exactly the same difficulty to
contend with as in the telescope. His observation taught
him that in the eye the evil was cured by combining lenses
composed of difierent substances, that is, of substances which
possessed difierent refracting powers. Our artist borrowed
thence his hint, and produced a correction of the defect by
imitating, in glasses made from different materials, the effects
of the difierent humors 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 efiectual means of attaining that purpose ?
But further, there are other points, not so much perhaps
of strict resemblance between the two, as of superiority of
the eye over the telescope, yet of a superiority which, being
founded in the laws that regulate both, may furnish topics
of fair and just comparison. Two things were wanted to
the eye, which were not wanted, at least in the same degree,
to the telescope ; and these were the adaptation of the organ,
first, to different degrees of light, and secondly, to the vast
diversity of distance at which objects are viewed by the na-
ked eye, namely, from a few inches to as many miles. These
difficulties present not themselves to the maker of the tele-
scope. 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 exces-
eive, and to render objects visible under obscurer degrees of
it when no more can be had, the hole or aperture m the eye
through which the light enters is so formed as to contract
24 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
or dilate itself for the purpose of admitting a greater or less
number of rays at the same time. The chamber of the eye
is a camera-obscura, which, when the light is too small, can
enlarge its opening ; when too strong, can again contract it ;
and that without any other assistance than that of its own
exquisite machinery. It is farther also, in the human sub-
ject, to be observed, that this hole in the eye wliich we call
the pupil, under all its different dimensions, retains its exact
circular shape. This is a structure extremely artificial. Let
an artist only try to execute the same ; he will find that his
threads and strings must be disposed with great considera-
tion and contrivance, to make a circle which shall continu-
ally change its diameter yet preserve its form. This is done
in the eye by an application of fibres, that is, of strings sim-
ilar, 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, oi
the eye, and of objects which are placed at a considerable
distance from it, that, for example, of as many furlongs — 1
speak in both cases of the distance at which disthict vision
can be exercised. Now this, according to the principles ol
optics, that is, according to the laws by which the transmis-
sion of light is regulated — 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
inclination to one another under which the rays of light
reached it. Kays issuing from points placed at a small dis-
tance from the eye, and which consequently must enter the
eye in a spreading or diverging order, cannot, by the same
optical instrument in the same state, be brought to a point,
that is, be made to form an image in the same place, with
rays proceeding from objects situated at a much greater dis-
THE AHaUMENT APPLIED. 25
tance, anJ which rays arrive 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 immuta
bio ] roperties of light, is carried further back when the ray?
proceed from a near object than when they are sent from
one that is remote. A person who was using an optical
instrument would manage this matter by changing, as the
occasion required, his lens or his telescope, or by adjusting
the distance of his glasses with his hand or his screw ; but
how is this 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 maintained, some alteration in the
state of the organ there must be — had long formed a subject
of inquiry and coiijecture. The change, though sufficient for
the purpose, is so minute as to elude ordinary observation.
Some very late discoveries, deduced from a laborious and
most accurate inspection of the structure and operation of the
i>rgan, seem at length to have ascertained the mechanical
ulteration which the parts of the eye undergo. It is found,
that by the action of ccrtaui muscles called the straight mus-
cles,^' and which action is the most advantageous that could
hi) imagined for the purpose — it is found, I say, that when-
ever the eye is directed to a near object, three changes are
produced in it at the same time, all severally contributing to
the adj ustment required. The cornea or outermost coat of the
eye is rendered more round and prominent, the crystalline
lens underneath is pushed forward, and the axis of vision,
* Plate L, Fig. 2. There are four straight muscles, a, a, belong to
ihe globe of the eye, each arising from the bottom of the orbit, where
they surround c, the optic nerve. They are strong and fleshy, and
are inserted by broad thin tendons at the fore part of the globe of the
eye into the tunica sclerotica. Their use is to turn the eye in differ-
ent directions ; hence they .are severally named levator oculi, depres-
sor oculi, adductor oculi, and abductor oculi.
Nat. Theol. 2
^6 NATCJilAL THEOLOaY.
as the depth of the eye is called, is elongated. These changes
in the eye vary its power over the rays of light in sucli a
manner and degree as to produce exactly the effect which
is wanted, namely, the formation of an image U'pon the reti'
na, whether the rays come to the eye in a state of divergen-
cy, which is the case when the object is near to the eye, or
some parallel to one another, which is the case when the
object is placed at a distance. Can any thing be more deci-
sive 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 tim.e
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 selfsame principles upon which we ourselves construct
optical instruments. We find them perfect for the purpose
of forming an image by refraction ; composed of parts exe-
cuting different offices ; one part having fulfilled its office
upon the pencil of light, delivering it over to the action oi
another part ; that to a third, and so onward : the progressive
action depending for its success upon the nicest and minut-
est adjustm^ent of the parts concerned ; yet these parts so in
fact adjusted as to produce, not by a simple action or effect,
but by a combination of actions and effects, the result which
is ultimately wanted. And forasmuch as this organ would
have to operate under different circumstances, with strong
degrees of light and with weak degrees, upon near objects
ind upon remote ones, and these differences demanded, ac-
cording 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 theii
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED 2/
distance from the tablet upon which the picture is delineated
should be shortened or lengthened — this, I say, being the
case, ajid the difficulty to which the eye was to be adapted,
we £.nd its several parts capable of being occasionally chang-
ed, and a most artificial apparatus provided to produce that
chaijge. This is far beyond the common regulator of a
watch, which requires the touch of a foreign hand to set it ;
but it is not altogether unlike Harrison's contrivance for
making a watch regulate itself, by inserting within it a ma-
chinery which, by the artful 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 instru-
ment may happen to be placed. The ingenuity of this last
contrivance has been justly praised. Shall, therefore, a struc-
ture which differs from it chiefly by surpassing it, be account-
ed no contrivance 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 we are describing is possessed
in degrees suited to the diflerent range of vision which their
mode of life and of procuring their food requires. Birds, for
instance, in general, procure their food by means of their
beak ; and the distance between the eye and the point o\
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 the air, and moving through it with great
velocity, they require for their safety, as well as for assisting
them in descrying their prey, a power of seeing at a great
distance — a power of which, in birds of rapine, surprising
examples are given. The fact accordingly is, that two pe-
culiarities are found in the eyes of birds, both tending to fa-
nlitate the change upon which the adjustment of the eye to
different distances depends. The one is a bony, yet, in most
species, a flexible rim or hoop, surrounding the broadest part
of the eye, which confining the action of the muscles to that
28 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
part, increases the effect of their lateral pressure upon the
orb, by which pressure its axis is elongated 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 from one extreme to another of their scale of adjust-
ment, with more ease and readiness than the eyes of other
aiiimais.
The eyes oi fishes also, compared with those of terrestrial
animals, exhibit certain distinctions of structure adapted to
their state and element. We have already observed upon
the figure of the crystalhne compensating by its roundness
the density of the medium through which their light passes.
To which we have to add, that the eyes of fish, in their nat-
ural and indolent state, appear to be adjusted to near ob-
jects, in this respect differing from the human eye, as well
is those of quadrupeds and birds. The ordinary shape of
the fish's eye being in a much higher degree convex than
that of land animals, a corresponding difference attends its
muscular conformation, namely, that it is throughout calcu-
lated iox flatteiiing the eye.
The iris also in the eyes of fish does not admit of con-
traction. This is a great difference, of which the probable
reason is, that the diminished light m water is never too
strong for the retina.
In the eel, which has to work its head through sand and
gravel, the roughest and harshest substances, there is placed
before the eye, and at some distance from it, a transparent,
horny, convex case or covering, which, without obstructing
the sight, defends the organ. To such an animal could any
thing be more wanted or more useful ?
Thus, in comparing the eyes of different kinds of animals,
we see in their resemblances and distinctions one general
plan laid down, and that plan varied with the varying exi
gencies to which it is to be applied.
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. ^^
There is one property however, common, I believe, to ail
eyes, at least to all wliich have been examined,*" namely,
that the optic nerve enters the bottom of the eye not in the
centre or middle, but a Uttle 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 considermg vision as achieved by the means of an
image formed at the bottom of the eye, we can never reflect
without wonder upon the smallness yet correctness of the
picture, the subtilty of the touch, the fineness of the Hnes.
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, colors. The prospect
from Hampstead-hill is compressed into the compass of a
sixpence, yet circumstantially represented. A stage-coach,
travelling at an ordinary speed for half an hour, passes in
the eye only over one-twelfth of an inch, yet is this change
of place in the image distinctly perceived throughout its
whole progress ; for it is only by means of that perception
that the motion of the coach itself is made sensible to the
eye. If any thing can abate our admiration of the small-
ness 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, namely, 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 conformity to optical prin-
ciples which its internal 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
* The eye of the seal or sea-calf, I understand, is an sxception
Dffem. Acad. Pari«?, 1710, p 123.
30 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
every thing belonging to it and about it, an extraordinary
degree of care, an anxiety for its preservation, due, if we
may so speak, to its value and its tenderness. It is lodged
in a strong, deep, bony socket, composed by the junction of
seven different bones,* hollowed out at their edges. In some
few species, as that of the coatimondi,t the orbit is not bony
throughout ; but whenever this is the case, the upper, which
is the deficient part, is supplied by a cartilaginous hgament,
a substitution which shows the same care. Within this
socket it is embedded 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 super-
ficial parts of the animal frame, I know none which, in its
office and structure, 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 evi-
dent than those which this organ fulfils ; or an apparatus
for executing those purposes more intelligible, more appro-
priate, or more mechanical ? If it be overlooked by the ob-
server of nature, it can only be because it is obvious and
familiar. This is a tendency to be guarded against. We
pass by the plainest instances, while we are exploring those
which are rare and curious ; by which conduct of the under-
standing we sometimes neglect the strongest observations,
being taken up with others which, though more recondite
and scientific, are, as solid arguments, entitled to much less
consideration.
In order to keep the eye moist and clean — which quali^
ties are necessary to its brightness and its use — a wash ifc
constantly supplied by a secretion for the purpose ; and the
superfluous brine is conveyed to the nose through a perfora-
* Heister, sect. 89.
t Memoirs of the E^oyal Academy, Paris, p. 117.
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 3i
tion in the bone as large as a goose-quill.* When once the
fluid has entered the nose, it spreads itself upon the inside o^
the nostril, and is evaporated by the current of warm aii
which in the course of respiration is continually passing ovei
it. Can any pipe or outlet for carrying off the waste liquoi
from a dye-house or a distillery, be more mechanical than
tliis is ? It is easily perceived that the eye must want moist-
ure ; but could the want of the eye generate the gland which
produces the tear, or bore the hole by which it is discharg-
ed— 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, hoAvever, injustice to dismiss the eye as a piece
of mechanism, without noticing that most exquisite of all
contrivances, the nictitatiiig mcinbrane,\ 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 humor — to defend it also from sudden inju-
ries ; yet not totally, when drawn upon the pupil, to shut
out the light. The commodiousness with which it lies fold-
ed up in the inner corner of the eye, ready for use and ac-
tion, and the quickness with which it executes its purpose,
are properties known and obvious to every observer ; but
* Plate I., Fig. 3. a, is the l(X(L'f^mal gland^ which supplies this
fluid ; it is situated at the outer and upper part of the orbit of the
eye, and secretes or separates tears from the blood. There are five or
six ducts or tubes, 6, which convey this fluid to the globe of the eye,
for the purpose of keeping it moist and facilitating its movements :
the motion of the eyelid difl"uses the tears, and c, c, the puncta lachry-
malia^ take up the superfluous moisture, which passes through rf, th<=
lachrirnal sac and duct, into the nostril at e.
t Plate I., Fig. 4. The nictitating membrane, or third eyelid, is
a ^iiin, semitransparent fold of the conjunctive, which in a state of
rfest lies in the inner corner of the eye, with its loose edge nearly ver-
tical, but can be drawn out so as to cover the whole front of the eye-
ball. By means of this membrane, according to Cuvier, the eagle is
enabled to look at the sun.
32 NATURAL THEOLOGY
what is equally admirable, though not quite so obvious, is
the combination of two kmds of substance, muscular and
elastic, and of two different kinds of action, by which the
motion of this membrane is performed. It is not, as in ordi-
nary cases, by the action of two antagonist muscles — the one
pulling forward and the other backward — ^that a reciprocal
change is effected, but it is thus : the membrane itself is an
elastic substance, capable of being drawn out by force like a
piece of elastic gum, and by its own elasticity returning,
when the force is removed, to its former position. Such be-
ing its nature, in order to fit it up for its office,' it is connect-
ed, by a tendon or thread, with a muscle in the back part of
the eye : this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine a?
not to obstruct the sight even when it passes across it ; and
the muscle itself being placed in the hack part of the eye,
derives from its situation the advantage not only of being
secure, but of being out of the way, which it would hardly
have been in any position that could be assigned to it in the
anterior part of the orb, where its function lies. "When the
muscle behind the eye contracts, the membrane by means
of the communicating thread is instantly drawn over the
fore part of it. "VYhen the m.uscular contraction — which is
a positive and most probably a voluntary effort — ceases to
be exerted, the elasticity alone of the membrane brings it
back again to its position.^ Does not this, if any thing can
do it, bespeak an artist, master of his work, acquainted with
his materials ? " Of a thousand other things," say the French
academicians, " we perceive not the contrivance, because wo
understand them only by their 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
discover the reasons of its motion and action."!
* Philosophical Transactions, 1796.
\ Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals, by the Royal Acad-
emy cf Sciences at Paris, done into English by order of the E,oyaJ So
aieiy, 1701, p. 249.
THE AE-G-UMENT APPLIED. ' 53
In the configuration of the muscle which, though placed
behind the eye, draws the nictitating membrane over the
eye, there is what the authors just now quoted deservedly
call a marvellous mechanism. I suppose this structure to
be found in other 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 ten-
don, which is the common, muscular form, would have bee.n
sufficient, if it had had power to draw far enough. But the
contraction 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 chord of the main ra,uscla
makes an angle. This so far answers the end ; but still fur-
ther, it makes an angle, not round a fixed pivot, but round
a loop formed by another muscle, which second muscle,
whenever it contracts, of course twitches the first muscle at
the point of inflection, and thereby assists the action designed
by both.
One question may possibly have dwelt in the rea-der's
mind during the perusal of these observations, namely. Why
should not the Deity have given to the animal the faculty oi
vision at once ? "Why this circuitous perception ; the minis-
try of so many means ; an element provided for the purpose ;
reflected from opaque substances, refracted through trans-
parent ones, and both according to precise laws ; then a
complex organ, an intricate and artificial apparatus, in or-
der, by the operation of this element and in conformity with
the restrictions of these laws, to produce an image upon a
membrane communicating with the brain ? WLerefore all
this ? Why make the difficulty in order to surmount it ? li
to perceive objects by some other mode than that of touch,
or objects which lay out of the reach of that sense, were the
9*
34 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
tiling proposed, could not a simple volition of the Creator
have communicated the capacity ? Why resort to contriv-
ance where power is omnipotent ? Contrivance, hy its very
definition and nature, is the refuge of imperfection. To
have recourse to expedients implies difficulty, impediment,
restraint, defect of power. This question belongs to the other
genses as well as to sight ; to the general functions of ani-
mal life, as nutrition, secretion, respiration ; to the economy
of vegetables — and indeed to almost all the operations of
nature. The question, therefore, is of very wide extent ; and
among other answers 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 contrivance that the ex-
istence, the agency, the wisdom of the Deity could be testi-
fied to his rational creatures. This is the scale by which we
ascend to all the knowledge of our Creator which we possess,
so far as it depends upon the phenomena or the works of
nature. Take away this, and you take away from us every
subject of observation and ground of reasoning ; I mean, as
our rational faculties are formed at present. Whatever is
done, God could have done without the intervention of in-
struments or means ; but it is in the construction of instru-
ments, in the choice and- adaptation of means, that a crea-
tive intelligence is seen. It is this which constitutes the
order and beauty of the universe. God, therefore, has been
pleased to prescribe limits to his own power, and to work his
ends within those limits. The general laws of matter have
perhaps prescribed the nature of these limits ; its inertia ; its
reaction ; the laws which govern the communication of mo-
tion, the refraction and reflection of light, and the constitu-
tion of fluids non-elastic and elastic, the transmission of
srand through the latter ; the laws of magnetism, of electri-
city, and probably others yet undiscovered. These are gen-
eral laws ; and when a particular purpose is to be eflected.
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 tc
THE ARaUMENT APPLIED. 35
the occasion — for nature with great steaditiess 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 attained. As we have said.
Iherefore, God prescribes limits to his power, that he may
!et in the exercise and thereby exhibit demonstrations of his
wisdom. For then — that is, such laws and limitations being
laid down — it is as though one Being should have fixed cer-
tain rules, and, if Ave may so speak, provided certain mate-
rials, 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 con-
trivance. Nay, there may be many such agents, and many
ranks of these. We do not advance this as a doctrine either
of philosophy or of religion ; but we say that the subject may
safely be represented under this view, because the Deity,
acting himself by general laws, will have the same conse-
quences upon our reasoning as if he had prescribed these
laws to another. It has been said, that the problem of crea-
tion was, " attraction and matter being given, to make a
world out of them ;" and, as above explamed, this statement
perhaps does not convey a false idea.
We have mad) choice of the eye as an instance upon
which to rest the argument of this chapter. Some smgle
example was to be proposed, and the eye offered itself un-
'ler the advantage of admitting of a strict comparison with
optical instruments. The ear, it is probable, is no less arti-
ficially and mechanically adapted to its office than the eye.
Bu t 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 inter-
nal, is sufficient to show that it is an instrument adapted
to the reception of sound; that is to say, already knowing
that soimd consists in pulses of the air, we perceive in the
?B ^'ATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
structure of the ear a suitableness to receive impressions from
this species of action, and to propagate these impressions to
the brain. For of what does this structure consist ? An ex-
ternal ear, the concha,* calculated, like an ear-trumpet, to
catch and collect the pulses of which we have spoken ; in
large quadrupeds turning to the sound, and possessing a con
figuration as well as motion evidently fitted for the office
of a tube which leads into the head, lying at the root of this
outward ear, the folds and sinuses thereof tending and con-
* Plate I., Fig. 5. a, the tube leading from the external ear ; hav-
ing little glands to secrete the wax, and hairs standing across it to
exclude msects without impeding the vibrations of the atmosphere ;
6, the membrane of the tympanum^ drawn into the form of a furmel by
the attachment of the malleus ; c, the chain of four bones lying in the
irregular cavity of the t}'mpanum, and comnaunicating the vibrations
of the membrane b to the fluid in the labyrinth; d, the eustachian
tube, which forms a communication between the throat and the tym-
panum, so as to. preserve an equilibrium of the air in the cavity of the
tympanmn and of the atmosphere : e, f, g, the labyrinth — consisting
of a central cavity, the vestibule g-, the three semicircular canals f, and
the cochlea J".
Beginning from the left hand, (see also Fig. 6,) we have the mat
lexis or hammer, the first of the chain of bones ; we see its long han
die or process, which is attached to the membrane of the tympanum,
and moves as that vibrates ; its other end is enlarged, and has a groove
upon it which is articulated with the next bone. This second bone is
the incus or anvil, to the grooved surface of which the malleus is at-
tached. A long process extends from this bone, which has upon it
the OS orbiculare; to this third bone there is attached a fourth, the
stapes, which is in shape like a stirrup-iron. The base of this bone is
of an oval shape, and rests upon a membrane which closes the hole
leading into the labyrinth. Tliis hole is called the foramen ovale.
The plan of the cochlea shows that one of its spiral passages, begin-
ning in the vestibule e, winds round the pillar till it meets in a point
with another tube. If the eye follows this second spiral tube, it will
be found to lead, not into the vestibule, but into the irregular cavity
of the tympanum. Sounds striking against the membrane of the
tyxnpanimi, are propagated by means of the foiu small bones to the
water contained in the cavities of the labyrinth ; and by means of this
water the impression is conveyed to the extremities of the auditory
nerve and finally to the brain.
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 37
ducting the air towards it : of a thin membrane hke the
pelt of a drum stretched across this passage upon a bony
rim : of a chain of movable and infinitely curious bones,
forming a communication, and the only communication that
can be observed, between the membrane last mentioned and
the interior channels and recesses of the skull : of cavities
similar in shape and form to wind instruments of music, be
ing spiral or portions of circles : of the eustachian tube, like
the hole in a drum, to let the air pass freely into and out ol
the barrel of the ear, as the covering membrane viio'ates, or
as the temperature may be altered: the whole labyrinth
hewn out of a rock ; that is, wrought into the substance of
the hardest bone of the body. This assemblage of connected
parts constitutes together an apparatus plainly enough rela-
tive 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 accus-
tomed to call machinery, than any thing I am acquainted
with in animal bodies. It seems evidently designed to con-
tinue towards the sensorium the tremulous motions which
are excited in the membrane of the tympanum, or what is
better known by the name of the ** drum of the ear." The
compages of bones consists of four, which are so disposed,
and so hinge upon one another, as that if the membrane, the
drum of the ear, vibrate, all the four are put in motion to-
gether ; 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
bene of the four is called the stajoes. The office of the drum
of the ear is to spread out an extended surface capable of
receiving the unpressions of sound, and of being put by ther.i
into a state of vibration. The office of the stapes is to re-
peat these vibrations. It is a repeating frigate, stationed
35 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
more within the line. From which account of its action
may be understood how the sensation of sound will be excit-
ed by any thing which communicates a vibratory motion to
the stapes, though not, as in all ordinary cases, through the
intervention of the membrana tympani. This is done by
solid bodies applied to the bones of the skull, as by a metal
bar holden at one end between the teeth, and touching at
the other end a tremulous body. It likewise appears to be
done, in a considerable degree, by the air itself, even when
this membrane, the drum of the ear, is greatly damaged.
Either in the natural or preternatural state of the organ, the
use of the chain of bones is to propagate the impulse in a
direction towards the brain, and to propagate it with the
advantage of a lever ; which advantage consists in increas-
ing 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
action of the auditory nerves.
The benefit of the eustachian tube to the organ may be
made out upon pneumatic principles. Behind the drum of
the ear is a second cavity, or barrel, called the tympanum.
The eustachian tube is a slender pipe, but sufficient for the
passage of air, leading from this cavity into the back pa:t 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 mem-
brane 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 mem-
brane in a degree inconsistent with the purpose which it
was designed to execute. The only remaining expedient,
and that for which the eustachian tube serves, is to open
THE AHaUMENT APPLIED. 39
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, deserves all the
examination which can be made of it. It is not found :ji
the ears of fish ; which furnishes an additional proof of what
indeed is indicated by every thing about it, that it is appio-
priated to the action of air, or of an elastic medium. It
bears an obvious resemblance to the pelt or head of a drum,
from which it takes its name. It resembles also a drum-
head in tliis principal property, that its use depends upon its
tension Tension is the state essential to it. Now we know
that, in a drum, the pelt is carried over a hoop, and braced
as occasion requires, by the means of strings attached to its
circumference. In the membrane of the ear the same pur-
pose is provided for more simply, but not less mechanically
nor less successfully, by a difierent expedient, namely, by
the end of a bone — the handle of the malleus — pressing upon
its centre. It is only in very large animals that the texture
of this membrane can be discerned. In the Philosophical
Transactions for the year 1800, vol. 1, Mr. Everard Home
has given some curious observations upon the ear, and the
drum of the ear of an eleiiliant. He discovered in it what
he calls a radiated muscle — that is, straight muscular fibres
passing along the membrane from the circumference to the
centre — from the bony rim which surrounds it towards the
handle of the malleus, to which the central part is attached.
This muscle he supposes to be designed to bring the mem-
brane into unison with difierent sounds ; but then he also dis-
covered that this muscle itself cannot act, unless the mem-
brane be drawn to a stretch, and kept in a due state of tight-
ness by what may be called a foreign force, namely, the
action of the muscles of the malleus. Supposing his expla-
nation of the use of the parts to be just, our author is weL
founded in the reflection which he makes upon it, "that
this mode of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of
40 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
the most beautiful applications of muscles iii the body ; tJie
mccha?tism is so si?7ijjle, and the variety of effects so greaty
In another volume of the Transactions above referred to,
and of the same year, two most curious cases are related of
persons wYio retained the sense of hearing, not in a perfect
but in a very considerable degree, notw^ithstanding the al-
most total loss of the membrane we have been describing
Tn one of these cases, the use here assigned to that raiem-
brane, of modifying the impressions of sound by change ol
tension, was attempted to be supplied by straining the mus-
cles 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 ad-
dressed in a v/hisper, the ear was seen immediately to
move ; when the tone of voice was louder, it then remained
altogether motionless."
It appears probable, from both these cases, that a collat-
eral if not principal use of the membrane is to cover and
protect the barrel of the ear which lies behind it. Both the
patients sufiered from cold : one, " a great increase of deaf-
ness from catching cold ;" the other, " very considerable pain
from exposure to a stream of cold air." Bad effects there-
fore 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 connection with the inte-
rior parts, of transmitting those vibrations to the brain, the
use of the organ, so far as we can judge, must have been
entirely obstructed
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 41
CHAPTER lY.
ON THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND AN[-
MALS.
The generation of the animal no more accounts for the
contrivance of the eye or ear, than, upon the supposition
stated in a preceding chapter, the production of a watch
by the motion and mechanism of a former watch, would ac-
count for the skill and attention evidenced in the watch so
produced — than it would account for the disposition of the
wheels, the catcliing of their teeth, the relation of the sev-
eral parts of the works to one another, and to their common
end — for the suitableness of their forms and places to theii
offices, for their comiection, 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 whatever was true
of the watch, under the hypothesis above-mentioned, is true
of plants and aiiimals.
I. To begin with the fructification of plants. Can it be
doubted but that the seed contains a particular organization ?
Whether a latent plantule with the means of temporary nu-
trition, or whatever else it be, it encloses an organization
suited to the germination of a new plant. Has the plant
which produced the seed any thing more to do with that
organization, than the watch would have had to do with the
structure of the watch which was produced in the course of
its mechariical movement ? I mean. Has it any thing at
all to do with the contrivance ? The maker and contriver
of one watch, when he inserted within it a mechanism^ suit-
ed to the production of another watch, was, in truth, the
maker and contriver of that other watch. All the proper-
ties 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
4? NATUEAL THEOLOTtY.
action, effect, and use, to his counsel, intelligence, and work
mansliip. In producing it by the intervention of a formei
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 ;
between the producing watch and the producing plant ; both
passive unconscious substances — both, by the organization
which was given to them, producing their hke without un-
derstanding or design — both, that is, instruments ?
11. From plants we may proceed to oviparous 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 internal constitution of the egg is as much
a secret to the hen as if the hen were inanimate. Her will
camiot alter it, or change a single feather of the chick. She
can neither foresee nor determine of which sex her brood
shall be, or how many of either ; yet the thing produced
shall be, from the first, very different in its make, according
to the sex which it bears. So far, therefore, from adapting
the means, she is not beforehand apprized of the effect. If
there be concealed within that smooth shell a provision and
a preparation for the production and nourishment of a new
animal, they are not of her providing or preparing ; if there
be contrivance, it is none of hers. Although, therefore, there
be the difference of life and perceptivity betv/een 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
properties not employed. The animal function and the veg-
etable function are alike destitute of any design which can
operate upon the form of the thing produced. The plant
has no design in producing the seed — no comprehension of
the nature or use of what it produces : the bird, with respect
to its egg, is not above the plant with respect to its seed.
Neither the one nor the other bears that sort of relation to
what proceeds from them wliich a joiner does to the chair
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 43
which he makes. Now a cause which bears this relatioii
to the efiect, is what we want, in order to account for the
suitableness of means to an end — the fitness and fitting ol
one thing to another ; and this cause the parent plant cr
animal does not supply.
It is further observable concerning the propagation o.^
plants and animals, that the apparatus employed exhibits
no resemblance to the thing produced ; in this respect, hold-
ing an analogy with instruments and tools of art. The
filaments, antherse, and stigmata of flowers, bear no more
resemblance to the young plant, or even to the seed which
is formed by their intervention, than a chisel or a plane does
to a table or a chair. "What then are the filaments, antherse,
and stigmata of plants, but instruments, strictly so called ?
III. We may advance from animals which bring forth
eggs, to animals which bring forth their young alive ; and
of this latter class, from the lowest to the highest — from
irrational to rational life, from brutes to the human species,
without perceiving, as we proceed, any alteration whatever
in the terms of the comparison. The rational animal does
not produce its offspring with more certainty or success tharn
the irrational animal ; a man than a quadruped, a quadru-
ped than a bird ; 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 mechanism, would do, upon
the supposition which has already so often been repeated.
Rationality, therefore, has nothing to do in the business. If
an account must be given of the contrivance which we ob-
serve ; if it be demanded, whence arose either the contriv-
ance by which the young animal is produced, or the con-
trivance manifested in the young animal itself, it is not from
the reason of the parent that any such 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 groA\-s upon
liis parterre, and in no other. "We admire the ffower ; wo
examine the plant ; we perceive the conduciveness of many
44 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
of its parts to their end and office ; we observe a provision
for its nourishment, grow^th, 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 contrivance discovered in the struct-
ure of the thing produced, we Want a contriver. The par-
ent is not that contriver ; his consciousness decides that ques-
tion. 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 subserviency we see
in the procreated body — than we can refer the internal con-
formation of an acorn to the intelligence of the oak from
which it dropped, or the structure of the watch to the intel-
ligence of the watch which produced it ; there being no
difference, as far as argument is concerned, between an ia-
telligence which is not exerted, and an intelligence which
does not exist.
THE ARaUMENT APPLIED. 45
CHAPTER Y.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.
Every observation wliich 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 organized parts of the works of
nature. As,
I. When we are inquiring simply after the existence of
an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccuracy, liability to
disorder, occasional irregularities, may subsist in a consider-
able degree without inducing any doubt into the question ;
just as a watch may frequently go Avrong, seldom perhaps
exactly right, may be faulty in some parts, defective in some,
without the smallest ground of suspicion from thence arising
that it was not a watch, not made, or not made for the pur-
pose ascribed to it. When faults are pointed out, and when
a question is started concerning the skill of the artist, or the
dexterity with which the work is executed, then, indeed, in
order to defend Ihese qualities from accusation, we must be
able, either to expose some intractableness and imperfection
in the materials, or point out some invincible difhculty 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, m the case before him, of im-
pediments like those which we have mentioned, although,
what from the nature of the case is very likely to happen,
they be unknown and unperceived by him. This we must
do in order to vindicate the artist's skill, or at least the per-
fection 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
46 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
are diiTerent questions from the question of the artist's exiffi-
ence ; 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 hkewise it is in the workn
of nature Irregularities and imperfections are of little or
no weight in the consideration, when that consideration re-
lates simply to the existence of a Creator. When the argu-
ment respects his attributes, they are of weight ; but are
then to be taken in conjunction — the attention is not to rest
upon them, but they are to be taken in conjunction, with
the unexceptionable evidences which we possess of skill,
power, and 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 defect 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 operation, in others the use, is unknown.
These form different cases ; for the operation may be un-
known, yet the use be certain. Thus it is with the lungs
of animals. It does not, I think, appear that we are ac-
quainted 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 suspension of their office de-
stroys the life of the animal. In this case, therefore, we
may be said to know the use, nay, we experience the neces-
sity of the organ, though we be ignorant of its operation.
Nearly the same thing may be observed of what is called
the lymphatic system. We suffer grievous inconveniences
from its disorder, without being informed of the office which
it sustains in the economy of our bodies. There may possi-
bly also be some few examples of the second class, in Avhich
not only the operation is unknown, but in which experi-
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 47
ments may seem to prove that the part is not necessary ; oi
may leave a doubt how far it is even useful to the plant or
animal in which it is found. This is said to be the case
with the spleen, which has been extracted from dogs with-
out any sensible injury to their vital functions. Instances
of the former kind, namely, in which we cannot explain the
operation, may be numerous ; for they will be so in propor-
tion to our ignorance. They will be more or fewer to difier-
ent persons, and in different stages of science. Every im-
provement of knowledge diminishes their number. There
is hardly, perhaps, a year passes that does not, in the works
of nature, bring some operatic*!}, or some mode of operation,
to light, which was before undiscovered — probably unsus-
pected. Instances of the second kind, namely, where the
part appears to be totally useless, I believe to be extremely
rare ; compared with the number of those of which the use
is evident, they are beneath any assignable proportion, and
perhaps have been never submitted to a trial and examina-
tion sufficiently accurate, long enough continued, or often
enough repeated. No accounts which I have seen are sat-
isfactory. The mutilated animal 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 functions, which, whether
they can all, or in what degree of vigor and perfection, be
performed, or how long preserved without the extirpated,
organ, does not seem to be ascertained by experiment. But
to this case, even were it fully made out, may be applied
the consideration which we suggested concerning the watch,
namely, tlmt these superffuous parts do not negative the
reasoning which we instituted concerning those parts which
are useful, and of which we know the use ; the indication of
contrivance, with respect to them, remains as it was before.
III. One atheistic way of replying to our observations
upon the works of nature, and to the proofs of a Deity whicli
we think that we perceive in them, is to tell us that all
whidi wc sec must necessarily have had some form, and
48 NATURAL THEOLOGT.
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 occupied that place
in the animal's head — must have filled up, as we say, that
socket : we will say, also, that it must have been of that sort
of substance which we call animal substance, as flesh, bone,
membrane, or cartilage, etc. But that it should have been
an eye, knowing as we do what an eye comprehends, name-
ly, that it should have consisted, first, of a series of transpar-
ent lenses — very difierent, by the by, 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 single portion of it excepted, is covered :
secondly, of a black cloth or canvas — the only membrane
in the body which is black — spread out behind these lenses,
60 as to receive the image formed by pencils of light trans
mitted through them ; and placed at the precise geometricaJ
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 communicating 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 con-
formation of parts should have been the lot, not of one
individual out of many thousand individuals, hke the great
prize in a lottery, or like some singularity in nature, but the
happy chance of a whole species ; nor of one species out of
many thousand species with which we are acquainted, but
of by far the greatest number of all that exist, and that
under varieties not casual or capricious, but bearing marks
of being suited to their respective exigences : that all this
should have taken place, merely because something must
have occupied these points on every animal's forehead ; or,
that all this should be thought to be accounted for by the
short answer, that " whatever was there must have had
gome form or other," is too absurd to be made more so by
THE ARGTUMENT APPLIED. 49
any argumentation. We are not contented with this an>
swer ; we find no satisfaction in it, by way of accounting
for appearances of organization far short of those of the eye,
such as we observe in fossil shells, petrified bones, or other
substances which bear the vestiges of animal or vegetable
recrements, but which, either in respect to utility or of the
/lituation in which they are discovered, may seem accidental
enough. It is no way of accounting even for these things,
to say that the stone, for instance, which is shown to us —
supposing the question to be concerning a petrifaction — must
have contained some internal conformation or other. Nor
does it mend the answer to add, with respect to the singu-
larity of the conformation, that after the event, it is no lon-
ger 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 in reasoning than that by
which chance is excluded from the present disposition of the
natural world. Universal experience is against it. What
does chance ever do for us? In the human body, for in-
stance, chance, that is, the operation of causes without de-
sign, may produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pimple, but
never an eye. Among inanimate substances, a clod, a peb-
ble, a liquid drop might be ; but never was a watch, a tele-
scope, an organized body of any kind, answering a valuable
purpose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of chance.
In no assignable instance has such a thing existed without
intention somewhere.
IV. There is another answer which has the same effect
as th,e resolving of things mto chance ; which answer would
pvjrsuade us to believe that the eye, the animal to which it
Lelongs, every other animal, every plant, indeed every or-
ganized body which we see, are only so many out of th(5
possible varieties and combinations of being which the lapse
of infinite ages has brought into existence ; that the present
world is the relic of that variety ; millions of other bodily
50 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
forms and other species having perished, being, by the de*
feet of their constitution, incapable of preservation, or of
continuance by generation. 'Now there is no foundation
whatever for this conjecture in any thing which we observe
in the works of nature ; no such experiments are going on
at present — no such energy operates as that which is hero
supposed, and which should be constantly pushing into ex-
istence new varieties of beings. Nor are there any appear-
ances to support an opinion, that every possible combination
of vegetable or animal structure has formerly been tried.
Multitudes of conformations, both of vegetables and animals,
may be conceived capable of existence and succession, which
yet do not exist. Perhaps almost as many forms of plants
might have been found in the fields as figures of plants can
be dehneated upon paper. A countless variety of animals
might have existed which do not exist. Upon the suppo-
sition here stated, we should see unicorns and mermaids,
sylphs and centaurs, the fancies of painters, and the fables
of poets, realized by examples. Or, if it be alleged that
these may transgress the bounds of possible life and propa-
gation, we might at least have nations of human beings
without nails upon their fingers, with more or fewer fingers
and toes than ten, some with one eye, others with one ear.
with one nostril, or without the sense of smelling at all.
All these, and a thousand other imaginable varieties, might
live and propagate. "VYe may modify any one species many
different ways, all consistent with life, and with the actions
necessary to preservation, although affording different de-
grees of conveniency and enjoyment to the animal. And if
we carry these modifications through the different species
vvhicl". are known to subsist, their number would be incal-
5ulabl '., No reason can be given why, if these deperdits
ever existed, they have now disappeared. Yet, if all possi-
ble existences have been tried, they m.ust have formed pari
of the catalogue.
But moreover, ^he division of organized substances into
THE ARaUMENT APPLIED. 51
animals and vegetables, and the distribution and subdistri-
bution of each into genera and species, which distribution is
not an arbitrary act of the mind, but founded in the order
which prevails in external nature, appear to me to contra-
dict the supposition of the present world being the remains
afar, indefinite variety of existences — of a variety which re-
jects 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 perished ; but
how or Avhy those which survived should be cast, as we see
that plants and animals are cast, into regular classes, the
hypothesis does not explain ; or rather the hypothesis is in-
consistent with this phenomenon.
The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of the con-
sideration which we have given to it. What should we
think of a man who, because we had never ourselves seen
watches, telescopes, stocking-mills, steam-engines, etc., made,
knew not how they were made, nor could prove by testimo-
ny when they were made, or by whom, would have us be-
lieve that these machines, instead of deriving their curious
structures from the thought and design of their inventois
and contrivers, in truth derive them from no other origin
than this ; namely, that a mass of metals and other mate-
rials having run, when melted, into all possible figures, and
combined themselves in all possible forms and shapes and
proportions, these things which we see are what were left
from the incident, 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 mechan-
ism, useful and useless, convenient and inconvenient, into
which such like materials could be thrown ? I cannot dis
tinguisli the hypothesis, as applied to the works of nature,
from this solution, which no one would accept as applied to
a collection of machines
V. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in animal
52 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
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 in-
tended for the use, but that the use arose out of the parts.
This distinction is intelhgible. A cabinet-maker rubs his
mahogany with fish-skin ; yet it would be too much to assert
that the skin of the dog-fish was made rough and granulat-
ed on purpose for the polishing of wood, and the use of cab-
inet-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 workshop, 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 gimlets, were not made, as we suppose, to hew,
cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with, but that, these
tilings being made, no matter with what design, or whether
with any, the cabinet-maker perceived that they were appli-
cable to his purpose, and turned them to account.
But, again, so far as this solution is attempted to be
ipplied to those parts of animals the action of which does
-!ot depend upon the will of the animal, it is fraught with
still more evident absurdity. Is it possible to believe that
the eye was formed without any regard to vision ; that it
was the animal itself which found out that, though formed
with no such intention, it would serve to see with ; and that
the use of the eye as an organ of sight resulted from this
discovery, and the animal's application of it ? The same
question may be asked of the ear ; the same of all the senses
None of the senses fundamentally depend upon the election
jf the animal ; consequently neither upon his sagacity nor
his experience. It is the impression which objects make
upon them that constitutes their use. Under that impres
sion he is passive. He may bring objects to the sense, 07
THE ARGUMENT APPLIED. 53
mthin its reach ; he may select these objects ; but over the
impression itself he has no power, or very little ; and thai
properly is the sense. — *^
Secondly, there are many parts of animal bodies which
seem to depend upon the will of the animal in a greater
degree than the senses do, and yet with respect to which
this solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we apply the so-
lution to the human body, for instance, it forms itself into
questions upon which no reasonable mind can doubt : such
as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the mastica
tion of food, the feet for walking, the hands for holding ; oi
whether, these things as they are being in fact in the ani-
mal's possession, his own ingenuity taught him that they
were convertible to these purposes, though no such purposes
were contemplated in their formation.
All that there is of the appearance of reason in this way
of considering the subject is, that, in some cases, the organ-
ization seems to determine the habits of the animal, and its
choice to a particular mode of life ; which, in a certain
sense, may be called " the use arising out of the part." Now,
to all the instances in which there is any place for this sug-
gestion, it may be replied, that the organization determines
the animal to habits beneficial and salutary to itself; and
that this effect would not be seen so regularly to follow, if
the several organizations did not bear a concerted and con-
trived relation to the substance by which the animal was
surrounded. They would, otherwise, be capacities without
objects — powers without employment. The web-foot deter-
mines, 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 prs'y 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 providing for the suste-
nance of the birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did
not lie Avithin their reach. The peculiar conformation of
54 NATUHAi THEOLOOY.
the bil! and tongue and claws* of the woodpecker deter
mines tliat bird to search for his food among the insects
lodged behind the bark or in the wood of decayed trees ; but
what would this profit him if there were no trees, no de-
cayed trees, no insects lodged under their bark or in thei?
trunk ? The proboscis with which the bee is furnished de-
termines him to seek for honey ; but what would that sig-
nify if flowers supplied none ? Faculties thrown down upon
animals at random, and without reference to the objects
amidst which they are placed, would not produce to them
the services and benefits which we see ; and if there ""^ that
reference, then there is intention.
Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to plauts.
The parts of plants answer their uses without any concur-
rence from the will or choice of the plant.
VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to a j^^rz/Z
ciple of order in nature. A principle of order is the word ;
but what is meant by a principle of order as different from
an intelligent Creator, has not been explained either by defi-
nition 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 adaptation of means to
an end : a principle of order, therefore, can only signify the
mind and intention which so adapts them. Or, wcio 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 ?
Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly and
without choice, is negatived by the observation that order is
not universal, which it would be if it issued from a constant
and necessary principle ; nor indiscriminate, which it would
be if it issued from an unintelligent principle. "VThere oidet
* The claws are st'ong and hooked ; and, as in all clunbing birds,
tave two toes placed forwards and two backwards, by which th'jy
take a firm hold of the bark of trees. See Plate V., Fig. 3.
'iHE AHaUMENT APPLIED. 55
is wanted, there we find it ; where order is not wanted, that
is, 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 maintained. In the forms of rocks
and mountains, in the lines which bound the coasts of con
tinents and islands, hi the shape of bays and promontories,
n^ order whatever is perceived, because it would have been
superfluous. No useful purpose would have arisen from
moulding rocks and mountains into regular solids, bounding
the channel of the ocean by geometrical curves ; or from the
map of the world resembling a table of diagrams in Euclid's
Elements or Simpson's Conic Sections.
VIL Lastly, the confidence which we place in our ob-
servations upon the works of nature, in the marks which we
discover of contrivance, choice, and design, and in our rea-
soning 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 rather the general imper-
fection of our knowledge of nature. Nor, in many cases,
ought this consideration to affect us, even when it respects
some parts of the subject immediately under our notice.
True fortitude of understanding consists in not suHering
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 perceive enough for our conclusion. If these things be
clear, no matter what is obscure. The argument is finished.
For instance, if the utility of vision to the animal which
enjoys it, and the adaptation of the eye to this office, be evi-
dent and certain — and I can mention nothing which is more
so — ought it to prejudice the inference which we draAv from
these premises, that we cannot explain the use of the spleen. ?
Nay, more, if there be parts of the eye, namely, the cornea,
the crystalline, tiie retina, in tneir substance, figure and po-
sition, manifestly suited to the formation of an image by
tlie refraction of rays of light, at least as manifestly as the
56 NATlrilAL THEOLOai.
glasses and tubes of a dioptric telescope are suited to thaV
purpose, it concerns not the proof which these afford of de-
sign, and of a designer, that there may perhaps be ether
parts, certain muscles, for instance, or nerves in the same
eyC; of the agency or effect of which we can give no ac-
count, any more than we should be inclined to doubt, oi
ought to doubt, about the construction of a telescope, name-
ly, for what purpose it was constructed, or whether it was
constructed at all, because there belonged to it certain screws
and pins, the use or action of which we did not comprehend.
I take it to be a general way of infusing doubts and scruples
into the mind, to recur to its own ignorance, its own imbe-
cility— to tell us that upon these subjects we know little ;
that little imperfectly ; or rather, that we knoAV nothing
properly about the matter. These suggestions so fall in
with our consciousness as sometimes to produce a general
distrust of our faculties and our conclusions. But this is an
unfounded jealousy. The uncertamty of one thmg does not
necessarily aflect the certainty of another thing. Our igno
ranee 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, wo
ought accurately to ascertain whether our ignorance oi
doubt concern those precise points upon which our conclu-
sion rests. Other points are nothing. Our ignorance ol
other points may be of no consequence to these, though they
be points, in various respects, of great importance. A just
reasoner removes from his consideration not only what he
knows, but what he does not know, touching matters not
strictly connected with his argument, that is, not forming
the very steps of his deduction : beyond these, his knoA\ ledge
and his ignorance are alike relative.
THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIV E. 57
CHAPTER VI.
THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.
Were there no example in the world of contrivance
except that of the eye, it would be alone sufficient to sup-
port the conclusion which we draw from it, as to the neces*
sity of an intelligent Creator. It could never be got rid of,
because it could not be accounted for by any other supposi
tion which did not contradict all the principles we possess
of knowledge — the principles according to v/hich things do,
as often as they can be brought to the test of experience,
turn out to be true or false. Its coats and humors, con-
structed as the lenses of a telescope are constructed, for the
refraction of rays of light to a point, which forms the proper
action of the organ ; the provision in its muscular tendons
for turning its pupil to the object, similar to that which is
given to the telescope by screws, and upon which power of
direction in the eye the exercise of its office as an optical
instrument depends ; the further provision for its defence,
for its constant lubricity and moisture, which we see in its
socket and its lids, in its glands for the secretion of the mat-
ter of tears, its outlet or communication with the n©se for
carrying off the liquid after the eye is washed with it ; these
provisions compose altogether an apparatus, a system oi
parts, a preparation of means, so manifest in their design,
so exquisite in their contrivance, so successful in their issue,
so precious, and so infinitely beneficial in their use, as, in
my opinion, to bear down all doubt that can be raised upon
the subject. And what I wish, under the title of the pres-
ent chapter; to observe, is, that if other parts of nature were
inaccessible to our inquiries, or even if other parts of nature
presented nothing to our examination but disorder and con-
fusion, the validity of this example would remain the same.
If there M'ere but one watch in the world, it would not be
less certain that it had a maker. If we had novor in our
58 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
lives seen any but one single kind of hydraulic machine, yet
if of that one kind we understood the mechanism and use,
we should be as perfectly assured that it proceeded from the
hand and thought and skill of a workman, as if we visited a
museum of the arts, and saw collected there twenty different
kinds of machines for drawing water, or a thousand different
kinds for other purposes. Of this point each machine is a
proof independently of all the rest. So it is with the eviden-
ces 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 cu-
mulative, in the fullest sense of that term The eye proves
it without the ear ; the ear without the eye. The proof in
each example is complete ; for when the design of the part,
and the conduciveness of its structure to that design is shown,
the mind may set itself at rest ; no future consideration can
detract any thing from the force of the example.
PARTS AND FUNCTIONS. 59
CHAPTER VII.
OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL
PARTS AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND
VEGETABLES.
It i? not that every part of an animal or vegetable has
not proceeded from a contriving mind ; or that every part is
not constructed with a view to its proper end and purpose,
according to the laws belonging to, and governing the sub-
stance or the action made use of in that part ; or that each
part is not so constructed as to effectuate its purpose while
it operates according to these laws ; but it is because thfese
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 n^a-
chines, that we lay down the distinction here proposed, be-
tween the mechanical and imniechanical parts of animals.
For instance, the principle of muscular motion, namely,
upon what cause the swelling of the belly of the muscle,
and consequent contraction of its tendons, either by an act
of the will, or by involuntary irritation, depends, is wholly
unknown to us. The substance employed, whether it be
fluid, gaseous, elastic, electrical, or none of these, or nothing
resembling these, is also unknown to us : of course, the laws
belonging to that substance, and which regulate its action,
are unknown to us. We see nothing similar to this contrac-
tion 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 proceeds, being assumed, the collocation
of the fibres to receive the principle, the disposition of the
muscles for the use and application of the power, is mechan-
ical, and is as intelhgible as the adjustment of the wires
and strings by which a puppet is moved. "VYc see, there-
fore, as far as respects the subject before us, Avhat is not me
60 NAlUiiAL THEOLOaY.
chamcal hi the animal frame, and what is. The nervoujs
influence — for we are often obliged to give names to things
which we know little about — I say, the nervous influence,
by which the belly or middle of the muscle is swelled, is not
mechanical. The utility of the effect we perceive — the
means, or the preparation of means, by which it is produced,
we do not. But obscurity as to the origin of muscular mo-
tion brings no doubtfulness into our observations upon the
sequel of the process ; w^hich observations relate, first, to the
constitution of the muscle, in consequence of which consti-
tution, the swelling of the belly or middle part is necessarily
and mechanically followed by a contraction of the tendons ,
secondly, to the number and variety of the muscles, and the
corresponding number and variety of useful powers which
they supply to the animal, which is astonishingly great ;
thirdly, to the judicious — if we may be permitted to use that
term in speaking of the Author, or of the works of nature —
to the wise and well-contrived disposition of each muscle for
its specific purpose — for moving the joint this way, and that
way, and the other way — for pulling and drav/ing the part
to which it is attached in a determinate and particular di-
rection, which is a mechanical operation, exemplified in s
multitude of instances. To mention only one : the tendon
of the trochlear 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 exactly in the same manner as
a rope in a ship is carried over a block, or round a stay, in
order to make it pull in the direction which is wanted. All
this, as we have said, is mechanical, and is as accessible to
* Plate II., Fig. 1. The trochlear or superior oblique muscle
arises with, the straight muscles from the bottom of the orbit. Its
muscular portion, a, is extended over the upper part of the eyeball,
and gradually assumes the form of a smooth round tendon, 6; this
passes through the pulley, c, which is fixed to the inner edge of the
orbit, cf, then returning backwards and downwards, c, is inserted into
the sclerotic membrane, f. The use of this muscle is to bring the eye
forwards, and turn the pupil downwards and outwards.
PARTS AND FUNCTIONS. 61
inspection, as capable of being ascertained, as the mechanism
of the automaton in the Strand. Supposing the automaton
to be put in motion by a magnet, which is probable, it will
supply us with a comparison very apt for our present pur-
pose. Of the magnetic effluvium we know perhaps as Httle
as we do of the nervous fluid. But, magnetic attraction
being assumed — it signifies nothing from what cause it pro-
eeeds — we can trace, or there can be pointed out to us, with
perfect clearness and certainty, the mechanism, namely, tlie
steel bars, the wheels, the joints, the wires, by which the
motion so much admired is communicated to the fingers oi
the image ; and to make any obscurity or difficulty, or con-
troversy in the doctrine of magnetism, an objection to oui
knowledge or our certainty concerning the contrivance, 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 them-
selves, a ground of question or suspicion as to the reasoning
which we institute concerning the mechanical part of our
frame. That an animal is a machine, is a proposition nei-
ther correctly true nor wholly false. The distinction which
we have been discussing will serve to show how far the
comparison which this expression implies holds, and wliere-
in it fails. And whether the distinction be thought of im
portance or not, it is certainly of importance to remember
tLat there is neither truth nor justice in endeavoring to bring
a cloud over our understandings, or a distrust into our reason-
ings upon this subject, by suggesting that we know nothing
of voluntary motion, of irritability, of the principle of life, of
sensation, of animal heat, upon all which the animal func-
tions depend ; for our ignorance of these parts of the animal
frame concerns not at all our knowledge of the mechanical
parts of the same frame. I contend, therefore, that there is
mechanism in animals ; that this mechanism is as properly
Buch as it is in machines made bv art * that this mechanism
62 NATURAL THEOLOar.
is intelligible and certain ; 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 intention and contrivance, as well in the works
of nature as in those of art ; and that it is the best demon-
stration which either can afford.
But while I contend for these propositions, I do not ex-
clude myself from asserting that there may be, and that there
are, other cases in which, although we cannot exhibit mech-
anism, or prove indeed that mechanism is employed, we
want not sufficient evidence to conduct us to the same con-
clusion.
There is what may be called the chemical part of our
frame ; of which, by reason of the imperfection of our chem-
istry, 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. Tl:
does not, therefore, afford the same species of argument Oi'
that which mechanism affords ; and yet it may afford an
argument in a high degree satisfactory. The gastric juice,
or the liquor which digests the food in the stomachs of ani-
mals, is of this class. Of all the m.enstrua it is the most
active, the most universal. In the human stomach, for in-
stance, consider what a variety of strange substances, and
how widely different from one another, it in a few hours
reduces to a uniform pulp, milk, or mucilage. It seizes upon
every thing; it dissolves 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 p'ij,nts ; the
roots and stalks, and leaves of many, hard and tough as they
are, yield to its powerful pervasion. The change wrought
by it is different from any chemical solution which w^e can
produce, or with which we are acquainted, in tliis respect as
well as many others, that in our chemistry particular men-
strua act only upon particular substances. Consider, more-
over, that this fluid, stronger in its operation than a caustic
PARTS AND FUNCTIOxVS. 63
alkali or mineral acid, than red precipitate or aquafortis
itself, is nevertheless as mild and bland and inoffensive to
the touch or taste as saliva or gum-w^ater, 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 chemical 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 chemistry ; for, should the time ever
arrive, 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 which the gastric juice acts, we may
be able to ascertain the chemical 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 chemistry, to hinder us from acquiescing in the infer-
ence which a production of nature, by its place, its proper-
ties, its action, its surprising efficacy, its invaluable use, au-
thorizes us to draw in respect of a creative design ?
Another most subtle and curious function of animal bod-
ies is secretion. This function is semichemical and semi-
mechanical ; exceedingly 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 single 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 sensi-
64 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
ble properties, in taste, sijiell.. color, and consistency, the
most unlike one another tliat is possible — thick, thin, salt,
bitter, sweet : and if from mr own we pass to other species
of animals, we find among their secretions not only the most
various but the most opposite properties ; the most nutri-
tious aliment, the deadliest poison ; the sweetest perfumes,
the most fetid odors. Of these the greater part, as the gas-
tric juice, the saliva, the bile, the slippery mucilage which
lubricates the joints, the tears which moisten the eye, the
"svax which defends the ear, are, after they are secreted,
made use of in the animal economy, are evidently subservi-
ent, and are actually contributing to the utilities of the ani-
mal itself. Other fluids seem to be separated only to be
rejected. That tliis also is necessary — though why it was
originally necessary we cannot tell — is shown by the conse-
quence of the separation being long suspended, which con-
sequence 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 diiierent as the wood and iron, canvas
and cordage, of which a ship with its furniture is composed.
We have no operation of art wherewith exactly to compare
all this, for no other reason, perhaps, than that all opera-
tions of art are exceeded by it. No chemical election, no
chemical analysis or resolution of a substance into its con-
stituent parts, no mechanical sifting or division that we are
acquainted with, in perfection or variety, come up to animal
secretion. Nevertheless, the apparatus and process are ob-
scure, not to say absolutely concealed from our inquiries.
In a few, and only a few instances, we can discern a lit-
tle of the constitution of a gland. In the kidneys of laro-e
animals, we can trace the emulgent artery dividing itself
into an infinite number of branches ; their extremities every-
where communicating with little round bodies, in the sub-
stance of which bodies the secret of the machinery seems to
reside, for there the change is made We can disoern pipes
PAJITS AND FUNCTIONS. 65
hdid from these round bodies towards the pelvis, which is a
basiii within the soHd of the kidney. We can discern these
pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes ; and,
when so collected, ending in innumerable papillee, through
which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into its recep-
tacle. This is all we know of the mechanism of a gland,
i'ven in the case in w^hich it seems most capable of being
investigated. Yet to pronounce that we know nothing of
animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and with that
concise remark to dismiss the article from our argument,
w^ould be to dispose of the subject very hastily and very
irrationally. For the purpose which we want, that of evinc-
ing intention, we know a great deal. And what we know
is this. We see the blood carried by a pipe, conduit, or
duct, to the gland. We see an organized apparatus, be its
construction or action what it will, which we call that
gland. We see the blood, or part of the blood, after it has
passed through and undergone the action of the gland, com-
ing from it by an emulgent vein or artery, that is, 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, that is, by a third pipe or conduit ; which
new fluid is in some cases discharged out of the body, in
more cases retauied within it, and there executing some im-
portant and intelligent office. Now supposing, or admit-
ting, that we know nothing of the proper internal constitu-
tion 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-machine at work, the fab'
rie and mechanism of which, as well as all that passes with-
in is hidden from his sight by the outside case ; or, if seen,
would be too complicated for liis uninformed, uninstructed
understanding to comprehend. And wdiat is that situation ?
This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a material
ent(^r the machine, as unground grain the mill, raw cot.tfj»
66 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
the cardiiig-macliine, sheaves of uiithreshed corn th(i thresh-
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 con-
trivance has been employed about the machine, should be
allowed to pull it to pieces — should be enabled to examine
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 desire to do it to im-
prove his theoretic knowledge ; or he may have a more sub-
stantial reason for requesting it, if he happen, instead of a
common visitor, to be a millwright by profession, or a per-
son sometimes called in to repair such-like machines when
out of order ; but for the purpose of ascertaining the exist-
ence of counsel and design in the formation of the machine,
he wants no such intromission or privity. What he sees is
sufficient. The effect upon the material, the change pro-
duced in it, the utility of that change for future applications,
abundantly testify, be the concealed part of the machine or
of its construction what it will, the hand and agency of a
contriver.
If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence which
the animal secretions afford of design, it may be derived, as
has been already hinted, from their variety, and from their
appropriation to their place and use. They all come from
the same blood ; they are all drawn off by glands ; yet the
produce is very different, and the difference exactly adapted
to the work which is to be done, or the end to be answered.
No account can be given of this, without resorting to ap-
pointment. Why, for instance, is the saliva, which is dif-
fused over the seat of taste, insipid^ wliile so many otliers of
TARTS AND FUNCTIONS 67
the secretions, the urine, the tears, and the swxat, are salt ?
Why does the gland within the ear separate a viscid sub-
stance, which defends that passage ; the gland in the outer
angle of the eye a thin brine, which washes the ball? Why
is the synovia of the joints mucilaginous ; the bile bitter,
stimulating, ani soapy? Why does the juice which flow:?
into the stomach contain powers which make that organ
the great laboratory, as it is by its situation the recipient of
the materials of future nutrition ? These are all fair ques-
tions ; and no answer can be given to them but what calls
in intelligence and intention.
My object in the present chapter has been to teach three
things : first, that it is a mistake to suppose that, in reason-
ing from the appearances of nature, the imperfection of our
knowledge proportion ably affects the certainty of our conclu-
sion, for in many cases it does not affect it at all ; secondly,
that the difierent parts of the animal frame may be classed
and distributed according to the degree of exactness with
which we compare them with works of art ; thirdly, that the
mechanical parts of our frame, or those in which this com-
parison is most complete, although constituting probably
the coarsest portions of nature's workmanship, are the most
propp.r to be alleged as proofs and specimens of design.
68 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
CHAPTER VIII.
OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE
HUMAN FRAME.
V/e proceed, therefore, to propose certain examples talcen
out of this class ; making choice of such as, among thosa
which have come to our knowledge, appear to be the most
striking and the best understood ; but obliged, perhaps, to
postpone both these recommendations to a third, that of the
example bemg capable of explanation without plates, or fig-
ures, or technical language.
OF THE BONES.
I. I challenge any man to produce in the joints and piv"
ots of the most compHcated or the most flexible machine
that was ever contrived, a construction more artificial, oi
more evidently artificial, than that which is seen in the ver-
tebra3 of the human neck. Tv/o things were to be done :
the head was to have the power of bending forward and
backward, as in the act of nodding, stooping, looking upward
or downward ; and, at the same time, of turning itself round
upon the body to a certain extent — the quadrant, w^e wdll
say, or rather, perhaps, a hundred and twenty degrees of a
circle. For these two purposes two distinct contrivances
are employed : first, the head rests immediately upon the
uppermost part of the vertebrae, and is united to it by a
/^^?^g■e -joint, upon which joint the head plays freely forward
and backward, as far either w^ay as is necessary, or as the
ligaments allow ; wliich w^as the first thing required. But
then the rotary motion is unprovided for ; therefore, se,?ond-
ly, to make the head capable of this, a further mechanism
is introduced — not between the head and the uppermost
bone of the neck, where the hinge is, but between that bone
and the bone next underneath it. It is a mechanism re-
sembling a tenon and mortise. This second, or uppermost
THE HUMAN FRAME. 69
6one but one, has what anatomists call a process, namely,
a projection somewhat similar in size and shape to a tooth ;
which too'th entering a corresponding hole or socket in the
bone above it, forms a pivot or axle, upon which that upper
bone, together with the head which it supports, turns freely
in a circle, and as far in the circle as the attached muscles
permit the head to turn. Thus are both motions perfect
without interfering with each other. When we nod the
head, we use the hinge-joint, which lies between the head
and the first bone of the neck. When we turn the head
round, we use the tenon and mortise, 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 telescope. It is
occasionally requisite that the object-end of the instrument
be moved up and down, as well as horizontally or equato-
rially. 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 to-
gether. And this is exactly the mechanism which is appli-
ed 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 m
nothing.
We may add, that it was, on another account, also expe-
dient that the motion of the head backward and forward
should be performed 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 begin-
ning of its course, upon the point of the tooth.
II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike the last
in its object, but diflerent and original in its means, is seen
in what anatomists call the fore-arm — that is, in the arm
between the elbow and the wrist.* Here, for the perfect
* Plate II., Fig. 2. a, the humerus ; the head, ^, is a portion
of a sphere, au-l exhibits an instance /^f the Hll and socket, or univfr-
70 NATURAL THEOLOGY-.
use of the limb, two motions are wanted : a motion at the
elbow, backward and forward, which is called a reciprocal
motion ; and a rotary motion, by which the palm of the
hand, as occasion requires, may be turned upward. How is
this managed ? The fore-arm, it is well known, consists ol
two bones, lying alongside each other; but touching only to-
wards the ends. One, and only one of these bones is joined
to the humerus, or upper part of the arm, at the elbow ; the
other alone to the hand, at the wrist. The first, by means.
at the elbow, of a hinge-joint — which allows only of motion
in the same plane — swings backward and forward, carrying
along with it the other bone and the whole fore-arm. In
the mean time, as often as there is occasion to turn the palm
upward, that other bone to which the hand is attached rolls
upon the first by the help' of a groove or hollow near each
end of one bone, to which is fitted a corresponding promi-
nence in the other. If both bones had been joined to the
humerus (upper arm) at the elbow, or both to the hand, at
the wrist, the thing could not have been done. The first
was to be at liberty at one end, and the second at the other,
by which means the tAvo actions may be performed togeth-
er.* The great bone, which carries the fore-arm, may be
swinging upon its hinge at the elbow at the very time that
the lesser bone, which carries the hand, may be turning
round it in the gi'ooves. The management, also, of these
grooves, or rather of the tubercles and grooves, is very ob-
servable. The two bones are called the radius, and the
ulna. Above, that is, towards the elbow, a tubercle of the
scZ joint; c, the elbow, exemplifying the hinge-joint ; d, the radius,
and e, the ulna. The radius belong^s more peculiarly to the wrist, be-
ing the bone which supports the hand, and turns with it in all its
revohing motions. The ulna belongs chiefly to the elbow-joint, and
by it we perform all the actions of bending the arrn and extending the
tore-arm.
* Plate IL, Fig. 3, shows the connection of the radius, d, with
tbe ulna, e, at the elbow; a, being the humerus. The mode of aniicn
lation at the wrist i.s seen in Fig. 2.
THE HUMAN FliAAlE. 71
radius plays into a socket, of the ulna ; while below, that is,
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 pur-
pose of both moving the arm and turning the hand. But
how much better it is accomplished by the present mechan-
ism 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 compara-
tively slow and laborious motion with which liis arm can be
made to turn round at the shoulder by the aid of a ball-and-
socket joint.
III. The S2nne, or backbone, is a chain of joints of very
wonderful construction. Various, difficult, and almost in-
consistent offices were to be executed by the same instru-
ment. It was to be firm, yet flexible — now I know no chain
made by art which is both these — for, by firmness, I mean
ixot only strength but stability : finn, to support the erect
position of the body ; Jlexible, to allow of the bending of the
trunk in all degrees of curvature. It was further also —
which is another and quite a distinct purpose from the rest —
to become a pipe or conduit for the safe conveyance from
the brain of the most important fluid of the animal frame,
that, namely, upon which all voluntary motion depends, the
spinal marrow ; a substance not only of the first necessity
to action, if not to life, but of a nature so delicate and ten-
der, so susceptible and so impatient of injury, as that any
unusual pressure upon it, or any considerable obstruction of
its course, is folloM^ed by paralysis or death.
Now the spine was not only to furnish the main trunk
fo2 the passage of the medullary substance from the brain,
but to give out, in the course of its progress, small pipe?
therefrom, which, being afterwards indefinitely subdivided
laight, under the name of nerves, distribute this exquisitt
72 NATURAL THEOLOC-Y.
supply to every part of the body. The same spine was also
to serve another use not less wanted than the precedmg,
namely, to afford a fulcrum, stay, or basis — or, more proper-
ly speaking, a series of these — for the insertion of the mus-
cles which are spread over the trunk of the body ; in which
trunk there are not, as in the limbs, cylindrical bones to
which they can be fastened : and likewise, which is a similar
use, to furnish a support for the ends of the ribs to rest upon.
Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism which shall
comprise all these purposes, and let him set about to con-
trive it ; let him try his skill upon it ; let him feel the diffi-
culty of accomplishing the task, before he be told how the
same thing is effected in the animal frame. Nothing will
enable him to judge so well of the wisdom which has been
employed — ^nothing will dispose him to think of it so truly
First, for the firmness, yet flexibihty of the spine : it is com-
posed of a great number of bones — in the human subject, ol
twenty-four — joined to one another, and compacted by broad
bases. The breadth of the bases upon which the parts sev-
erally rest, and the closeness of the junction, give to the
chain its firmness and stability ; the number of parts, and
consequent frequency of joints, its flexibility. Which flexi-
bility, we may also observe, varies in different parts of the
chain : is least in the back, where strength more than flex-
ure 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 through in the mid-
dle, 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 per-
forated pieces, when jomed, form an entire, close, unint^.'r-
mpted channel, at least while the spine is upright and at
rest. But as a settled posture is inconsistent with its use,
a great difficulty still remained, Avhich was to prevent the
THE HUMAN FRAME. 7S
vertebrsu shifting upon one another, so as to break the line
of the canal as often as the body moves or twists, or the
joints gaping externally whenever the body is bent forward
and the spine thereupon made to take the form of a bow.
These dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically j ro-
V'ided against. The vertebrsB, by means of their procssses
Kzid projections, and of the articulations which some of these
form with one 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 pro-
duced by flexion almost entirely upon the intervening carti-
lages, the springiness and yielding nature of whose substance
admits of all the motion which is necessary to be performed
upon them, without any chasm being produced by a separa-
tion of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is neces-
sary ; for although we bend our backs to every degree al-
most of inclination, the motion of each vertebra is very
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 bend-
ing the body the spinal marrow must have been bruised at
every angle. The reader need not be told that these inter-
vening cartilages are gristles, and he may see them in per-
fection in a loin of veal. Their form also favors 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 surface of the adjoining verte-
brae nearer to the being parallel with one another than they
were before, mstead of increasing the inclination of their
I'lanes, w^hich must have occasioned a fissure or opening
b<:lween them. Thirdly, for the medullary canal, givnig out
in its course, and in a convenient order, a supply of nerves
to diflerent parts of the body, notches are made in the upper
and lower edge of every vertebra, two on each '^dge, equi-
Nal. T ...,1. 4
74 NATURAL THEOLOGT.
distant on eacli side from the middle line of the back. When
the vertebrae are put together, these notches, exactly fitting,
form small holes, through which the nerves at each articu-
lation issue out in pairs, in order to send their branches to
ever) 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 pur-
pose, especially the former part of it, a figure specifically
suited to the design, and unnecessary for the other purposes,
is given to the constituent bones. While they are plain
and round and smooth towards the front, where any rough-
ness 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 the motions of
the trunk are fixed, and fixed with such art, that while the
vertebras supply 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,
namely, the strength of the compages, and the security
against luxation, was to be still more specially consulted ;
for where so many joints were concerned, and where in
every one, derangement would have been fatal, it became
a subject of studious precaution. For tliis purpose the ver-
tebrae are articulated, that is, the movable joints between
them are formed by means of those projections of their sub-
stance which we have mentioned under the name of process-
es, 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 being pushed out of its place by any
violence short of that w^hich 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 economy may spare himself the disgust of being pres-
ent at human dissections, and yet learn enough for his infer
THr. HUMAN FRAME. 15
mation and satisfaction, by even examining the bones of the
animals which come upon his table. Let him take, for exam-
ple, into his hands a piece of the clean-picked bone of a hare's
back, consisting, we will suppose, of three vertebrae. He will
find the middle bone of the three so implicated, by means of its
projections or processes, with the bone on each side of it, that
no pressure which he can use will force it out of its place
between them. It will give way neither forward nor back-
ward, nor on either side. In whichever direction he pushes,
he perceives, in the form, or junction, or overlapping of the
bones, an impediment opposed to his attempt, a check and
guard against dislocation. In one part of the spine he will
find a still further fortifying expedient, in the mode accord-
ing to which the ribs are articulated to the spine. Each
rib rests upon two vertebrae. That is the thing to be re-
marked, and any one may remark it in carving a neck of
mutton. The manner of it is this : the end of the rib is di-
vided by a middle ridge into two surfaces, which surfaces
are joined to the bodies of two contiguous vertebrae, the
ridge applying itself to the intervening cartilage. Now this
is the very contrivance which is employed in the famous iron
bridge at my door at Bishop-Wearmouth, and for the same
purpose of stability, namely, the cheeks of the bars which
pass between the arches ride across the joints by which the
pieces composing each arch are united. Each cross-bar rests
upon two of these pieces at their place of 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 mem-
brane runs from one end of the chain to the other, sufficient
to resist any force which is likely to act in the direction of
the back or parallel to it, and consequently to secure the
whole combination in their places. The general result is.
76 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
that not anly the motions of the human body necessary foi
the ordinary offices of Ufe are performed with safety, but
that it is an incident hardly ever heard of that even the ges-
ticulations of a harlequin distort his spine.
Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may be
inclined to carry the consideration of this subject further,
there are three views under which the spine ought to be re-
garded, and in all which it cannot fail to excite our admira
tion. These views relate to its articulations, its hgaments,
and its perforations ; and to the corresponding advantages
which the body derives from it for action, for strength, and
Tor that which is essential to every part, a secure communi-
cation with the brain.
The structure of the spine is not in general different in
different animals. In the serpent tribe, however, it is con-
siderably varied ; but with a strict reference to the conven-
lency of the animal. For whereas in quadrupeds the num-
ber of vertebrae is from thirty to forty, in the serpent it is
nearly one hundred and fifty : whereas in men and quadru-
peds 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 an-
other m every direction : that is to say, in men and quadru-
peds, firmness is more consulted ; in serpents, pliancy. Yet
even pliancy is not obtained at the expense of safety. The
backbone of a serpent, for coherence and flexibility, is one
of the most curious pieces of animal mechanism with which
we are acquainted. The chain of a watch — I mean the
chain which passes between the spring-barrel and the fu-
see— which aims at the same properties, is but a bungling
piece cf workmanship in comparison with that of which we
speak .
lY. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction of the
chest, to allow for tlie play of the lungs, depends upon a sim
* Der. Phys. Thcol., p. 396.
THE HUMAN FRAME. 77
pie yet beautiful mechanical contrivance, referable to the
structure of the bones which enclose it. The ribs are artio
ulated to the backbone, or rather to its side projections, ob-
liquely : 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 conscquenco
of the obliquity, or the inclination downwards is. that when
they come to move, whatever pulls the ribs upwards, neces«
sarily at the same time draws them out ; and that, while
the ribs are brought to a right angle with the spine behind,
the sternum, or part of the chest to which they are attached
in front, is thrust forward. The simple action, therefore, of
the elevating muscles does the business ; whereas, if the ribs
had been articulated with the bodies of the vertebree at right
angles, the cavity of the thorax could never have been fur-
ther enlarged by a change of their position. If each rib had
been a rigid bone, articulated at both ends to fixed bases,
the whole chest had been immovable. Keill has observed
that the breastbone, in an easy inspiration, is thrust out
one-tenth of an inch ; and he calculates that this, added to
what is gained to the space within the chest by the flatten-
ing or descent of the diaphragm, leaves room for forty-two
cubic inches of air to enter at every drawing-in of the breath.
AYhen 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 probably will be, made by any artificer.
V. The patella, or kneepan,t is a curious little bone ;
in its form and office unlike any other bone in the body. It
is circular, the size of a crown-piece, pretty thick, a liltlo
convex on both sides, and covered with a smooth cartilage.
It Ues upon the front of the knee ; and the powerful tendons
by which the leg is brought forward, pass through it — oj
* Anat. p. 229. t See Fig. 4.
78 NATURAL THEOLOG-Y
rather, it makes a part of their continuation — from their ori-
nrin in the thigh to their insertion in the tibia. It protects
both the tendon and the joint from any injury which either
might suffer by the rubbing of one against the other, or by
the pressure of unequal surfaces. It also gives to the ten-
dons a very considerable mechanical advantage, by altering
the line of their direction, and by advancing it further out
from the centre of motion ; and this upon the principles of
the resolution of force, upon vi^hich principles all machinery
is founded. These are its uses. But what is most observ-
able in it is, that it appears to be supplemental, as it were,
to the frame ; added, as it should almost seem, afterward ;
not quite necessary, but very convenient. It is separate
from the other bones ; that is, it is not connected with any
other bones by the common mode of union. It is soft, or
hardly formed, m infancy ; and produced 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-bvones, which are by
far the greater number, the shoulder-blade has no bony com-
munication with the trunk, either by a joint, or procc^., or
in any other way. It does not grow" to, or out of, any
other bone of the trunk. It does not apply to any other
bone of the trunk — I know not whether this be true of any
second bone in the body, except perhaps the os hyoides — in
strictness, it forms no part of the skeleton. It is bedded in
the flesh, attached only to the muscles It is no other Ihati
a foundation bone for the arm, laid in separate as it were, and
distinct from the general ossification. The lower limbs con*
uect themselves at tho hip with bones v/hich form pa it of
the skeleton ; but this connection in the upper limbs being
wanting, a basis, whereupon the arm might be articulated,
was to be supplied by a detached ossification for the purpose
THE HUMAN FRAME 79
OF THE JOINTS.
I. The above are a few examples of bones made remark
able by their configuration ; but to almost all the bones he-
long joints; 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 isi
also strictly mechanical. There is the hinge-joint, and the
mortise-and-tenon joint ; each as manifestly such, and as
accurately defined, as any which can be produced out of a
cabinet-maker's shop ; and one or the other prevails, as
either is adapted to the motion which is w^anted : for exam-
ple, a mortise-and-tei^on, or ball-and-socket joint, is not re-
quired at the knee, the leg standing in need only of a motion
backward and forward in the same plane, for which a hinge-
joint is sufficient ; a mortise-and-tenon, or ball-and-socket
joint is wanted at the liip, not only that the progressive step
may be provided for, but that the interval between the limbs
may be enlarged or contracted at pleasure. Now observe
Mdiat would have been the inconveniency — that is, both the
superfluity and the defect of articulation, if the case had
been inverted — if the ball-and-socket joint had been at the
knee, and the liinge-joint at the hip. The thighs must have
been kept constantly together, and the legs had 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 joints at the hip and the
knee had been both of the same sort — both balls and sock-
ets, or both hinges ; yet why, independently of utihty, and
of a Creator who consulted that utility, should the same
bone — the thigh-bone — be rounded at one end, and chan-
nelled at the other?
The hinge-Joint is not formed by a bolt passing through
the two parts of the hinge, and thus keeping them in their
places, but by a difierent expedient. A strong, tough, parch-
80 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
meiil like membrane, rising from, the receiving bones, and
inserted all round the received bones a little below their
heads, encloses the jomt on every side. This membrane ties,
confines, and holds the ends of the bones together, keeping
the corresponding parts of the joints — that is, the relative
convexities and concavities — in close application to each
other.
For the ball-and-socket jomt, besides the membrane
already described, there is in some important joints, as an ad-
ditional secm-ity, a short, strong, yet flexible ligament, insert-
ed by one end into the head of the ball, by the other, into
the bottom of the cup ; which ligament keeps the two parts
of the joint so firmly in their place, that none of the motions
which the limb naturally performs, none of the jerks and
twists to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing less indeed
than the utmost and the most unnatural violence, can pull
them asmider. It is hardly imaginable how great a force is
necessary even to stretch, still more to break, this ligament :
yet so flexible is it, as to oppose no impediment to the sup-
pleness of the joint. By its situation also, it is inaccessible
to mjury from sharp edges. As it cannot be ruptured, such
is its strength, so it cannot be cut, except by an accident
which would sever the limb. If I had been permitted to
frame a proof of contrivance such as might satisfy the most
distrustful inquirer, I know not whether I could have chosen
an example of mechanism more unequivocal or more free
from objection, than this Hgament. Nothing can be more
mechanical ; nothing, however subservient to the safety, les9
capable of being generated by the action of the joint. 1
would particularly solicit the reader's attention to this pro-
vision, as it is found in the head of the thigh-hone — to its
strength, its structure, and its use. It is an instance upon
which Hay my hand. One single fact, weighed by a mind
in earnest, leaves oftentimes the deepest impression. Foi
the purpose of addressing difTerent understandings and dif
ferent apprehensions — for the purpose of sentiment — for the
THE HUMAN FRAME. 81
purpose of exciting admiration of the Creator's works, wo
diversify our views, and multiply our examples : but for the
purpose of strict argument, one clear instance is sufficient ;
and not only sufficient, but capable perhaps of generating a
firmer assurance than what can arise from a divided atten-
tion.
The ginglymus, or hinge-joint, does not, it is manifest,
admit of a ligament of the same kind with that of the ball-
and-socket joint ; but it is always fortified by the species of
ligament of which it does admit. The strong, firm, invest-
ing membrane above described accompanies it in every part ;
and in particular joints, this membrane, v/hich is prop-
erly a ligament, is considerably stronger on the sides than
either before or behind, in order that the convexities may
play true in their concavities, and not be subject to slip side-
ways, which is the chief danger ; for the muscular tendons
generally restrain the parts from going further than they
ought to go in the plane of their motion. In the hice,
which is a joint of this form, and of great importance, there
are superadded to the common provisions for the stability of
the joint, two strong ligaments, which cross each other —
and cross each other in such a manner as to secure the joint
from being displaced in any assignable direction.^ "1
think," says Cheselden, " that the knee cannot be complete-
ly dislocated without breaking the cross ligaments. "f We
can hardly help comparing this with the binding up of a
fracture, where the fillet is almost wholly strapped across,
for the sake of giving firmness and strength to the bandage.
* Plate II., Fig. 5. The crucial or internal ligaments of the
knee-jomts arise from each side of the depression between the con-
dyhs of the thigh-bone : the anterior is fixed into the centre, the poste-
rior into the back of the articulation of the tibia. This structure prop-
erly limits the motions of the joints, and gives the firmness requisite
for violent exertions. Viewing the form of the bones, we should con-
sider it one of the weakest and most superficial joints ; but the strength
of its ligaments and of the tendons passing over it, renders it the most
secure and the least liable to dislocation of any in the body.
t Cheselden's Anat., ed. 7th, p. 45.
4*
82 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Another no less important joint, and that also of the gin-
giymu3 sort, is the ankle ; yet though important — in order,
perhaps, to preserve the symmetry and lightness of the
limb — small, and on that account more liable to injury.
Now this joint is strengthened, that is, is defended from dis-
location by two remarkable processes or prolongations of the
bones of the leg, which processes form the protuberances
that wc call the inner and outer ankle. It is part of each
bone going down lower than the other part, and thereby
overlapping the joint : so that if the joint be in danger of
slipping outward, it is curbed by the inner projection, that is.
that of the tibia ; if inward, by the outer projection, that is,
that of the fibula. Between both, it is locked in its position.
I know no account that can be given of this structure, ex-
cept its utility. "Why should the tibia terminate at its lower
extremity with a double end, and the fibula the same, but
to barricade the joint on both sides by a continuation of part
of the thickest of the bone over it ? The joint at the slioul-
dei', compared with the joint at the hij'), though both ball-
and-socket joints, discovers a difierence 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 shal-
lowness of the socket at the shoulder, and the yieldingness
of the cartilaginous substance v/ith which its edge is set
round, and which in fact composes a considerable part of its
concavity, are excellently adapted for the allowance of a
free motion and a wide range, both which the arm M'ants.
Wheieas the lower limb forming a part of the columu of
the body — having to support the body, as well as to be the
means of its locomotion- — firmness was to be consulted as
THE HUMAN FRAME 83
well as action . With a capacity for motion in all directions
indeed, as at the shoulder, but not in any direction to the
same extent as in the arm, was to be united stability, or re-
sistance to dislocation. Hence the deeper excavation of the
socket, and the presence of a less proportion of cartilage upon
the edge.
The suppleness and pliability of the joints we every mo-
ment experience ; and the firmness of animal articulation,
the property we have hitherto been considering, may be
judged of from this single observation, that, at any given
moment of time, there are millions of animal joints in com-
plete repair and use, for one that is dislocated ; and this,
notwithstanding the contortions and wrenches to which the
limbs of animals are continually subject.
11. The joints, or rather the ends of the bones which
form them, display also, in their configuration, another use.
The nerves, bloodvessels, and tendons, which are necessary
to the life, or for the motion of the limbs, must, it is evident,
in their way from the trunk of the body to the place of their
destination, travel over the movable joints ; and it is no less
evident that, in this part of their course, they will have,
fi'om sudden motions, and from abrupt changes of curvature,
to encounter the danger of compression, attrition, or lacera-
tion. To guard fibres so tender against consequences so in-
jurious, their path is in those parts protected with peculiar
care, and that by a provision in the figure of the bones them-
selves. The nerves which supply the fore-arm, especially
the inferior cubital nerves, are at the elbow conducted, by
a kind of covered way, between the condyles, or rather under
the inner extuberances of the bone which composes the up-
per part of the arm.* At the knee, the extremity of the
thigh-bone is divided by a sinus, or cUff^ into fwo heads or
protuberances ; and these heads on the back part stand out
beyond the cylinder of the bone. Through the hollow which
lies betw^een the hind parts of these two heads — that is to
* Chcselden's Anat., p. 255, ed. 7.
84 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
say, under the ham, between the hamstrings, and within
the concave recess of the bone formed by the extuberances
on each s.Vle — m a word, along a defile, between rocks, pass
the great vessels and nerves which go to the leg.* Who led
these vessels by a road so defended and secured ? In the
joint at the sliouldcr, in the edge of the cup which receives
tlie head of the bone, is a Qiotch, which is joined or covered
at the top with a ligament. Through this hole, thus guard-
ed, the bloodvessels steal to their destination m the arm, in-
stead of mounting over the edge of the concavity. f
III. 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 hned and the ball capped Avith it
The smooth surface, the elastic and unfriable nature of car
tilage, render it of all substances the most proper for the
place and purpose. I should, therefore, have pointed this
out among the foremost of the provisions which have been
made in the joints for the facilitating of their action, had it
not been alleged that cartilage in truth is only nascent or
imperfect bone ; and that the bone in these places is kept
soft and imperfect, in consequence of a more complete and
rigid ossification "being prevented from taking place by the
continual motion and rubbing of the surfaces ; which being
so, what we represent as a designed advantage is an una-
voidable eilect. 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 surmountmg of the bones with gristle
looks more like a plating with a different metal, than like the
same metal kept in a different state by the action to which
it is exposed. At all events, we have a great particular ben-
efit though arising from a general 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 question which attends it.
IV. In some joints, very particularly in the knees, th?re
* Ches. Anat., p. 35. f Ibid. p. 39.
THE HUMAN PRAME. 85
are loose cartilages or gristles between the bones and with-
in the joint, so that the ends of the hones, instead of work-
ing upon one another, work upon the intermediate cartilages.
Oheselden has observed,=^ that the contrivance of a loose ring
is practised by mechanics where the friction of the joints oi
any of their machines is great, as between the parts :f ciook-
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 motion at the knee, with the whole weight of the body
pressing upon it, and often, as in rising from our seat, with
the whole weight of the body to lift. It should seem also,
from Cheselden's account, that the slipping and sliding ol
the loose cartilages, though it be probably a small and ob-
scure change, humored the motion at the end of the thigh-
bone, under the particular configuration which was neces-
sary to be given to it for the commodious action of the ten-
dons, and which configuration requires what he calls a vari-
able socket, that is, a concavity, the lines of which assume
a difierent curvature m different inclinations of the bones.
y. We have now done with the configuration ; but there
IS also in the joints, and that common to them all, another
exquisite provision manifestly adapted t ■. their use, and con-
cerning which there can, I think, be no dispute, namely, the
regular supply of a mucilage, more emollient and slippery
than oil itself, which is constantly softening and lubricating
the parts that rub upon each other, and thereby diminishing
the effect of attrition in the highest possible degree. Foi
the contmual secretion of this important liniment, and foi
the feeding of the cavities of the joint with it, glands are
fixed near each joint, the excretory ducts of which glands
* dies. Anat., p. 13, ed. 7.
66 NATUHAL THEOLOaY.
dripping with their balsamic contents, hang loose like fringes
v/ithin the cavity of the joints. A late improvement in
what are called friction v/heels, which consists of a mechan
ism so ordered 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 rep-
resent the contrivance in the animal joint, with this superi-
ority, however, on the part of the joint, namely, 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
icell theij ivear. 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 durability I should attribute
m part to the provision which is made for the preventing of
wear and tear, first by the polish of the cartilaginous surfac-
es ; secondly, by the healing lubrication of the mucilage, and
in part, to that astonishing property of animal constitutions,
assimilation, by which, in every portion of the body, let it con-
sist of what it will, substance is restored and waste repaired.
Movable joints, I think, compose the curiosity of bones ;
but their union, even where no motion is intended or want-
ed, carries marks of mechanism and of mechanical wisdom.
The teeth, especially the front teeth, are one bone fixed in
another, like a peg driven into a board. The sutures of the
Bkull=^ are like the edges of two saw^s clapped together in such
a manner as that the teeth of one enter the intervals of the
oth?r. We have sometimes one bone lapping over another,
and planed down at the edges ; sometimes also the thin lamel-
la of one bone received into a narrow furrow of another. In
all which varieties we seem to discover the same design,
namely, firmness of juncture without clumsiness in the seam.
* Plate XL, Fig. 6. a, a, the coronal suture ; b, the sagittal ;
c. c, tJie lamlidoidal ; d, an irregularity ; and e, e, the squamous sutures-
THE MUSCLES. 87
CHAPTER IX.
OF THE MUSCLES.
Muscl::s, with tlieir tendons, are the instruments by
which animal motion is performed. It will be our business
to point out instances in wliich, and properties with respect
to which, the disposition of these muscles is as strictly me-
chanical as that of the wires and strings of a puppet.
I. We may observe, what I believe is universal, an exact
relation between the joint and the muscles which move it.
Whatever motion the joint by its mechanical construction
is capable of performing, that motion the annexed muscles
by their position are capable of producing. For example,
if there be, as at the knee and elbow, a hinge-joint, capable
of motion only in the same plane, the leaders, as they are
called, that is, the muscular tendons, are placed in direc
tions parallel to the bone, so as, by the contraction or relax-
ation 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 nllo\x&
by its construction of a rotary 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, running diagonally across the thigh, and taking hold
of the inside of the main b&ne of the leg a little below the
knee, enables us, by its contraction, to throw one leg and
thigh over the other, giving effect at the same time to the
ball-and-socket joint at the hip, and the hinge-joint at the
knee. There is, as we have seen, a specific mechanism in
■* Plate III., Fig. 1. The sartorius^ a, is the longest muscle of
the human system. It is extended obliquely across the thig}^ from the
fore part of the hip to the inner side of the tibia. Its office is to bend
the knee and bring the leg inwards.
88 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
the bones for the rotary motions of the head and hands :
there is, also, in the oblique direction of the muscles belong-
ing to them, a specific provision for the putting of tliis mech-
anism of the bones into action. And mark the consent of
uses : the oblique muscles would have been inefficient with-
out that particular articulation ; that particular articulation
would have been lost v/ithout the oblique miuscles. It may
be proper, however, to observe, with respect to the head,
although I think it does not vary the case, that its oblique
motions and inclinations are often motions in a diagonal.
produced by the joint action of muscles lying in straight di-
rections. But whether the pull be single or combined, the
articulation is always such as to be capable of obeying the
action of the muscles. The oblique muscles attached to the
head are likewise so disposed as to be capable of steadying
the globe, as well as of moving it. The head of a new-born
infant is often obliged to be filleted up. After death, the
head drops and rolls in every direction. So that it is by the
equihbre of the muscles, by the aid of a considerable and
equipollent mu3cular force in constant exertion, that the
head maintains its erect posture. The muscles here supply
what would otherwise be a great defect in the articulation ;
for the joint in the neck, although admirably adapted to the
motion of the head, is insufficient for its support. It is liot
only by the means of a most curious structure of the bones
that a man turns his head, but by virtue of an adjusted mus-
cular power that he even holds it up.
As another exanrple of what we are illustrating, namely,
conformity of use between the bones and the muscles, it has
been observed of the different vertebra3, 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 exert-
ed in no other way. When the exertion ceases, it relaxes
itself: that is, it returns by relaxation to its former state.
THE MUSCLES. 89
but witlKAit energy. This is the nature of the masculai
fibre ; and being so, it is evident that the reciprocal eyicr-
gctic motion of" the limbs, by which we mean motion vith
force in opposite directions, can only be produced by the in-
strumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles — of flexors
and extensors answering to each other. For instance, the
biceps and brachialis internum muscles,^ placed in the lionl
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 eflbrt would merely let the fore-arm drop down. For
the hack 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 et brevis brachialis exter-
niis,'\ and the anconscus, 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 ob-
tains in all the limbs, and in every movable part of the body.
A finger is not bent and straightened without the coiitrac-
tion 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 disposed. Every
muscle is provided with an adversary. They act hke tv/o
sawy^ers in a pit, by an opposite pull ; and nothing, surely,
* Plate IIL, Fig. 2. The biceps, ce, arises by two portions from
the scapula ; these form a thick mass of flesh in the middle of tlie
arm, which is finally indented into the upper end of the radius.. The
brachicEus internus, 6, arises from the middle of the himaerus, and is
mscrted mto the ulna. Both these muscles bend the fore-arm.
t Plate IIL, !FiG. 2. The long and the short brachiceus intcrnus
:r the triceps extensor cubiti^ c, is attached to the inferior edge of the
scapula and to the humerus by three distinct heads, which unite and
invest the whole back part of the bone ; it then becomes a strong ten-
don, and is implanted into the elbow. It is a powerful extensor of the
fore-arm. The anconcEus, d, is a small, triangular muscle, situ ited at
the outer side of the elbow ; it assists the muscle c.
90 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
can more strongly indicate design and attention to an end,
than their being thus stationed, than this collocation The
nature of the muscular fibre being what it is, the purposes
of the animal could be answered by no other And not only
the capacity for motion, but the aspect and symmetry of the
body is preserved by the muscles being marshalled accord-
ing to this order ; for example, the mouth is holder, in the
middle of the face, and its angles kept in a state of exact
correspondency, by two muscles draw';/g against and balan-
cing each ether. 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 almost universally so dis-
posed as not to obstruct or interfere w^ith one another's ac-
tion. I know but one instance in which this impediment is
perceived. We cannot easily swallow while we gape. Tliis,
I understand, is owing to the muscles employed in the act
of deglutition being so implicated with the muscles of the
lower jaw, that while these last are contracted, the former
cannot act wdth freedom. The obstruction is, in this in-
stance, attended with little inconvenience ; but it shows what
the effect is where it does exist, and wdiat loss of faculty
there would be if it were more frequent. Now, when we
reflect upon the number of muscles, not fewer than four hun-
dred and forty-six in the human body, known and named, =^
how contiguous they lie to each other, in layers as it werC;
over one another, crossing one another, sometimes embedded
in one another, sometimes perforating one another — an ar-
rangement 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 incon-
venient. In which case the body of the muscle is placed in
f^ome commodious pos.tion at a distance, and made to com-
^ Keill's Anatomy, p. 205, ed. 3.
THE MUSCLES. 91
niLinicate with the point of action by slender strings or wires.
If the muscles which move the fingers had been placed in
the palm or back of the hand, they would have swelled that
part to an awkward and clumsy thickness. The beauty,
the proportions of the part would have been destroyed.
They are therefore disposed in the arm, and even up to the
elbow, and act by long tendons strapped down at the wrist,
and passing under the ligaments to the fingers,* and to the
joints of the fingers which they are severally to move. In
like manner, the muscles which move the toes and many of
the joints of the foot, how gracefully are they disposed in the
calf of the leg, instead of forming an unv/ieldy tumefaction
in the foot itself. The observation may be repeated of the
muscle which draws the nictitating membrane over the eye.
Its office is in the front of the eye ; but its body is lodged in
the back part of the globe, v/here it hes safe, and where it
encumbers nothing.
V. The great mechanical variety in the figure of the
muscles may be thus stated. It appears to be a fixed law
that the contraction of a muscle shall be towards its centre.
Therefore the subject for mechanism on each occasion is, so
to modify the figure and adjust the position of the muscle as
to produce the motion required agreeably Avith this law.
This can only be done by giving to different muscles a diver-
sity 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 multi-
plicity of forms and attitudes : sometimes with double, some-
times with treble tendons, sometimes with none ; sometimes
one tendon to several muscles, at other times one muscle to
several tendons. f The shape of the organ is susceptible oi
* See Fig. 2, where e is the annular ligament of the wrist, u.ndejf
which pass the tendons of the muscles of the fingers.
t Plate III., Fig. 3, represents the biceps muscle of the arm ; a,
a, tne tendons ; h, b, the muscular fibres. The force which a muscle
poi^-esses is as the number of the muscular fibres ; but a limited nusa-
92 NATURAL THEOLOG-y.
an incalculable variety, while the original property of the
muscle, the law and line of its contraction, remains the
same, and is simple. Herein the muscular system may be
said to bear a perfect resemblance to our works of art. A^n
artist does not alter the native quality of his materials, or
their laws of action. He takes these as he finds them.
His skill and ingenuity are employed in turning them, such
as they are, to his account, by giving to the parts of liis
machine a form and relation in which these unalterable
properties may operate to the production of the effects in-
tended.
YI. 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 vigor and activity are, in a vast plurality of instances,
preserved in human bodies, not\^dthstanding that they de-
pend upon so great a number of instruments of motion, and
notwithstanding that the defect or disorder sometimes of a
very small instrument, of a single pair, for instance, out of
the four hundred and forty-six muscles which are employed,
may be attended with grievous inconveniency. . There is
piety and good sense in the following observation taken out
of the " Religious Philosopher :" " With much compassion,"
says the writer, " as well as astonishment at the goodness of
our loving Creator, have I considered the sad state of a cer-
tain gentleman, who, as to the rest, was in pretty good
health, but only wanted the use of these tivo little muscles
that serve to lift the eyehds, and so had almost lost the
use of his sight, being forced, as long as this defect last-
ed, to shove up his eyelids every moment with his own
ber only of fibres can be affixed to any point of a bone which it is
designed to move ; it is therefore contrived to attach them to a cord,
called a sinew or tendon, which can conveniently be conducted ana
fixed to the bone. If we wish to move a heavy weight, we attach a
rope to it, that a greater number of men may apply their strength.
So, the muscular fibres are the moving powers, and the tendon is Uke
the rope attached to the point to be moved.
THE MUSCLES. 93
hands I"* In general we may remark in how small a de-
gree those who enjoy the perfect use of their organs know
the comprehensiveness of the blessing, the variety of their
obligation. They perceive a result, but they think little
of the multitude of concurrences and rectitudes which go to
form it.
Besides these observations, which belong to the muscular
organ as such, we 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 muscu-
lar motion is capable are seen, I thinlt, in no part so remark-
ably as in the tongue. It is worth any man's while to
watch the agility of his tongue, the wonderful promptitude
with which it executes changes of position, and the perfect
exactness. Each syllable of articulated sound requires for
its utterance a specific action of the tongue, and of the parts
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, percepti-
ble to the sight ; insomuch that curious persons have availed
themselves of tins circumstance to teach the deaf to speak,
and to understand what is said by others. In the same per-
son, and after his habit of speaking is formed, one, and only
one position of the parts will produce a given articulate sound
correctly. How instantaneously are these positions assumed
and dismissed ; how numerous are the permutations — how
various, yet how infallible I Arbitrary and antic variety is
not the thing we admire ; but variety obeying a rule, con-
ducing to an effect, and commensurate with exigencies infi-
nitely 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 inipli-
* Plate III., Fig. 4. A profile of this muscle in its natural posi
tion. It arises within the orbit, and is inserted by abroad tendon intc
the upper eyelid, which it elevates.
i?4 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
eated with one another, that they cannot be traced by the
nicest dissection ; nevertheless — which is a great perfection
of the organ — 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 suc«
cess of its efibrts uncertain,
1 here entreat the reader's permission to step a little out
of my way, to consider the 'parU of the mouth in some of
their other properties. It has been said, and that by an
eminent physiologist, that whenever nature attempts to
work two or more purposes by one instrument, she does both
or all • imperfectly. Is this true of the tongue, regarded as
an instrument of speech and of taste, or regarded as an
instrument of speech, of taste, and of deglutition ? So much
otherwise, that many persons, that is to say, nine hundred
and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand, by the instrumen-
tality of this one organ, talk and taste and swallow very
weU. In fact, the constant warmth and moisture of the
tongue, the thinness of the skin, the papilla) upon its surface,
qualify this organ for its office of tasting, as much as its
inextricable multiplicity of fibres do for 1 he rapid movements
Mdiich are necessary to speech. Animals which feed upon
grass have their tongues covered with a perforated 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 spiculse.
There are brought together w^ithin the cavity of the
mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing more distinct
offices, than I think can be found lying so near to one another,
or within the same compass, in any other portion of the
body : namely, teeth of different shape, first for cutting, sec
ondly for grinding ; muscles, most artificially disposed foi
carrying on the compound motion of the lower jaw, half lat-
eral and half vertical, by which the mill is worked ; foun-
tains of saliva, springing up in difTerent parts of the cavit\
THE MUSCLES. 95
for the moistening of the food while 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 food is thrust up-
wards by muscular strength, instead of descending of its own
accord.
In the mean time, and within the same cavity, 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 compass, and precision, of which no other musical instru-
ment is capable. And lastly, which, in my opinion, crowns
the whole as a piece of machinery, we have a specific con-
frivance for dividing the pneumatic part from the mechan-
ical, 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 complex-
ity. In no apparatus put together by art and for the pur-
])oses of art, do I know such multifarious uses so aptly com-
bined, as in the natural organization of the human mouth ;
or where the structure, compared with the uses, is so simple.
The mouth, with all these intentions to serve, is a singk
cavity, is one machine, with its parts neither crowded nor
confused, and each unembarrassed by the rest — each at least
at liberty in a degree sufficient for the end to be attained.
If we cannot eat and sins: at -the same moment avc can cat
96 NATURAL THEOLOar.
one moment and sing the next ; the respiration proceedmg
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
actions of sucking and breathing. Another route, therefore,
is opened for the air — namely, through the nose — which lets
the breath pass backward and forward, while 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 appeared 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 constitu-
tional necessity.
But to return to that which is the proper subject of the
present section, the celerity and precision of muscular mo-
tion. These qualities may be particularly observed in the
execution of many species of instrumental music, in which
the changes produced by the hand of the musician are ex-
ceedingly rapid ; are exactly measured, even when most
minute ; and display, on the part of the muscles, an obedi-
'ince of action alike wonderful for its quickness and its cor-
rectness.
Or let a person only observe his own hand while he is
writiJig ; the number of muscles which are brought to bear
upon the pen ; how the joint and adjusted operation of sev-
eral tendons is concerned in every stroke, yet that five hun-
dred such strokes are drawn in a minute. Not a letter can
be turned without 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 currently 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 endeavor or habit has inculcated !
THE MUSCLES. \>7
for let it be remembered, that while a man's handwriting
is the same, an exactitude of order is preserved, whether he
write well or ill. These two instances of music and writing
show not only the quickness and precision of muscular action,
but thj docility.^
II. Regarding the particular configuration of muscles,
^pJiincter or circular muscles appear to be admirable pieces
of mechanism. t It is the muscular power most happily
applied — the same quality of the muscular substance, but
under a new modification. The circular disposition of the
fibres is strictly mechanical ; but, though the most mechan-
ical, is not the only thing in sphincters which deserves our
notice. The regulated degree of contractile force with which
they are endowed, sufficient for retention, yet vincible when
requisite, together with their ordinary state of actual con-
traction, by means of which their dependence upon the will
is not constant but oc.casional, gives to them a constitution
of which the conveniency is inestimable. This their semi-
voluntary character is exactly such as suits with the wants
and functions of the animal.
III. We may also, upon the subject of muscles, observe,
that many of our most important actions are achieved by
the combined help of different muscles. Frequently a diag-
onal motion is produced by the contraction of tendons pulling
in the direction of the sides of the parallelogram. This is
the case, as has been already noticed, with some of the
oblique nutations of the head. Sometimes the number of
cooperating 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
* Fig. 5 exhibits the principal muscles ol the palm of the hand :
fl, a, a, a, are small muscles indispensably necessary in rapid move-
ments of the fingers ; c, c/, c, are muscles of the thumb ; f, g-, of tha
little finger.
t Fig. 6 exliibits examples oi sphincter muscles : a, that encircling
the eyelid, closing and compressing the eye ; 6, is the muscle surround-
ing the mouth, and contracting the lips.
Nat. Theol. 5
98 NATURAL THEOLOG f.
our breath without reflecting what a work is thereby pei
formed, what an apparatus is laid in of instruments for the
service, and how many such contribute their assistance to
the effect. Breathhig with ease is a blessing of every mo-
ment, yet of all others it is that which w^e 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 actions are performed in the body by
the smallest muscles ; and he mentions, as his examples,
the muscles which have been discovered in the iris of the
eye and the drum of the ear. The tenuity of these muscles
is astonisliing : they are microscopic hairs ; must be magni-
fied to be visible ; yet are they real, effective muscles, and
not only such, but the grandest and most precious of our
faculties, sight and hearing, depend upon their health and
action.
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 steel-
yard turns. In this situation, we find that a very heavy
draught is no more than sufficient to countervail the force of
a small lead plummet placed upon the long arm of the
stee^^yard, 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 oi
muscular contraction. But observe how conducive is this
constitution to animal conveniency. Mechanism has always
in view one or other of these two purposes — either to mo\c
a great weight slowly, and through a small space, or to move
a li"ht weight rapidly through a considerable sweep. Fof
the former of these purposes a different species of lever, and
* Philosophical Transactions, part I., 1800, p. 8.
THE MUSCLES. 99
a difierent collocation of the muscles, might be bettei than
the present ; but for the second, the present structure is the
true one. Now it so happens that the second, arid not the
first, is that which the occasions of animal life principally
call foi. In what concerns the human 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 extraordinary occa-
sions, he may desire to possess ; but the other is what he
wants and uses every hour or minute. In like manner, a
husbandman 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 confined and
slow. It is the same with a mechanic in the use of his tools.
It is the same also with other animals in the use of their
limbs. In general, the vivacity of their motions would be
ill exchanged for greater force under a clumsier structure.
"We have offered our observations upon the structure of
muscles in general ; we have also noticed certain species of
muscles ; but there are also single muscles which bear
marks of mechanical contrivance appropriate as well as
particular. Out of many instances of this kind we select
the following :
I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are well
understood, some of the most curious are incapable of pop-
ular explanation ; at least, without the aid of plates and
fvgures. This is in a great measure the case with a very
familiar, but at the same time a very complicated motion,
that of the loiver jaiu ; 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,
snfHciently comprehended for our present purpose. The
100 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
problem is to pull the lower jaw cloivn. The obvious method
should seem to be, to place a straight muscle — namely, to
fix a string from the chin to the breast, the contraction ol
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, consistently with the preservation of this form, the
motion which we w^ant must be effectuated by some mus-
cular mechanism disposed further back in the jaw. The
mechanism adopted is as follows : A certain muscle called
the digastric, rises on the side of the face considerably above
the insertion of the lower jaw, and comes down, being con-
verted in its progress into a round tendon. Now it is man-
ifest that the tendon, while 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 pully,* in the
OS hyoides, 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, namely, the turn at the loop,
the action of the muscle — which in all muscles is contrac-
tion— that before would have pulled the jaw up, now as
necessarily draws it down. " The mouth," says Heister,
"is opened by means of this trochlea in a most wonderful
and elegant manner."
II. What contrivance can be more mechanical than the
following, namely, a slit in one tendon to let another tendon
pass through it ? This structure is found in the tendons
which move the toes and fingers. i The long tendon, as it
is called, in the foot, which bends the first joint of the toe,
passes through the short tendon which bends the second
* See a similar contrivance in Plate II., Fig. 1.
t Plate IV., Fig. 1. a, is the tendon of the long flem f th
iocs, which divides about the middle of the foot into fou" por'.ions,
which pass through the slits in 6, the short flexor tendons.
THE MUSCLES. 101
joint, which course allows to the sinew more liberty, and a
more commodious action than it would otherwise have been
i-apable of exerting.^ There is nothing, I believe, in a silk
or cotton mill, in the belts, or straps, or ropes, by which
motion is communicated from one part of the machine to
another, that is more artificial, or more evidently so, than
this 'perforation.
111. The next circumstance which I shall mention un-
der this head of muscular arrangement 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 obser-
vation upon the subject ; and that circumstance is, the ten-
dons which pass from the leg to the foot, being bound down
by a ligament to the ankle. The foot is placed at a consid-
erable angle with the leg. It is manifest, therefore, that
flexible strings passing along the interior of the angle, if left
to themselves, would, when stretched, start from it. The
obvious preventive is to tie them down. And this is done
in fact. Across the instep, or rather just above it, the anat-
omist finds a strong ligament, under wliich the tendons pass
to the foot. The tOect of the ligament as a bandage can be
made evident to the tenses ; for if it be cut, the tendons start
up. The simplicity, yet the clearness of this contrivance,
its exact resemblance to establishet^ resources of art, place
it among the most indubitable manifestations of design with
which we are acquainted.
There is also a further use to be made of the present ex-
ample, and that is, as it precisely contradicts the opinion
that the parts of animals may have been all formed by wdiat
is called apioetency, that is, endeavor perpetuated and im-
perceptibly working its eflect through an incalculable sericfi
of generations. We have here no endeavor, but the reverse
of it — a constant renitency and reluctance. The endeavor
is all the other uay. The pressure of the ligament con-
Btraiiis the tendons ; the tendons react upon the pressure of
* Ches. Anat., p. 119.
102 NATURAL THEOLUU-Jf.
the ligament. It is impossible that the ligament 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 confines it, and is con-
stantly endeavoring, not to form, but to rupture and displace
the threads of which the hgament is composed.
Keill has reckoned up in the human body four hundred
and forty-six muscles, dissectible and describable ; and hath
assigned a use to every one of the number. This cannot be
all imagination.
Bishop Wilkins has observed from Galen, that there are
at least ten several qualifications to be attended to m each
partitular muscle : namely, its proper figure ; its just magni-
tude ; its fulcrum ; its pomt of action, supposing the figuie
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 without
mtelligence ?
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 difierence may be, that animal bodies are,
in a great measure, made up of soft flabby substances, such
AS muscles and membranes ; whereas we have been accus-
tomed to trace mechanism in sharp Imes, in the configura-
tion of hard materials, in the moulding, chiselling, and filing
into shapes of such articles as metals or wood. There is
something, therefore, of habit in the case ; but it is sufficient-
ly evident that there can be no proper reason for any disthic*
tion 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 selectea, even as
they stand in our description, are notlmig short perhaps oi
THE MUSCLES. 103
Ioj,acal proofs of design, yet it must not be forgotten, tliat 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 hsec musculorum descriptio
non minus arida est legentibus quam inspectantibus fuerit
jucunda eorundem prseparatio. Elegantissima enim mechan-
ices artificia, creberrime in illis obvia, verbis nonnisi ob-
scure exprimuntur : carnium autem ductu, tendinum colore,
insertionum proportione, et trochlearium distributione, oculis
exposita, omnem superant admirationem."t
* Steno, in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2, c. 4.
t " This imperfect description of the muscles is no less dry to our
readers, than the preparation of the same has been delightful to us as
students. Because these exquisite mechanical contrivances we so
often meet with in the muscles, car only obscurely be described in
words ; whereas, when displayed to the eye — with the conformation
of the fleshy parts, the color of the tendons, the proportionate distan-
ces of the mserti'oas, and the distribution of the pulleys — they surpasfc
all adi^iiratioii."
104 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
CHAPTER X.
OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.
The circulation of the blood tlirougli the bodies of men
and quadrupeds, and the apparatus by which it is carried on,
compose a system, and testify a contrivance, perhaps the
best understood of any part of the animal frame. The lym-
phatic system, or the nervous system, may be more subtle
and intricate — 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 answer-
ed by it — the distributing to every part, every extremity,
every nook and corner of the body, the nourishment v/hich
is received into it by one aperture. What enters at the
mouth finds its way to the fingers' ends. A more difficult
mechanical problem could hardly, I think, be proposed, than
to discover a method of constantly repairing the waste, and
of supplying an accession of substance to every part of a
complicated machine at the same time.
This system presents itself under two views : first, the
disposition of the bloodvessels, that is, the laying of the pi^es ;
and secondly, the construction of the engine at the centre,
namely, the heart, for driving the blood through them.
I. The disposition of the bloodvessels, as far as regards
the supply of the body, is like that of the water-pipes in a
city, namely, large and main trunks blanching ofi^by small-
er 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 another thing necessary
to the blood, which is not wanted for the water ; and that
is, the carrying of it back again to its source. For this office
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 105
a reversed system of vessels is prepared, which, umtiiig ai
their extremities with the extremities of the first system,
collect the divided and subdivided streamlets, first, by capil-
lary ramifications into larger branches, secondly, by these
branches into trunks ; and thus return the blood — almost
exactly inverting 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 bloodves-
sels, arteries and veins. Between the constitution of the
systems there are also two differences, suited to the func-
tions which the systems have to execute. The blood, in
going out, passing always from wider into narrower tubes,
and in coming back, from narrower into wider, it is evident
that the impulse and pressure upon the sides of the blood-
vessels will fee much greater in one case than, the other.
Accordingly the arteries, which carry out the blood, are form-
ed of much tougher and stronger coats than the veins, which
bring it back. That is one difference ; the other is still more
artificial, or, if I may so speak, indicates still more clearly
the care and anxiety of the Artificer. Forasmuch as, in the
arteries, by reason of the greater force with which the blood
is urged along them, a wound or rupture would be more
dangerous than in the veins, these vessels are defended from
injury, riot 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 parapets on each side ; which last description is remark-
able in the bones of the fingers, these being hollowed out
on the under side like a scoop, and with such a concavity
that the finger may be cut across to the bone without hurt-
ing the artery, which runs along it. At other times the ar-
teries pass in canals wrought in the substance, and in tha
5*
106 ^'ATURAL THEOLOar.
vevy middle of the substance of the bone. This takes place
in the lower jaw, and is found where there would other-
wise be danger of compression by sudden curvature. All
this care is wonderful, yet not more than what the impor-
tance of the case required. To those who venture their
lives in a ship, it has been often said, that thers is only an
inch-board between them and death ; but in the body itself,
especially in the arterial system, there is, in many parts, only
a membrane, a skin, a thread. For which reason, this sys
tern lies deep under the integuments ; whereas the veins, in
which the mischief that ensues from injuring the coats is
much less, he in general above the arteries, come nearer to
the surface, and are more exposed.
It may be further observed concerning the two systems
taken together, that though the arterial, with its trunk and
branches and small twigs, may be imagined to issue or pro-
ceed, in other words, to gwiv from the heart, like a plant
from its root, or the fibres of a leaf from its footstalk —
which, however, were it so, would be only to resolve one
mechanism into another — yet the venal, the returning system,
can never be formed in this manner. The arteries might go
on shooting out from their extremities, that is, lengthening
and subdividing indefinitely ; but an inverted system, con-
tinually uniting its streams instead of dividing, and thus
carrying back what the other system carried out, could not
be referred to the same process.
II. The next thing to be considered is the engine which
works this machinery, namely, 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 nervous fluid, or whatever
else be the cause of its motion, it is something which is capa-
ble of producing, in a living muscular fibre, reciprocal con-
traction and relaxation. This is the power we have to Avork
with ; and the inquiry is, how this power is jipplied in the
instance before us. There is provided, in the central part o^
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 107
the body, a holloAV muscle, invested with spiral fibres run-
ning in both directions, the layers intersecting one another ;
in some animals, however, appearing to be semicircular
rather than spiral. By the contraction of these fibres, the
sides of the muscular cavities are necessarily squeezed to-
gether, so as to force out from them any fluid which they
may at that time contain : by the relaxation of the same
fibres, the cavities are in their turn dilated, and of course
prepared to admit every fluid which may be poured into
them. Into these cavities are inserted the great trunks,
both of the arteries which carry out the blood, and of the
veins which bring it back. This is a general account of the
apparatus ; and the simplest idea of its action is, that by
each contraction a portion of blood is forced by a syringe
mto the arteries, and at each dilatation an equal portion is
received from the veins. This produces at each pulse a mo-
tion, 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-spoonfuls.
How quickly these changes succeed one another, and by this
succession how sufficient they are to support a stream or
circulation throughout the system, may be understood by the
following computation, abridged from Keill's Anatomy, p.
117, ed. 3 : " Each ventricle will at least contain one ounce
of blood. The heart contracts four thousand times in one
hour ; from which it follows, that there 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 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 in
every four minutes."
Consider what an afiair this is, when we come to very
large aniiials. The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore
than the main pipe of the water- works at London bridge ;
and the water roaring in its passage through that pipe is
108 NATITilAL THEOLOaY.
inferior, in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing from
the whale's heart. Hear Dr. Hunter's account of the dissec-
tion of a whale : " The aorta measured a foot in 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 cor-
responding reception of it from the veins by the dilatation
of the cavities of the heart, and of the circulation being
thereby maintained through the bloodvessels of the body, ib
true, but imperfect. The heart performs this office, but it
is in conjunction with another of equal curiosity and impor-
tance. It was necessary that the blood should be succes-
sively brought into contact, or contiguity, or proximity with
the air. I do not know that the chemical reason upon
which this necessity is founded, has been yet sufficiently ex-
plored. It seems to be made apparent, that the atmosphere
which we breathe is a mixture of two kinds of air — one pure
and vital, the other, for the purposes of life, effete, foul, and
noxious ; that when we have drawer in our breath, the blood
in the lungs imbibes from the air thus brought into contigu-
ity with it a portion of its pure ingredient, and at the same
time gives out the effete or corrupt air Avhich it contained,
and which is carried away, along with tie halitus, every
time we expire. At least, by comparing the air which is
breathed 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 argument; it is sufficient to know, that in the constitu-
tion of most animals such a necessity exists, and that the air,
by some means or other, must be introduced into a near com-
* Hunter's Account of the Dissection of a Whale. Phil. Trans.
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 109
iiiunication with the blood. The lungs of animals are con-
structed for this purpose. They consist of bloodvessels and
air-vessels, lying close to each other ; and whenever there is
a branch of the trachea or windpipe, there is a branch acconi^
panying it of the vein and artery, and the air-vessel is always
in the middle between the bloodvessels.'* The internal sur-
face 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 organ
ization — and this is the part of the subject with which wc
are chiefly concerned — the following operation takes place.
As soon as the blood is received by the heart from the veins
of the body, and before that 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 prepared, to be
thence distributed anew into the system. This assigns to
the heart a double 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 neces-
sary, and four are accordingly provided : two called ventri-
cles, which send out the blood — namely, one into the lungs,
in the first instance ; the other into the mass, after it ha?
returned from the lungs : two others also, called auricles,
\vh\:h. receive the blood from the veins — namely, one, as it
comes immediately from the body ; the other, as the same
blood comes a second time, after its circulation through the
hmgs. So that there are two receiving cavities, and two
forcing cavities. The structure of the heart has reference to
the lung-, • for without the lungs, one of each would have
* Keill's Anatomy, p. 121.
UC NATURAL THEOLOGY.
been sufficient. The translation of the blood in the heart
itself is after this manner. The receiving cavities respec-
tively communicate with the forcing cavities, and, by their
contraction, unload the received blood into them. The
forcing cavities, Avhen it is their turn to contract, compel the
same blood into the mouths of the arteries.
The account here given will not convey to a reader igno-
rant of anatomy any thing like an accurate notion of the
form, action, or use of the parts — nor can any short and pop-
ular account do this — but it is abundantly sufficient 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 conclusion.
" The wisdom of the Creator," says Hamburgher, " is
in nothing seen more gloriously than in the heart." And
how well does it execute its office. An anatomist, who
understood the structure of the heart, might say beforehand
that it would play ; but he would expect, I think, from the
complexity of its mechanism, and the delicacy of many of its
parts, that it should always be liable to derangement, or
that it would soon work itself out. Yet shall this 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 continue this action for this length of time without dis-
order and without wearmess I
But further, from the account which has been given ol
the mechanism nf the heart, it is evident that it must require
the interposition oi^ valves — that the success indeed of its ac-
tion must depend upon these ; for when any one of its cavi-
ties contracts, the necessary tendency of the force will be to
dri\'e the enclosed blood not only into the mouth of the ar
ter^' where it ought to go, but also back again into the mouth
of the vein from which it flowed. In like manner, when by
the relaxation of the fibres the same cavity is dilated, the
blood would not only Fin into it from the vein, which was
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. Ill
the course intended, but back from the artery, through which
it ought to be moving forward. The way of preventing a
reflux of the fluid in both these cases, is to fix valves, which,
like floodgates, may open a way to the stream in one direc-
tion, and shut up the passage against it in another. The
heart, constituted as it is, can no more work without valves
ihan a pump can. When the piston descends in a pump,
if it were not for the stoppage by the valve beneath, the mo-
tion would only thrust down the water which it had before
drawn up. A similar consequence would frustrate the ac-
tion of the heart. Valves therefore, properly disposed, that
is, properly with respect to the course of the blood w^hich it
is necessary to promote, are essential to the contrivance ;
and 'calves so disjyosed are accordingly provided. A valve
is placed in the communication between each auricle and its
ventricle, lest, when the ventricle contracts, part of the blood
should get back again into the auricle, instead of the whole
entering, as it ought to do, the mouth of the artery. A valve
is also fixed at the mouth of each of the great arteries which
take the blood from the heart — leaving the passage free so
long as the blood holds its proper course forward ; closing it
whenever the blood, m consequence of the relaxation of the
ventricle, would attempt to flow back. There is some vari-
ety in the construction of these valves, though all the valves
of the body act nearly upon the same principle, and are des-
tined to the same use. In general they consist of a thin
membrane, lying close to the side of the vessel, and conse-
quently allowing an open passage while the stream runs one
way, but thrust out from the side by the fluid getting behind
it, and opposing the passage of the blood when it would flow
the other way. Where more than one membrane is em-
ployed, the different membranes only compose one valve.
Their joint action fulfils the office of a valve : for instance,
over the entrance of the right auricle of the heart into the
right ventricle, three of these skins or membranes are fixed,
of a triangular figure, the bases of the triangles fastened to
J12 NATURAL THEOLCaY.
the flesh, the sides and summits loose ; hut, though loose,
connected by threads of a determinate length, with certain
small fleshy prominences adjoining. The effect of this con-
struction is, that when the ventricle contracts, the blood en-
deavoring to escape in all directions, and among other direc-
tions pressing upwards, gets between these membranes and
the sides of the passage, and thereby forces them up into
such a position, as that together they constitute, when raised,
a hollow cone — the strings before spoken of hindering them
from proceeding or separating further ; which cone entirely
occupying the passage, prevents the return of the blood into
the auricle. A shorter account of the matter may be this :
so long as the blood proceeds in its proper -course, the mem-
branes which compose the valve are pressed close to the side
of the vessel, and occasion no impediment to the circulation :
Vvhen 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 possible to shut our eyes against the proof of it ?
This valve, also, is not more curious in its structure, than
it is important in its office. Upon the play of the valve,
even upon the proportional length of the strings or fibres
which check the ascent of the membranes, depends, as it
should seem, nothing less than the life itself of the animal.
We may here likev/ise 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 con-
figuration itself may seem to be produced by the action ol
the part, or by the action or pressure of adjoining parts.
Thus the bend and the internal smooth concavity of the ribs
may be attributed to the equal pressure of the soft bowels ;
the particular shape of some bones and joints, to the traction
of the annexed muscles, or to the position of contiguous mus-
cles. But valves could not be so formed. Action and press-
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 113
lire art' all against them. The blood, in its proper course,
has no tendency to produce such things ; and in its improper
or reflected current, has a tendenc)'^ .to prevent their produc-
tion. While we see, therefore, the use and necessity of this
machinery, we can look to no other account of its origin or
formation than the intending mind of a Creator. Nor can
we without admiration reflect, that such thin membranes,
such weak and tender instruments as these valves are, should
be able to hold out for seventy or eighty years.
Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude, how
happy it is that our vital motions are involuntary. We
should have enough to do, if we had to keep our hearts beat-
ing and our stomachs at work. Did these things depend,
we will not say upon our efiort, but upon our bidding, our
care, or our attention, they would leave us leisure for noth-
ing else. We must have been continually upon the watch,
and continually in fear ; nor would this constitution have
allowed of sleep.
It might perhaps be expected that an organ so precious,
yi such central and primary importance as the heart is,
should be defended by a ca?,e. The fact is, that a membra
nous purse or bag, made of strong, tough materials, is pro-
vided 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 of the heart ? Does
not the enclosing of it in a sack, answering no other pur-
pose but that enclosure, shov/ the care that has been taken
of its preservation ?
One use of the circulation of the blood probably, among
other uses, is, to distribute nourishment to the difierent
parts of the body. How minute and multiplied the ramifi-
cations of the bloodvessels for that purpose are, and how
thickly spread over at least the superficies of the body, is
114 NATURAL THEOLOar.
proved by the single observation, that we cannot prick the
point of a pin into the flesh vs^ithout drawing blood, that iS;
without findmg a bloodvessel. Nor, internally, is their diffu-
sion less universal. Bloodvessels 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 horsehair.
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 supphed with it. And
this introduces another grand topic, namely, the manner in
which the aliment gets into the blood ; which is a subject
distinct from the preceding, and brings us to the considera-
tion of another entire system of vessels.
III. For this necessary part of the animal economy, 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 wo
can pursue by our examinations.
First, the food descends by a wide passage into the intes-
tines, undergoing two great preparations on its way : one in
the mouth, by mastication and moisture — can it be doubted
with what design the teeth were placed in the road to the
stomach, or that there was choice in fixing them in this sit-
uation ? — the other by digestion in the stomach itself Of
this last surprising dissolution I say nothing, because it is
chemistry, and I am endeavoring to display mechanism.
The figure and position of the stomach — I speak all along
with a reference to the human organ — are calculated for
detaining the food long enough for the action of its digestive
juice. It has the shape of the pouch of a bagpipe ; lies
across the body ; and the pylorus, or passage by which the
food leaves it, is somewhat higher in the body than the car-
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 116
dia o»* orifice by which it enters ; so that it is by the con-
traction of the muscular coat of the stomach that the con-
tents, after having undergone the application 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 the present, offering any observa-
tion upon the digestive fluid, I shall say nothing concerning
the bile or the pancreatic juice, further than to observe upon
the mechanism, namely, that from the glands in which these
secretions are elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of the
intestines, through which pipes the product of each gland
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 stomach
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 dif-
ferent viands, reduced 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 with which it can be compared For the strain-
ing off' this fluid from the digested aliment in the course of
its long progress through the body, myriads of capillary
tubes, that is, pipes as small as hairs, open their orifices into
the cavity of eveiy 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 recep-
tacle. This receptacle is a bag of size enough to hold about
two table-spoonfuls ; and from this vessel a duct or main
pipe proceeds, climbing up the back part of the chest, and
afterwards creeping along the gullet tiU it reach the neck.
IIG NATURAL THEOLOaY.
Here it meets the river — here it discharges 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 exhib-
ited to the eye ; nothing is left to be supplied by imagination
or conjecture. Now, besides the subserviency of this strdc-
ture, collectively considered, to a manifest and necessary pur-
pose, we may remark two or three separate particulars in it,
which show, not only the contrivance, but the perfection oi
it. We may remark, first, the length of the intestines,
which, in the human subject, is six times that of the body.
Simply for a passage, these voluminous bowels, this prolixity
of gat, seems in nowise necessary ; but in order to allow
time and space for the successive extraction of the chyle
from the digested aliment, 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 contrac-
tions following one another like waves upon the surface of a
fluid, and not unlike what we observe in the body of an
earthworm crawling along the ground, and wdiich is effect-
ed by the joint action of longitudinal and of spiral, or rathe?
perhaps of a great number of separate semicircular fibres
This curious action pushes forward the grosser part of the
aliment, at the same time that the more subtle parts, which
we call chyle, are by a series of gentle compressions squeezed
into the narrow orifices of the lacteal veins. Thirdly, it
was necessary that these tubes, which we denominate lac-
teals, or their mouths at least, should be made as narrow as
possible, in order to deny admission into the blood to any
particle which is of size enough to make a lodgment after-
wards in the small arteries, and thereby to obstruct the cir-
culation ; and it was also necessary that this extreme tenu-
ity should be compensated by multitude ; for a large quan-
tity of chyle — in ordinary constitutions not less, it has been
computed, than two or three quarts in a day — is, by some
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. ]]7
means or other, to be passed tlirough them. Accordmgly,
we find the number of the lacteals exceeding all powers of
computation, and their pipes so fine and slender as not to be
visible, unless filled, to the naked eye, and their orifices,
which open into the intestines, so small as not to be d:scern»
ible even by the best microscope. Fourthly, the main pipe,
which carries the chyle from the reservoir to the blood,
namely, the thoracic duct, being fixed in an almost upright
position, and wanting that advantage of propulsion which
the arteries possess, is furnished with a succession of valves
to check the ascending fluid, when once it has passed them,
from falling back. The valves look upwards, so as to leave
the ascent free, but to prevent the return of the chyle, if, for
want of sufficient force to push it on, its weight should at
any time cause it to descend. Fifthly, the chyle enters the
blood in an odd place, but perhaps the most commodious
place possible, namely, at a large vein in the neck, so situ-
ated 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
artery, or at a distant vein, the fluid composed of the old
and the new materials must have performed a considerable
part of the circulation before it received that churning in
the lungs which is probably necessary for the intimate and
perfect union of the old blood with the recent chyle. V^ ho
could have dreamed of a communication between the cavity
of the intestines and the left great vein of the 7icck ? Who
could have suspected that this communication should be llie
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 oi digestio?!, lest it should
interrupt us in tracing the course of the food to the blood ;
but in treating of the alimentary system, so principal a part
of the process cannot be omitted.
Ll8 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent by which that
change which food undergoes in our stomachs is effected, we
shall take our account from the numerous careful and varied
experiments of the Abbe Spallanzani.
1. It is not a simple diluent, but a real solvent. A
quarter of an ounce of beef had 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 appears that neither of these secretions acts upon
alimentary substances in the same manner as the gastric
juice acts.
3. Digestion is not 2yi^iref action, for the digesting fluid
resists putrefaction most pertinaciously ; nay, not only checks
its further progress, but restores putrid substances.
4. It is not ^ ferjnentative process, for the solution begins
at the surface, and proceeds towards the centre, contrary to
the order in which fermentation acts and spreads.
5. It is not the digestion of heat, for the cold maw of
a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells of crabs 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 power and a process completely sui generis, distinct
ii'om every other, at least from every chemical process with
which we are acquainted. And the most wonderful thing
about it is its appropriation — its subserviency to the partic-
ular economy 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 digestion. The gastric juice will not dissolve
the grain while it is whole. Entire grains of barley, en-
closed in tubes or spherules, are not affected by it. But ii
the same grain be by any means broken cr ground, the gas-
tric juice immediately lays hold of it. Here then is wanted.
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 11^
and here we find, a combination of mechanism aiu' chem-
istry. For the preparatory grinding, the gizzard lends its
mill ; and as all mill- work should be strong, its btructure 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 soi't of animal substance suited for the reccp*
tion of glands, or for secretion, the gastric juice, in this fam-
ily, is not supplied, as in membranous stomachs, by the
stomach itself, but by the gullet, in which the feeding-
glands are placed, and from which it trickles down into the
stomach.
In sheep, the gastric fluid has no eflect in digesting
plants, unless they have been previously masticated. It
only produces a slight maceration, nearly such as common
water would produce, in a degree of heat somewhat exceed-
ing the medium temperature of the atmosphere. But, pro-
vided that the plant has been reduced to pieces by chewing,
the gastric juice then proceeds with it, first, by softening its
substance ; next, by destroying its natural consistency ; and,
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 animal bodies. Mr. Hunter
discovered a property of this fluid of a most curious kind
namely, that in the stomach of animals which feed upon
flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon animal substancefc'.
it is only upon the dead substance that it operates at all.
The livi7ig fibre suffers no injury from lying in contact with
i\. Worms and insects are found alive in the stomachs of
such animals. The coats of the human stomach, in a healthy
slate, are insensible to its presence ; yet in cases of sudden
120 NATUUAI. THEOLOOi^.
death — wherein the gastric jui^e, 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.
IV. The gall-bladder is a very remarkable contrivance.
It is the reservoir of a canal. It does not form the channel
itself, that iS; the direct communication between the liver
and the intestine, which is by another passage, namely, the
ductus hepaticus. continued under the name of the ductus
communis ; but it lies adjacent to this channel, joining it hy
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 advantage. In its natural situation, it touches
the exterior surface of the stomach, and consequently is com-
pressed by the distention of that vessel ; the effect of which
compression is to force out from the bag, and send into the
duodenum, an extraordinary quantity of bile, to meet the
extraordinary demand which the repletion of the stomach
by food is about to occasion.! Cheselden describes^ the
gall-bladder as seated against the duodenum, and thereby
liable to have its fluid pressed out by the passage of the
aliment through that 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 contriv-
ance, 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 passage. § It is
possible that the gall may be changed, and for some pur-
poses meliorated, by keeping.
The entrance of the gall-duct into the duodenum fur
* Phil. Trans., vol. 62, p. 447. t Keill's Anat., p. C4.
t Anat., p. 164. ^ KelU, (from Malpighius,) p. 63.
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 121
aislies another observation. Whenever either smaller tubes
are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes into vessels and cavi-
ties, such receiving tubes, vessels, or cavities being subjecl
to muscular constriction, we always find a contrivance to
prevent regurgitation. In some cases valves are used ; in
Dther cases, among which is that now before us, a differenl
gxpedient 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 finger's breadth betivee7i the
coats before it opens into the cavity of the intestine* The
same contrivance is used in another part, where there is
exactly the same occasion for it, namely, in the insertion ot
the ureters in the bladder. These enter the bladder near
its neck, running for the space of an inch between its coats. f
It is, in both cases, sufficiently evident that this structure
has a necessary mechanical tendency to resist regurgitation ;
for whatever force acts in such a direction as to urge the
fl.uid 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 included between them.
Y. Among 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 among
che most intelligible pieces of mechanism with which we
are acquainted. The saliva, we all know, is used in the
mouth ; but much of it i? 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 destination, there is laid from the gland on the
outside a pipe about the thickness of a wheat straw, and
about three finger's breadth in length, which, after riding
over the masseter muscle, bores for itself a hole through the
very middle of the cheek, enters by that hole, which is a
complete perforation of the buccinator muscle, into the
mouth, and there discharges its fluid very copiously.
* Keill's Anat., p. 62. t Ches. Anat, p. 2C0.
Nat. Thpol. 6
122 NATURAL THEOLOa"^.
VI. Another exquisite structure, differing, indeed, from
the four preceding instances, in that it does not relate to the
conveyance of fluids, but still belonging, like these, to the
class of pipes or conduits of the body, is seen in the larynx.
We all know that there go down the throat two pipes, one
leading to the stomach, the other to the lungs — the one be-
mg tlie 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 con-
veyance of food, and the windpipe, for speech and the mod-
ulation of sound, not much less so : therefore the difficulty
was, the passages being so contiguous, to prevent the food,
especially the liquids, which we swallow into the stomach,
fi'om entering the windpipe, that is, the road to the lungs —
the consequence of which error, when it does happen, is
perceived by the convulsive throes that are instantly pro
duced. 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 capac-
ity of which forms indeed the bottom of the mouth. Into
the side of this funnel, at the part which hes the lowest,
enters the windpipe by a chink or slit, with a lid or flap like
a little tongue, accurately fitted to the orifice. The solids
or liquids which we swallow pass over this lid or flap as
they descend by the funnel into the gullet. Both the weight
of the food and the action of the muscles concerned in swal-
lowing contribute to keep the lid close down upon the aper-
ture while any thing is passing ; whereas, by means of its
natural cartilaginous spring, it raises itself a little as soon as
the food is passed, thereby allowing a free inlet and outlet
for the respiration of air by the lungs. Such is its struc-
luie ; and we may here remark the almost complete success
of the expedient, namely, how seldom it fails of its purpose
compared with the number of instances in which it fulfils
it. Reflect how frequently we swallow, how constantly wp
breathe. In a city feast, for example, what deglutition, what
VESSELS OF ANIMALS. 1 O.'J
anhelatioii I yet does this little cartilage, the epiglottis, so
efTectually interpose its office, so securely guard the entrance
of the windpipe, that while morsel after morsel, draught
after draught, are coursing one another over it, an accident
of a crumb or a drop slipping into this passage — which nev-
ertheless must be opened for the breath every second oi
time — excites in the whole company not only alarm by ita
danger, but surprise by its novelty. Not two guests are
choked in a century.
There is no room for pretending that the action of the
parts may have gradually formed the epiglottis : } do not
mean in the same individual, but in a succession of genera-
tions. Not only the action of the parts has no such tenden-
cy, but the animal could not live, nor consequently the parts
act, either without it or with it in a half-formed state. The
species was not to wait for the gradual formation or expaxi-
sion of a part which was from the first necessary to the lite
of the individual.
Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole windpipe
possesses a structure adapted 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 aii
constantly open, which they do mechanically. A pipe with
soft mem.branous coats, liable to collapse and close when
empty, would not have answered here ; although this be the
general vascular structure, and a structure which serves
very well for those tubes which are kept in a state of por-
^^etual distention by the fluid they enclose, or which aObrd
a passage to solid and protruding substances.
Nevertheless — which is another particularity well v^\
thy of notice — these rings are not complete, that is, are not
cartilaginous and stiff all round ; but their hir ler part,
which is contiguous to the gullet, is membranous md soft.
124 NATURAL THEOLOGr.
easily yielding to the distentions of that organ occasioned by
the descent of solid food. The same rings are also bevelled
off at the upper and lower edges, the better to close upon
one another when the trachea is compressed or shortened.
The constitution of the trachea may suggest likewise
another reflection. The membrane v/hich lines its inside is
perhaps the most sensible, irritable membrane of the body.
It rejects the touch of a crumb of bread, or a drop of water,
with a spasm which convulses the whole frame ; yet, left to
itself and its proper office, the intromission of air alone,
nothing can be so quiet. It does not even make itself felt ;
a man does not know that he has a trachea. This capacity
of perceiving with such acuteness, this impatience of offence,
yet perfect rest and ease when let alone, are properties, one
would have thought, not likely to reside in the same sub-
ject. It is to the junction, however, of these almost incon
sistent 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 windpipe taken togeth-
er— for the larynx is only the upper part of the windpipe —
besides its other uses, is also a musical instrument, that is
to say, it is mechmiism expressly adapted to the modulation
of sound ; for it has been found upon trial, that by relaxing
or tightening the tendinous bands at the extremity of the
windpipe, and blowing in at the other end, all the cries
and notes might be produced of which the living animal
was capable. It can be sounded just as a pipe or flute is
sounded.
Birds, says Bonnet, have at the lower end of the wind-
pipe a conformation like the reed of a hautboy, for the mod-
ulation 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 con
VESSELS OF ANIMALS 125
junction with the larynx, of voice and speech. They are,
to animal utterance, what the bellows are to the organ.
For the sake of method, we have considered 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
subserviency and dependence — in their contributing together
to one eflect and one use. It has been said, that a man can-
not lift his hand to his head without finding enough to con-
vince him of the existence of a God. And it is well said ;
for he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is, and
simple as it seems to be, how many things are requisite for
the performing of it — how many things which Ave under-
stand, to say nothing of many more, probably, which we do
not : namely, first, a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order to
give to the arm its firmness and tension ; but which, being
rigid, and in its substance inflexible, can only turn upon
joints : secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose, one at
the shoulder to raise the arm, another at the elbow to bend
it ; these joints continually fed with a soft mucilage to make
the parts slip easily upon one another, and holden together
by strong braces to keep them in their position : then, third-
ly, strings and wires, that is, muscles and tendons, artifi-
cially inserted, for the purpose of drawing the bones in the
directions in which the joints allow them to move. Hith-
erto we seem to understand the mechanism pretty well ;
and understanding this, we possess enough for our conclu-
sion. Nevertheless, we have hitherto only a machine stand-
ing still — a dead organization — an apparatus. To put the
system in a state of activity, to set it at work, a further pro-
vision is necessary, namely, a communication with the brain
by means of nerves. We know the existence of this com-
munication, because we can see the communicating threads,
i26 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
and can trace them to the brain ; its necessity we also know
because if the thread be cut, if the communication bo inter-
cepted, the muscle becomes paralytic ; but beyond this we
know little, the organization being too minute and subtile
for our inspection.
To what has been enumerated, as officiating in the single
act of a man's raising his hand to his head, must be added
likewise all that is necessary and all that contributes to the
growth, nourishment, and sustentation of the limb, the repair
of its waste, the preservation of its health : such as the cir-
culation of the blood through every part of it ; its lymphatics,
exhalents, absorbents ; its excretions and integuments. All
these share in the result — -jom in the effect ; and hoAV all
these, or any of them, come together without a designing,
disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive.
THE G-ENERAL STRUCTURE. 127
CHAPTER XI.
OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A
MASS.
Contemplating an aiiimal body in its collective cd^
pacity, we cannot forget to notice what a number of instru-
ments 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 single ounce of matter which com-
poses his body — but which seems to be all employed — we
have instruments for eating, for digesting, for nourishment,
for breathing, for generation, for running, for flying, for see-
ing, for hearing, for smelling : each appropriate — each en-
tirely different from all the rest.
The human or indeed the animal frame, considered as a
mass or assemblage, exhibits in its composition three prop-
erties, which have long struck my mind as indubitable evi-
dences not only of design, but of a great deal of attention
and accuracy in prosecuting the design.
I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the two sides
of the same animal : the right hand 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 toler-
able 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 wdg
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 eacli,
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 centre. In building an arch, could
128 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
more be done iii order to make the curve truj, that is, the
parts equidistant from the middle, ahke in figure and po-
sition ?
The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering hoAV com-
pounded this organ is in its structure, how various and how
delicate are the shades of color with which its iris is tinged ;
liow differently, as to effect upon appearance, the eye may
be mounted in its socket, and how differently in different
heads eyes actually are set — is a property of animal bodies
much to be admired. Of ten thousand eyes, I 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 othei
selection than that which obtains.
This regularity of the animal structure is rendered more
remarkable by the three following considerations :
1 . The limbs, separately taken, have not this correlation
of parts, but the contrary of it. A knife drawn do^\ii 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,
mto two parts equal and ahke. Those parts which are
placed upon the middle or partition line of the body, or
which traverse that line — as the nose, the tongue, and the
lips — may be so divided, or more properly speaking, are
double organs ; but other parts cannot. This shows that
the correspondency w^hich we have been describing does not
arise by any necessity in the nature of the subject ; for, if
necessary, it would be universal ; whereas it is observed
only in the system or assemblage. It is not true of the sep-
arate parts : that is to say, it is found where it conduces to
beauty or utility ; it is not found where it would subsist at
the expense of both. The two wings of a bird always cor-
respond ; 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 between the legs opposite to one another.
THE GENERAL STUUCTURE. 129
2 The next circumstance to be remarked is, that while
the cavities of the body are so configurated as externally to
exhibit the most exact correspondency of the opposite sides,
the contents of these cavities have no such correspondency.
A line drawn down the middle of the breast divides the
thorax into two sides exactly similar ; yet these two sides
enclose very different contents. The heart lies on the left
side, a lobe of the lungs on the right ; balancing each other
neither in size nor shape. The same thing holds of the
abdomen. The hver lies on the right side, without any
similar viscus opposed to it on the left. The spleen indeed
is situated over against the liver; but agreeing with the
liver neither in bulk nor form. There is no equipollency
between these. The stomach is a vessel both irregular in
its shape and oblique in its position. The foldings and
doublings of the intestines do not present a parity of sides.
Yet that symmetry which depends upon the correlation of
the sides is externally preserved througliout the Avhole trunk,
and is the more remarkable in the lower parts of it, as the
integuments are soft, and the shape, consequently, is not, as
the thorax is, by its ribs, reduced by natural stays. It is
evident, therefore, that the external proportion does not arise
from any equality in the shape or pressure of the internal
contents. What is it, indeed, but a correction of inequalities ;
an adjustment, by mutual compensation, of anomalous forms
into a regular congeries ; the effect, in a word, of artful,
and if we might be permitted so to speak, of studied collo-
cation ?
3. {:5imilar also to this is the third observation : that an
mternal inequality in the feeding vessel is so managed as to
produce no inequahty of parts which were intended to cor-
respond. The right arm answers accurately to the left, both
in size and shape ; but the arterial branches which supply
the two arms do not go 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 very difficult to con
130 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
ceive how the same quantity of blood should be pushed
through each artery ; yet the result is right : the two limbs
which are nourished by them perceive no difference of sup-
ply— no effects of excess or deficiency.
Concerning the difference of manner in which the sub-
clavian and carotid arteries, upon the different sides of the
body, separate themselves from the aorta, Cheselden seems
to have thought, that the advantage wliich 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 compen-
sating contrivance ; and if it be so, how curious — how hy-
drostatical I
II. Another perfection of the animal mass is the 'pack-
age. I know nothing which is so surprising. Examine the
contents of the trunk of any large animal. Take notice
how soft, how tender, how intricate they are ; how constant-
ly in action, how necessary to life ! Keflect upon the dan-
ger of any injury to their substance, any derangement to
their position, any obstruction 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, in its course, the fluid back to it
again ; the lungs performing their elaborate office, namely,
distending and contracting their many thousand vesicles by
a reciprocation which cannot cease for a minute ; the stom-
ach exercising its powerful chemistry; 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 pur-
suing its course ; the liver, the kidneys, the pancreas, the
parotid, with many other known and distinguishable glands,
drawing off from it, all the while, their proper secretions.
These several operations, together with others more subtile
but less capable of being investigated, are going on witliin
* Ches. Anat., p. 184, ed. 7.
THE GENERAL STRUCTUILE. 131
US at one and the same time. Think of this ; and tlien ob-
serve how the body itself, the case which holds this machine-
ry, is rolled, and jolted, and tossed about, the mechanism
remaining unhurt, and with very little molestation even of
its nicest motions. Observe a rope-dancer, a tumbler, or a
monkey — the sudden inversions and contortions which the
internal parts sustain by the postures into which their bodies
are thrown ; or rather observe the shocks which these parts,
even in ordinary subjects, sometimes receive from falls and
bruises, or by 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 sur-
rounded, how well tied down and packed together.
This property of animal bodies has never, I think, been
considered under a distinct head, or so fully as it deserves.
I may be allowed therefore, in order to verify my observa-
tion concerning it, to set forth a short anatomical detail,
though it oblige me to use more technical language than I
should wish to introduce into a work of this kind.
1 . The heart — such care is taken of the centre of life —
is placed between two soft lobes of the lungs ; is tied to
the mediastmum and to the pericardium ; which pericardi-
um 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 bloodvessels
which issue from it.^
2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the mediasti-
num 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 middle of the tho-
rax, from the breast to the back — to keep the contents ol
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.t
* Keill's Anat., p. 107, ed. 3. t lb., p. 119, ed. 3.
132 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
3. The liver is fastened in the body by two hgamenis :
the first, which is large and strong, comes from the covering
of the diaphragm, and penetrates the substance of the hver ,
the second is the umbilical vein, which, after birth, degene-
rates into a ligament. The first, which is the principal,
fixes the liver in its situation while the body holds an erect
posture ; the second prevents it from pressing upon the dia-
phragm when we lie down ; and both together sling or sus-
pend the liver when we lie upon our backs, so that it may
not compress or obstruct the ascending vena cava,^ 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 mto a ligament : thus, what was a passage for
urine to the fostus, becomes, after birth, a support or stay to
the bladder. The peritoneum also keeps the viscera from
confounding themselves with, or pressing irregularly upon
the bladder ; for the kidneys and bladder are contained in a
distinct duplicature of that membrane, being thereby parti-
tioned off from the other contents of the abdomen,
5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat.
6. The pancreas, or sweetbread, is strongly tied to the
peritoneum, v/hich is the great wrapping-sheet that encloses
all the bowels contained m the lower belly. f
7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an adhesion
to the peritoneum and diaphragm, and by a connection with
the omentum. I It is possible, in my opinion, that the spleen
may be merely a stuffing, a soft cushion to fill up a vacancy
or hollow, which, unless occupied, would leave the package
loose and unsteady ; for, supposing that it answers no othei
purpose than this, it must be vascular, and admit o^ a cir-
culation through it, in order to be kept alive, or be a part of
a .iving body.
8. The omentum, epiploon, or caul, is an apron tucked
* Ches. Anat., p. 162. t Keill's Anat., p. ^1.
% Cbes. Anat, p. 167.
THE GENERAL STRUCTURE. 133
U{), or doubling upon itself, at its lowest part. The upper
edge is tied to the bottom of the stomach, to the spleen, as
has already been observed, and to part of the duodenum
The reflected edge also, after forming the doubling,, comes
up behind the front flap, and is tied to the colon and ad-
joining viscera. =*
9. The septa of the brain probably prevent one part of
the organ from pressing w^ith too great a weight upon an-
other part. The processes of the dura 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 neighboring parts. The
great art and caution of packing is to prevent one thing
hurting another. This, in the head, the chest, and the ab-
domen of an animal body is, among 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 provisions for this purpose, by far, in my opinion,
the most curious, and where also such a provision was mos^
wanted, is in the guts. It is pretty evident that a long
narrow tube — in man, about five times the length of the
body — laid from side to side in folds upon one' another, wind-
ing in oblique and circuitous directions, composed also of a
soft and yielding substance, must, without some extraordi-
nary precaution for its safety, be continually displaced by
the various, sudden, and abrupt motions of the body which
contains it. I should expect that, if not bruised or wound-
ed by every fall, or leap, or twist, it would be entangled, or
t>3 involved with itself; or, at the least, shpped and shaken
out of the order in which it is disposed, and which order is
necessary to be preserved for the carrying on of the ira]>or-
tant functions which it has to execute in the animal econo-
* Ches. Anat., p. 1G7.
134 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
my. Let us see, therefore, how a danger so serious, and yet
80 natural to the length, narrowness, and tubular form of the
part, is provided against. The expedient is admirable, and
it is this. The intestinal canal, throughout its whole pro-
cess, 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 seam-
stress would call "puckered or gathered on" to it. This is
the nature of the connection of the gut with the mesentery :
and being thus joined to, or rather made a part of the mes-
entery, it is folded and wrapped up together with it. Now
the mesentery having a considerable dimension in breadth,
being in its substance withal both thick and suety, is capa-
ble 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 position under all the turns and windings
of its course, but sustains the numberless small vessels, the
arteries, the veins, the lympheducts, and above all, the lac-
teals, which lead from or to almost every point of its coats
and cavity. This membrane, which appears to be the great
support and security of the alimentary apparatus, is itself
strongly tied to the first three vertebrse of the loins. ^
III. A third general property of animal forms is btatt-
ty, I do not mean relative beauty, or that of one indi-
vidual above another of the same species, or of one species
compared with another species ; but I mean, generally,
the provision which is made in the body of almost every
animal to adapt its appearance to the perception of the ani-
mals with which it converses. In our own species, for ex-
ample, only consider what the parts and materials are of
which the fairest body is composed ; and no further observa-
tion will be necessary to show how well these things are
wTapped up, so as to form a mass which shall be capable of
* Keill's Anatomy, p. 45.
THJi aii-:NEIlAL STRUCTURE. 13>
symmetry in its proportion, and of beauty in its aspect ;
how the bones are covered, the bowels concealed, the rough-
nesses of the muscle smoothed and softened ; and how over
the whole is drawn an integument which converts the dis-
gusting materials of a dissecting-room into an object of at-
traction to the sight, or one upon which it rests at least
with ease and satisfaction. Much of this effect is to be
attributed to the intervention of the cellular or adipose
membrane, which lies immediately under the skin; is a
kind of lining to it ; is moist, soft, shppery, and compressi-
ble ; everywhere filling up the interstices of the muscles,
and forming thereby their roundness and flowing line, as
WftQ as the evenness and polish of the whole surface.
All Mdiich seems to be a strong indication of design, and
of a design studiously directed to this purpose. And it be-
ing once allowed that such a purpose existed with respect
to any of the productions of nature, we may refer, with a
considerable degree of probability, other particulars to the
same intention ; such as the tints of flowers, the plumage of
birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales of fishes, the paint-
ed wings of butterflies and beetles, the rich colors and spot-
ted 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 beau-
ty, 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 princi-
ple of beauty holds a still more considerable place in their
corrposition — is still more confessed than in animals. Why,
for one instance out of a thousand, does the corolla of the
tulip, when advanced to its size and maturity, change its
color '^ The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegetable
13b NATURAL THEOLOGY.
nutrition might have been carried on as Avell by its coiUinu*
ing green. Or, if this could not be, consistently with the
progress of vegetable life, why break into such a vailety oi
colors ? This is no proper effect of age, or of declension in
the ascent of the sap ; for that, like the autumnal tints,
would have produced one color on one leaf, with marks ol
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 display ?
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
useful and familiar comes of course to be thought beautiful ;
and that things appear to be so, only by their alliance with
these qualities. Our idea of beauty is capable of being in
so great a degree modified by habit, by fashion, by the expe-
rience of advantage or pleasure, and by associations arising
out of that experience, that a question has been made wheth-
er it be not altogether generated by these causes, or would
have any proper existence without them. It seems, how
ever, a carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny the exist
ence of the principle, namely, a native capacity of perceiving
beauty, on account of an influence, or of varieties proceed
ing from that influence, to which it is subject, seeing that
principles the most acknowledged are liable to be affected in
the same manner. I should rather argue thus : The ques-
tion respects objects of sight. Now every other sense has
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 particular plants, will rather
THE aEJNli:RAL STRUCTCJR*^ 137
die than change their appropriate leaf. All this looks like
a determhiatioii in the sense itself to particular taste* In
hke manner, smells affect the nose with sensations pleasur-
able or disgusting. Some sounds, or compositions of sound,
delight 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 th s
power which reconciles us to many necessities ; but has the
distinction, in the mean time, of agreeable and disagreeable
no foundation in the sense itself? What is true of the other
senses is most probably true of the eye — the analogy is irre-
sistible— namely, that there belongs to it an original consti-
tution, fitted to receive pleasure from some impressions, and
pain from others.
I do not, however, know that the argument which alleges
beauty as a final cause rests ujDon this concession. We pos-
sess a sense of beauty, however we come by it. It in fact
exists. Things are not indifierent 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 ol
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 niade supportable
by habit, it is all which habit can do ; they never become
agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be acquired, it is a result —
the produce of numerous and complicated actions of external
objects upon the senses, and of the mind upon its sensations.
With this result there must be a certain congruity, to enable
any particular object to please : and that congruity, w^e con-
tend, is consulted in the aspect which is given to animal
and vegetable bodies.
IV. The skin and covering of animals is that upon which
their appearance chiefly depends ; and it is that part which,
perhaps, in all animals, is most decorated, and most free
from impurities. But were beauty or agreeableness oi
aspect entirely out of the question, there is another purpose
answered by this integument, and by the collocation of the
138 NATUilAL THEOLOGY.
parts of the body beneath it, which is of still greater im-
portance ; and that purpose is concealment. Were it pos-
sible to view through the skin the mechanism of our bodies,
the sight would frighten us out of our wits. " D.irst we
make a single movement," asks a lively French writer, " or
stir a step from the place we were in, if we &aw our blood
circulating, the tendons pulling, the -lungs blowing, the
humors filtrating, and all the incomprehensible assemblage
of fibres, tubes, pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sus-
tain an existence at once so frail and so presumptuous ?"
V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses, there is an-
other property more curious than it is generally thought to
be, which is the faculty of standing ; and it is more re-
markable in two-legged animals than in quadrupeds, and
most of all, as being the tallest and resting upon the smallest
base, in man. There is more, I think, in the matter than
we are aware of. The statue of a man placed loosely upon
a pedestal, would not be secure of standing half an hour.
You are obliged to fix its feet to th^ block by bolts and sol-
der, or the first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure to
throw it down. Yet this statue shall express all the mechan-
ical proportions of a living model. It is not therefore the
mere figure, or merely placing the centre of gravity within
the base, that is sufficient. Either the law of gravitation is
suspended in favor 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 gravitation in the same manner as
those of dead matter. The gift therefore appears to me to
consist in a faculty of perpetually shifting the centre of grav-
ity, by a set of obscure, indeed, but of quick-balancing ac-
tions, so as to keep the line of direction, which is a line
Jra\\Ti from that centre to the ground, within its prescribed
imits.
Of these actions it may be observed, first, that they in
part constitute what we call strength. The dead body drop?
THE GENERAL STRUCTURE. 139
down The mere adjustment therefore of weight and press-
urC; which may be the same the moment after death as the
moment before, does not support the cohmm. In cases also
of extreme w^eakness, the patient cannot stand upright.
Secondly, that these actions are only in a small degree vol-
untary. A man is seldom conscious of his voluntary powers
in keeping himself upon his legs. A child learniug to walk
is the greatest posture-master in the world ; but art, if it
may be so called, sinks into habit, and he is soon able to
poise himself in a great variety of attitudes, without being
sensible either of caution or efibrt. 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
acquired, forms one object of our admiration. What parts
are principally employed, or in what manner each contributes
to its office, is, as has already been confessed, difficult to
explain. Perhaps the obscure motion of the bones of the feet
may have their share in this eflect. 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, namely, its being composed of
many small bones, apphed to and articulating with one an-
other by diversely shaped surfaces, instead of being 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 imita-
ted the figure and dimensions of the sole of the foot. The
alternation of the joints, the knee-joint bending backward,
the hip-joint forward ; the flexibility, in every direction, of
the spine, especially in the loins and neck, appear to be of
great moment in preserving the equilibrium of the body.
With respect to this last circumstance, it is observable that
the vertebra? are so confined by ligaments as to allow no
more slipping upon their bases than what is just sufficient to
break the shock which any violent motion may occasion to
140 NATURAL THEOLOU r.
the body. A certain degree also of tension of the sinews
appears to be essential 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 very complicated operations. Indeed, that standiiig 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 ol
observation in the human body ; but a Urd resting upon
its perch, or hopping upon a spray, affords no mean speci-
men of the same faculty. A chicken runs off as soon as it is
hatched from the egg ; yet a chicken, considered geometri-
cally, and with relation to its centre of gravity, its line ol
direction, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular solid. Is
this gift, therefore, or instruction ? May it not be said to bo
with great attention that nature has balanced the body upon
its pivots ?
I observe also in the same bird a piece of useful mechan-
ism of this kind. In the trussing of a fowl, upon bending
the legs and thighs up towards the body, the cook finds that
the claws close of their own accord. Now let it be remem-
bered, that this is the position of the limbs in which the bird
rests upon its perch. And in tliis position it sleeps in safety ;
for the claws do their office in keeping hold of the support,
not by any exertion of voluntary power which sleep might
suspend, but by the traction of the tendons in consequence
of the attitude which the legs and thighs take by the bird
sitting down, and to which the mere weight of the body
gives the force that is necessary.
VI. Regarding the human body as a mass , regarding
the general conformations w^iich 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
THE GENERAL STRUCTURE. 141
I do not know how such critical deviations can, by anj- })os-
sible hypothesis, be accounted for without design.
1. All the bones of the body are covered with a. jjerios-
teum except the teeth, where it ceases ; and an enamel of
ivory, wdiich saws and files vsdll hardly touch, comes into its
pbxje. No one can doubt of the use and propriety of this
difTerence — of the "analogy" being thus "interrupted" — of
the rule which belongs to the conformation of the bones
stopping where it does stop ; for, had so exquisitely sensible
a membrane as the periosteum invested the teeth as it invests
every other bone of the body, their action, necessary expos-
ure, and irritation, would have subjected the animal to con-
tinual pain. General as it is, it was not the sort of integu-
ment which suited the teeth : what they stood in need of
was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat ; and exactly
such a covering is given to them in the ivory enamel which
adheres to iheir surface.
2. The scarfsldn, which clothes all the rest of the body,
gives way, at the extremities of the toes and fingers, to 7iaih.
A man has only to look at his hand, to observe with wdiat
nicety and precision that covering, which extends over every
other part, is here superseded by a different substance and a
different texture. Now, if either the rule had been neces-
sary, or the deviation from it accidental, this effect would
not be seen. When I speak of the rule being necessary, 1
mean the formation of the skin upon the surface being pro-
duced by a set of causes constituted without design, and act-
ing, as all ignorant causes must act, by a general operation.
Were this the case, no account could be given of the opera-
tion being suspended at the fingers' ends, or on the back part
of the fingers, and not on the fore part. On the other hand,
if the deviation were accidental, an error, an anomalism —
were it any thing else than settled by intention — we should
meet with nails upon other parts of the body ; they would
be scattered over the surface, like warts or pimples.
3. All the great cavities of the body are enclosed by men
J42 NATUHAL THEOLOGY.
branes, except the skull. Why should not the brain be con-
tent with the same covering as that which serves for the
other principal organs of the body ? The heart, the lungs,
the liver, the stomach, the bowels, have all soft integuments,
and nothing else. The muscular coats are all soft and rL>cm-
branous. I can see a reason for this distinction in the final
cause, but in no other. The importance of the brain to
life — which experience proves to be immediate — and the
extreme tenderness of its substance, make a solid case more
necessary for it than for any other part; and such a case
the hardness of the skull supplies. When the smallest por-
tion of this natural casket is lost, how carefully, yet how
imperfectly, is it replaced by a plate of metal. If an anato-
mist 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 re-
mark 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 cav-
ity is, that the bony covering completely surrounds its con-
tents, 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 wliich exactly fit the folds ol
the brain, answer the important design of keeping the sub-
stance of the brain steady, and of guarding it, against con-
cussione.
COMPAllATlYE ANATOMY. Ii3
CHAPTER XII
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.
WHENE\nER we find a general plan pursued, yet with
such variations in it as are, in each ease, required by the
particular exigency of the subject to which it is applied, we
possess, in such a plan and such adaptation, the strongest
evidence that can be afforded of intelligence and design — an
evidence Avhich the most completely excludes every other
hypothesis. If the general plan proceeded from any fixed
necessity in the nature of things, how could it accommodate
itself to the various wants and uses which it had to serve
imder different circumstances and on different occasions ?
Ark Wright's mill was invented for the spinning of cotton.
We see it employed 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 difierent materials
rendered necessary. Of the machine's being put together
with design, if it were possible to doubt while we saw it
only under one mode, and in one form, when we came to
observe it in its difierent applications, with such changes of
structure, such additions and supplements, as the special and
particular use in each case demanded, we could not refuse
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 em-
ployed, 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 anatomy. In their general econ-
omy, in the outlines of the plan, in the construction as well
as offices of their principal parts, there exists between all
large terrestrial animals a close resemblance. In all, life is
sustained, and the body nourished, by nearly the same appa-
•44 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
ratus. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the Hver, tho
kidneys, are much ahke in all. The same fluid — for no dis-
tinction of blood has been observed — circulates through their
vessels, and nearly in the same order. The same cause,
therefore, whatever that cause was, has been concerned in
the origin, has governed the production of these diflerent
animal forms.
When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the inhabi-
tants of a different element, the resemblance becomes more
distant and more obscure ; but still the plan accompanies us
And, what we can never enough commend, and which
it is our business at present to exemplify, the plan is attend-
ed, through all its varieties and deflections, by subserviences
to special occasions and utilities.
1. 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 obser-
vation ; and is, in truth, both for its variety and its suitable-
ness 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 ol
material and form, we cannot 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, armor 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 lightness ol
his covering to the temperature of his habitation. Had he
been born with a fleece upon his back, although he might
have been comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it
would have oppressed him by its weight and heat, as the
species spread towards the equator.
What art, however, does for men. nature has, in man)
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 145
instances, done for those animals which are incaj^ able of art.
Their clothing, of its own accord, changes with their neces-
sities. This is particularly the case with that large tribe of
quadrupeds which are covered with furs,. Every dealer in
hare-skins and rabbit-skins knows how much the fur is thick-
i^ned by the approach of winter. It seems to be a part of
[lie same constitution and the same design, that wool, in hot
rountries, degenerates, as it is called, but in truth — most
happily for the animal's ease — passes into hair ; while, on
the contrary, that hair, in the dogs of the polar regions, is
turned into wool, or something very like it. To which may
be referred, what naturalists have remarked, that bears,
wolves, foxes, hares, which do not take the water, have the
fur much thicker on the back than the belly ; whereas in
the beaver it is the thickest upon the belly, as are the feath-
ers in water-fowl. 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 colors, constitute a vestment for the body so beau-
tiful, and so appropriate to the life which the animal is to
lead, as that, I think, we should have had no conception of
any thing equally perfect, if we had never seen it, or can
now imagine any thing more so. Let us suppose — what is
possible only in supposition — a person who had never seen
a bird, to be presented with a plucked pheasant, and bid to
set his wits to work how to contrive for it a covering which
shall finite the qualities of warmth, levity, and least resist-
ance to the air, and the highest degree of each ; giving it
ilso 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 feath-
Vnt. Theol. 7
146 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
ered world seldom fails of exciting, will be increased by fur*
ther examination. It is one of those cases in which the
philosopher has more to admire than the common observer,
'Every feather is a mechanical wonder. If we look at tho
quill, we find properties not easily brought together — strength
and lightness. I know few things more remarkable than
the strength and lightness of the very pen with which I am
writing. If we cast our eye to the upper part of the stem,
we sec a material made for the purpose, used in no othei
class of animals, and in no other part of birds ; tough, light,
pliant, elastic. The pith also, which feeds the feathers, is,
among animal substances, sui generis — neither bone, flesh,
membrane, nor tendon.^
But the artificial part of a feather is the beard, or, as it
is sometimes, I believe, called, the vane. By the beards are
meant what are fastened on each side of the stem, and what
constitute the breadth of the feather — what we usually strip
ofi'from one side or both, when we make a pen. The sepa-
rate pieces, or laminse, of which the beard is composed, are
called threads, sometimes filaments or rays. Now, the first
thing wliich an attentive observer wiU remark is, how much
stronger the beard of the feather shows itself to be when
pressed in a direction perpendicular to its plane, than when
rubbed, either up or down, in the line of the stem ; and he
will soon discover the structure which occasions this differ-
ence, namely, that the laminae whereof these beards are
composed are flat, and placed with their flat sides towards
each other ; by which means, while they easily bend for the
approachhig of each other, as any one may perceive by
drawing his finger ever so hghtly upwards, they are much
harder to bend out of their plane, which is the direction in
wliich they have to encounter the impulse and pressure oi
* The quill part of a feather is composed of circular and .tngitu-
diual fi?)res. In making a pen, you must scrape off the coat of circu-
lar fibres, or the quill will split in a ragged, jagged manner, making
what boys call caf's teeth.
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 147
tlie air, and in which their strength is wanted and put to
the trial.
This is one particularity in the structure of a feather -, a
second is still more extraordinary. Whoever examines a
feather cannot help taking notice, that the threads or lami-
nae of which we have been speaking, in their natural state
li?tite — that their union is something more than the mere
apposition of loose surfaces — that they are not parted asun-
der without some degree of force — that nevertheless there is
no glutinous cohesion between them — that therefore, by
some mechanical means or other, they catch or clasp among
themselves, thereby giving to the beard or vane its closeness
and compactness of texture. Nor is this all : when two
laminae which have been separated by accident or force are
brought together again, they immediately reclasp ; the con-
nection, whatever it was, is perfectly recovered, and the
beard of the feather becomes as smooth and firm as if noth-
ing 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 fin-
ger up the feather, and you restore all things to their for-
mer state. This is no common contrivance : and now foi
the mechanism by which it is cfi^ected. The threads oi
laminae above mentioned are interlaced Avith one another ;
and the interlacing is performed 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 oi
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 feather, are longer, more flex-
ible, and bent downwards ; whereas those which proceed
from the side towards the beginning or quill end of the
feather, are shorter, firmer, and turn upwards, The pro-
cess, then, which takes place is as follows : when 1 wo lam-
inae are pressed together, so that these long fibres are forced
i48 t^ATURAL THEOLOGY.
far enough over the short ones, their crooked parts fall into
the cavitymade by the crooked parts of the others ; just as
the latch that is fastened to a door enters into the cavity of
the catch fixed to the door-post, and there hooking itself,
fastens the door ; for it is properly in this manner that one
thread of a feather is fastened to the other.
This admirable structure of the feather, which it is easy
to see with the microscope, succeeds perfectly for the use to
which nature has designed it ; which use was, not only that
the laminsB might be united, but that when one thread or
lamina has been separated from another by some external
violence, it might be reclasped with sufficient facility and
expedition.*
In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and fibres, of
hooks and teeth, is wanting ; and we see the consequence
of the want. The filaments hang loose and separate from
one another, forming only a kind of down ; which constitu-
tion of the feathers, however it may fit them for the flowing
honors of a lady's headdress, may be reckoned an imper-
fection in the bird, inasmuch as wings composed of these
feathers, although they may greatly assist it in running, do
not serve for flight.
But under the present division of our subject, our busi-
ness ^dth feathers is as they are the covering of the bird.
And herein a singular circumstance occurs. In the small
order of birds which winter with us, from a snipe down-
wards, let the external color of the feathers be what it will
their Creator has universally given them a bed of Uaxk
down next their bodies. Black, we know, is the warmest
color ; and the purpose here is, to keep in the heat arising
from the heart and circulation of the blood. It is further
likewise remarkaHe, that this is not found in larger birds ;
for which there is also a reason. Small birds are much
more exposed to the cold than large ones, forasmuch as the)-
* The above account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural History
of Animals, by the E,oyal Academy of Paris, published in 1701, p. 219
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 149
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
be similar — the surface of all the wrens would exceed the
surface of the turkey in the proportion of the length, breadth,
or of any homologous line, of a turkey to that of a wren,
which would be, perhaps, a proportion of ten to one. It
was necessary, therefore, that small birds should be more
warmly clad than large ones ; and this seems to be the ex-
pedient by which that exigency is provided for.
II. 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 conven-
iency than that which is seen in the different formations of
their mouths. Whether the purpose be the reception of ali-
ment merely, or the catching of prey, the picking up of seeds,
the cropping of herbage, the extraction of juices, the suction
of hquids, the breaking and grinding of food, the taste ol
that food, together with the respiration of air, and in con-
junction with it, the utterance of sound, these various offi-
ces are assigned to this one part, and, in different species,
provided for as they are wanted by its different constitution.
In the human species, forasmuch as there are hands to con-
vey the food to the mouth, the mouth is flat, and by reason
of its flatness, fitted only for reception; whereas the pro-
jecting jaws, the wide rictus, the pointed teeth of the dog
and his affinities, enable them to apply their mouths to
snatch a7id 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 pasture :
either gathering large mouthfuls at once, where the grass ih
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 retir-
ed under-jaw of the swine works in the ground, after the
150 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
protruding snout, like a prong or ploughshare, has made its
way to the roots upon which it feeds. A. conformation so
happy was not the gift of chance.
In birds, this organ assumes a new character — new both
in substance and in form, but in both wonderfully adapted
to the wants and uses of a distinct mode of existence, We
have no longer the fleshy Hps, 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 shapes, and mechanically
suited to the actions which are wanted. The sharp edge
and tempered point of the sparrow's bill picks almost every
kind of seed from its concealment in the plant ; and not only
so, but hulls the grain, breaks and shatters the coats of the
seed, in order to get at the kernel. The hooked beak of the
haw^k tribe separates the flesh from the bones of the animals
which it feeds upon, almost with the cleanness and precis-
ion of a dissector's loiife. The butcher-bird transfixes its
prey upon the spike of a thorn while it picks its bones. In
Eome birds of this class we have the cross-hiW, that is, both
the upper and lower bill hooked, and their tips crossing.
The S]poo7i-hiVL enables the goose to graze, to collect its food
from the bottom of pools, or to seek it amidst the soil or
liquid substances wdth which it is mixed. The long taper-
ing bill of the snipe and woodcock penetrate 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 w^ant strength in its bill,
which was mconsistent 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.
But the species of bill which belongs to the birds that
uve by suctio7i, deserves to be described in its relation to that
office. They are what naturahsts call serrated or dentat«»4
COMPARATIV.E ANATOMY. 161
bills ; the inside of tliem, 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 quad
rupeds ; nor yet, as in fish, for the seizing and retaining ol
their prey ; but for a quite diiierent use. They form a filter.
The duck by means of them discusses the mud ; examining
with great accuracy the puddle, the brake, every mixture
wliich is likely to contaui her food. The operation is thus
carried on : the liquid or semiliquid substances in which
the animal has plunged her bill, she draws, by the action of
her lungs, through the narrow interstices which lie between
these teeth, catching, as the stream passes across her beak,
whatever it may happen to bring along with it that proves
agreeable to her choice, and easily dismissing all the rest.
Now, suppose the purpose to have been, out of a mass of
confused and heterogeneous substances, to separate for the
use of the animal, or rather to enable the animal to separate
for its own, those few particles which suited its taste and
digestion ; what more artificial or more commodious instru-
ment of selection could have been given to it, than this nat-
ural filter ? It has beer, observed 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 t(5 return to the train of oui observations. The
similitude between the bills of birds and the mouths of quad-
rupeds is exactly such as, for the sake of the argument,
might be wished for. It is near enough to show the contin-
lation of the same plan ; it is remote enough to exclude the
152 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
supposition of the difference being produced by action or use,
A more prominent contour, or a wider gap, might be resolv*
ed into the effect of continued efforts, on the part of the
species, to thrust out the mouth or open it to the stretch.
But by what course of action, or exercise, or endeavor, shall
we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth, and acquire in
the place of them pincers of horn? By what habit shall
we so completely change, not only the shape of the part, but
the substance of which it is composed ? The truth is, if wo
had seen no other than the mouths of quadrupeds, we should
have thought no other could have been formed : little could
we have supposed that all the purposes of a mouth furnish-
ed with hps and armed with teeth could be answered by an
instrument which had none of these — could be supplied, and
that with many additional advantages, by the hardness and
sharpness and figure of the bills of birds. Every thing about
the animal mouth is mechanical. The teeth of fish have
their points turned backward, like the teeth of a wool or
cotton card. The teeth of lobsters work one against another,
Hke the sides of a pair of shears. In many insects, the mouth
is converted into a pump or sucker, fitted at the end some-
times with a wimble, sometimes with a forceps ; by which
double provision, namely, of the tube and the penetratmg
form of the pomt, the insect first bores through the integu-
ments of its prey, and then extracts the juices. And what
is most extraordinary of all, one sort of mouth, as the occa-
sion requires, shall be changed into another sort. The cat-
erpillar could not live without teeth ; in several species, the
butterfly formed from it could not use them. The old teeth,
therefore, are cast off with the exuviae of the grub ; a new
and totally difierent apparatus assumes their place in tho
fly. Amid these novelties of form, we sometimes forget that
it is all the while the animal's mouth — that whether it be
hps, or teeth, or bill, or beak, or shears, or pump, it is the
same part diversified ; and it is also remarkable, that under
all the varieties of configuration with which we are acquaii>*'
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 153
ed, and which are very great, the organs of taste and smell-
ing 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 difierent necessities of the animal. In brutes,
because the posture of their neck conduces little to the pas-
sage of the ahment, 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 deglutition of
animals which thrust their food up instead of dow7i, and
also through a longer passage, a proportionably more power-
ful apparatus of muscles is provided — more powerful, not
merely by the strength of the fibres, which might be attrib-
uted to the greater exercise of their force, but in their collo-
cation, which is a determinate circumstance, and must have
been original.
IV. The gullet leads to the intestines: here, likewise,
as before, comparing quadrupeds with man, under a general
similitude we meet with appropriate differences. The val-
vulcB conniventeSy or, as they are by some called, the semi-
lunar valves, found in the human intestine, are wanting in
that of brutes. These are wrinkles or plates of the inner-
most coat of the guts, the effect of which is to retard the
progress of the food, through the alimentary canal. It is
easy to understand how much more necessary such a provis-
ion riiay 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 entrance to its exit, is
nearly horizontal ; but it is impossible to assign any cause
except the final cause, for this distinction actually taking
place. So far as depends upon the action of the part, this
structure was more to be expected in a quadruped than in
7*
154 NATUilAL iHJiOLOar.
a man. In truth, it must in both have been formed, not by
action, but in direct opposition to action and to pressure ;
but the opposition which would arise from pressure is greater
in the upright trunk than in any other. That theory, there-
fore, 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 observe, 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 j)rey, 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 intestines of a sheep, un-
ravelled, measured thirty times the length of the body. The
intestines of a wild cat are only three tim^s the length of the
body. Universally, where the substance upon which the
animal feeds is of slow concoction, or yields its chyle with
more difficulty, there the passage is circuitous and dilatory,
that time and space may be allowed for the change and the
absorjDtion which are necessary. Where the food is soon
dissolved, or already half assimilated, an unnecessary or per'
haps hurtful detention is avoided, by giving to it a shortei
and a readier route.
V. In comparing the hone?, of different animals, we are
struck, in the bones of birds, with a i:)ropi'iety 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. AVherein,
therefore, do the bones of birds — I speak of the cylindrical
bones — differ in these respects from the bones of quadru-
peds ? In three properties : first, their cavities are much
larger in proportion to the weight of the bone, than in those
^ Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 170.
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 155
of quadrupeds ; secondly these cavities are empty ; thirdly,
the shell is of a firmer texture than is the substance of other
bones. It is easy to observe these particulars even in pick-
ing 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 diameter, as;
every mathematician can prove, is increased, cceteris paribus,
the strength of the cylinder, or its resistance to breaking. In
a word, a bone of the sa7ne iveight would not have been so
strong in any other form ; and to have made it heavier,
would have incommoded the animal's flight. Yet this form
could not be acquired by use, or the bone become hollow or
tabular 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 — be-
tween 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 pufied out, and its tendency to
descend in the air, or its specific gravity, made less. The
bodies of birds are blown up from their lungs — which no
other animal bodies are — and thus rendered buoyant.
YII. All birds are oviparous. This likewise 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. The advantage
in this respect of an oviparous procreation is, that while the
whole brood are hatched together, the eggs are excluded
singly, and at considerable intervals. Ten, fifteen, or twenty
young birds may be produced in one cletch or covey, yet the
parent bird have never been encumbered by the load of
more than one full-grown Qgg at one time.
VIII. A principal +opic of comparison betw^een animals,
156 NATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
is in their imtrumenU of motion. These come before ua
under three divisions — ^feet, wings, and fins. I desire any
man to say which of the three is best fitted for its use ; or
whether the same consummate art be not conspicuous in
them all. The constitution of the elements in which the
motion is to be performed is very difi^erent. The anima!
action must necessarily follow that constitution. The Cre-
ator, therefore, if we might so speak, had to prepare for dif-
ferent situations, for different difficulties ; yet the pm-pose is
accomplished not less successfully in one case than in the
other ; and as between %oings and the corresponding limbs
of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without deserting the gen-
eral idea. The idea is modified, not deserted. Strip a wing
of its feathers, and it bears no obscure resemblance to the
fore-leg of a quadruped. The articulations at the shoulder
and the cubitus are much alike ; and, what is a closer cir-
cumstance, in both cases the upper part of the limb consists
of a single bone, the lower part of two.
But, fitted up with its furniiure of feathers and quills, it
becomes a wonderful instrument, 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 it
flight were no more than the reciprocal motion of the same
surface in opposite directions, either upwards and down
wards, or estimated in any oblique line, the bird would lose
as much by one motion as she gained by another. The sky-
lark could never ascend by such an action as this; for,
though the stroke upon the air by the underside 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 de-
rives from her wing, it is necessary to suppose that the sur-
face of the wing, measured upon the same plane, is contract-
ed while the wing is drawn up, and let out to its ful)
COMPARATIVE ANATOMf. 157
expansion when it descends upon the air for the purpose oi
moving the body by the reaction 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 action 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 semirotary mo-
tion, 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, while the
rower advances his hand for a new stroke, is a similar oper-
ation to that of the feather, and takes its name from the
resemblance, I believe that tliis 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
common 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 a little remarkable, Bird^
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 extend beyond the rump, and become the rudder ; sup-
plying that steerage which the tail could not.
From the icings of birds, the transition is easy to the^?zs
of fish. They are both, to their respective tribes, the instru-
ments of their motion ; but, in the work which they have to
do, there is a considerable difierence, founded in this circura-
Btance.
Fish, unlike birds, have very nearly the same specific
gravity with the element in which they move. In the cas(j
of fish, therefore, there is little or no weight to bear up ;
what is wanted is only an impulse sufficient to carry the
158 NATURAL THEOLOG-r.
body tlirough a resisting medium, or to maintain the posture,
or to support or restore the balance of the body, wliich 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 they are moved in
the highest degree convenient. The followmg short account
of some experiments upon fish, made for the purpose of ascer-
taining the use of their fins, will he the best confirmation of
what we assert. In most fish, besides the great fin, the tail,
w^e find two pairs of fins upon the sides, two single fins upon
the back, and one upon the belly, or rather between the
belly and the tail. The halancing use of these organs is
proved in this manner. Of the large-headed fish, if you cut
off the pectoral fins, that is, the pair which lies close behind
the gills, the head fpJls prone to the bottom ; if the right
pectoral fin only be cut off', the fish leans to that side ; if the
ventral fin on the same side be cut away, then it loses its
equilibrium entirely ; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut
off', the fish reels to the right and left. When the fish dies,
that is, when the fins cease to play, the belly turns upwards.
The use of the same parts for motion is seen in the following
observation upon them when put in action. The pectoral,
and more particularly the ventral fins, serve to raise and
dejoress the fish : when the fish desires to have a retrograde
motion, a stroke forward with the pectoral fin eff^ectually
produces it ; if the fish desires to turn either way, a f5ingle
blow with the tail the opposite way sends it round at once ;
if the tail strike both ways, the motion produced by the
double lash is jn-ogressive, and enables the fish to dart for-
ward 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 ac-
quainted. However, when the tail is cut off', the fish loses
all motion, and gives itself up to where the water impels it
* Gold>mitli, History of Animated Nature, vol. 6, p. 154.
COMPARATIVE AI^ATOMr. 15S
The rest of the iins, 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 muscles, the oars : and if there be any
similitude between these parts of a boat and a fish, observe,
that it is not the resemblance of imitation, but the likeness
which arises from applying similar mechanical means to tha
same purpose.
We have seen that the tail in the fish is the great instru-
ment of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm-blooded fish,
which are obliged to rise every two or three minutes to the
surface to take breath, the tail, unlike what it is in other
fish, is horizontal ; its stroke, consequently, perpendicular to
the horizon, which is the right direction for sending the fish
to the top, or carrying it down to the bottom.
E-egarding animals in their instruments of motion, we
have only followed the comparison through the first great
division of animals into beasts, birds, and fish. If it were
our intention to pursue the consideration farther, I should
take in that generic distinction among 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 inutil-
ity to land-fowl, are so obvious, that it seems impossible to
notice the difference wdthout 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 be-
tween the toes. As to that membrane, it is an exercise of
constant resistance. The only supposition I can think of is,
that all birds have been originally water-fowl and web-
footed ; that sparrows, hawks, hnnets, etc., which frequent
the land, have, in process of time, and in the course of many
generations, had this part worn aw^ay by treading upon
hard ground. To such evasive assumptions must atheism
always have recourse I And after all, it confesses that the
160 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
structure of the feet of birds, in their original form, was
critically adapted to their original destination I The web-
feet of amphibious quadrupeds, seals, otters, etc., fall under
the same observation.
IX. The Jive senses are common to most large ani-
mals ; nor have we much difference to remark in theii
constitution, or much, however, which is referable to mech-
anism.
The superior sagacity of animals which hunt their prey,
and which, consequently, depend for their livelihood upon
their nose, is well known in its use ; but not at all known in
the organization which produces it.
The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions, tigers,
wolves, have their trumpet-part, or concavity, standing for-
ward, to seize the sounds which are before them, namely,
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 dis-
tinction, and is mechanical ; but it may be suggested, and 1
think not without probability, that it is the effect of contin-
ual habit.
The eyes of animals which follow their prey by nighS
as cats, owls, etc., possess a faculty not given to those ol
other species, namely, of closing the pupil entirely. The
final cause of which seems to be this : it was necessary for
Buch animals to be able to descry objects Mdth 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 exquisitely sensible, ren-
dered it also liable to be offended by the access of stronger
degrees of light, The contractile range, therefore, of the
pupil is increased in these animals, so as to enable them to
close the aperture entirely, which includes the power of
diminishing it in every degree ; Vv^hereby at all times such
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. lUl
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, and
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 animal's face.
162 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
CHAPTER XIII.
PECULIAPo ORGANIZATIONS.
I BELiE\TE that all the instances which I shall collect
under this title might, consistently enough with technical
language, have been placed under the head of com'parative
anatcymy. But there appears to me an impropriety in the
use which that term has obtained ; it being, in some sort,
absurd to call that a case of comparative anatomy in which
there is nothing to " compa^re" — in which a conformation is
found in one animal which hath nothing properly answering
to it in another. Of this kind are the exami)les which 1
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
notice, first, particularities of structure which belong to quad-
rupeds, birds, and fish, as such, or to many of the kinds in-
cluded in these classes of animals ; and then, such particu-
larities as are confined to one or two species.
I. Along each side of the neck of large quadrupeds runs
a stiff robust cartilage, which butchers call the pax-wax.
No person can carve the upper end of a crop of beef without
driving liis 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 weight, acting at the end of a long lever —
consequently with a great purchase — and in a direction
nearly perpendicular to the joints of the supporting neck.
From such a force, so advantageously applied, the bones o1
PECULIAR ORGANIZAriOKS. 163
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, from the erect position
of the head — the pressure of it acting nearly in the direction
of the spine — the junction of the vertebra3 appears to be
sufficiently secure without it. This cautionary expedient,
therefore, is Umited to quadrupeds : the care of the Creator
is seen where it is wanted.
II. The oil with which birch preen their feathers, and
the organ which supplies it, is a specific provision for the
winged creation. On each side of the rump of birds is ob-
served 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 his 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 lodgment in the body, the
application of it when obtained, form collectively an evi-
dence of intention which it is not easy to withstand. Noth-
ing 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 a fish affords a plain and
direct instance, not only of contrivance, but strictly o-f that
species of contrivance which we denominate mechanical. It
is a philosophical apparatus in the body of an animal. The
principle of the contrivance is clear ; the appHcation of the
principle is also clear. The use of the organ to sustain, and,
at wall, 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-blad-
der, seldom rise in the water, and that with effort. TIk;
manner in which the purpose is attained, and the, suitable-
164 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
ness of the means to the end, are not difficult to be appre-
hended. The rising and sinking of a fish in water, so far as
it is independent of the stroke of the fins and tail, can only
be regulated by the specific gravity of the body. When the
bladder contained in the body of a 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 sulking force, is increased, and the fish de-
scends : on the contrarj^ when, in consequence of the relax-
ation of the muscles, the elasticity of the enclosed and now
compressed air restores the dimensions of the bladder, the
tendency downwards becomes proportionably less than it was
before, or is turned into a contrary tendency. These are
known properties of bodies immersed in a fluid. The enam-
elled figures, or little glass bubbles, in a jar of water, arn
made to rise and fall by the same artifice. A diving-ma-
chine might be made to ascend and descend upon the like
principle ; namely, by introducing into the inside of it an air-
vessel, which by its contraction would diminish, and by its
distention enlarge the bulk of the machine itself, and thus
render it specifically heavier or specifically lighter than the
water which surrounds it. Suppose tliis to be done, and the
artist to solicit a patent for his invention : the mspectors ol
the model, whatever they might think of the use or value of
the contrivance, could by no possibility entertain a question
m 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 repositor}'- of air. The expedi-
ent, whatever it be, forms part, and perhaps the most curi-
ous part of the provision. Nothing similar to the air-bladdei
PECULIAR OfLaANIZATIONS. IQ6
IS found in land- animals ; and a life in the water has no
natural tendency to produce a bag of air. Nothing can bo
further from an acquired organization 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 fa?ig of a vijoer'^ is a clear and curious 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, suddenly 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 underneath ; and the force of this compression sends
out the fluid with a considerable impetus 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 injecting the poison ?
Yet, though lodged in the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in
its inoffensive and quiescent state, not to mterfere 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, etc., have these fangs, but teeth of an
equal size : not movable as this is, but fixed into the jaw.
II. In being the property of several difierent species, the
preceding example is resembled by that which I shall next
mention, which is the bag of the ojjossum.f This is a me-
chanical contrivance, most properly so called. The simpli-
city of the expedient renders the contrivance more obvious
than many others, and by no means less certain. A false
skin under the belly of the animal forms a pouch, into which
* Plate IV., Fig. 2, and 3. t Plate IV., Fig. 4
1.66 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
the young litter are received at their birth ; where thoy
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 conveyance Can the
use of this structure be doubted of? Nor is it a mere doub-
ling of the skin ; but is a new organ, furnished with bones
an'd muscles of its ow^n. Two bones are placed before the
OS pubis, and joined to that bone as their base. These sup-
port and give a fixture to the muscles which serve to open
the bag. To these muscles there are antagonists, which
serve in the same manner to shut it ; and this office they
perform so exactly, that, in the living animal, the opening
can scarcely be discerned, except when the sides are forcibly
drawn asunder.*' Is there any action in this part of the
animal, any process arismgfrora that action, by which these
members could be formed ; any account to be given of the
formation, except design ?
Ill, As a particularity, yet appertaining to more species
than one, and also as strictly mechanical, we may notice a
circumstance in the structure of the claics 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 assist them in holding their sUppery prey. The use
is evident ; but the structure such as cannot at all be ac-
counted for by the effort of the animal, or the exercise of the
part. Some other fishing birds have these notches in their
bills; and for the same purpose. The gannet, or Soland
goose,t has the side of its bill irregularly jagged, that it may
hold its prey the faster. Nor can the structure in this, more
than in the former case, arise from the manner of employing
the part. The smooth surfaces, and soft flesh of fish, were
less likely to notch the bills of birds, than the hard bodicis
upon which many other species feed.
* Goldsmith, Nat. Hist., vol. 4, p. 244. t Plate V.. Fig. '
PECULIAR 0E.aANIZAT10NS l67
We now come to particularities strictly so called, as be-
mg 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 retain 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 organization upon which a faculty so rare and so
beneficial depends. A number of distinct sacs or bags — in
a dromedary thirty of these have been counted — are observed
to lie between the membranes of the second stomach, and to
open into the stomach near the top by small square aper-
tures. Through these orifices, after the stomach is full, the
annexed bags are filled from it : and the water so deposited
is, in the first place, not liable to pass into the intestines ; in
the second place, is kept separate from the solid aliment ; and
in the third place, is out of the reach of the digestive action
of the stomach, or of mixture with the gastric juice. It
appears probable, or rather certain, that the animal, by the
conformation of its muscles, possesses the power of squeezing
back this water from the adjacent bags into the stomach,
whenever thirst excites it to put this power in action.
II. The tongue of the tcood^oecker is one of those singu-
larities which nature presents us with when a singular
purpose is to be answered. 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 tree.s. For the purpose of
boring 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 difi^ering 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 tht^
168 NATURAL THEOLOG-I.
most remarkable property of all — this tip is dentated on bolt
sides like the beard of an arrow or the barb of a hook *
The description of the part 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, transfixes 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 bo
Baid, that by continual endeavors 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 partic-
ular, did it get its barb, its dentation ? These barbs, in my
opinion, wherever they occur, are decisive proofs of mechan-
ical contrivance.
III. I shall add one more example, for the sake of its
novelty. It is always an agreeable discovery, when, having
remarked in an animal an extraordinary structure, we come
at length to find out an unexpected use for it. The follow-
ing narrative furnishes an instance of this kind. The baby-
roussa, or Indian hog, a species of Avild 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 ofTence ,
that service being provided for by two tusks issuing from the
under-jaw, and resembling those of the common boar : nor
does the animal use them for defence. They might seem,
therefore, to be both a superfluity and an incumbrance. But
observe the event : the animal sleeps standing ; and in order
to support its head, hooks its upper tusks upon the branches
of trees.
* See Plate V., Fig. 2.
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 169
CHAPTER XIV.
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.
I CAN hardly imagine to myself a more distinguishing
'iiark, and consequently a more certain proof of design, than
l)reparatio7i, that is, the providing of things beforehand,
which are not to be used until a considerable time after-
wards ; for this implies a contemplation of the future, whicli
belongs only to intelligence.
Of these iwos>ipective contrivances the bodies of animals
furnish various examples.
I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only of pro-
spective contrivance, but of the completion of the contriv-
ance being designedly suspended. They are formed within
the gums, and there they stop ; the fact being, that their
farther advance to maturity would not only be useless to the
new-born animal, but extremely in its way ; as it is evident
that the act of kicking, by which it is for some time to be
nourished, will be performed with more ease both to the
nurse and to the infant, while 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 w^anted the teeth are
ready. They have been lodged within the gums for some
months past, but detained as it were in their sockets, so
long as their farther protrusion would interfere with the
office to which the mouth is destined. Nature, namely,
that intelhgence which was employed in creation, looked
beyond the first year of the infant's life ; yet, while she was
providing lor functions which were after that term to be-
come necessary, was careful not to incommode those which
(receded them. What renders it more probable that this
is the effect of design, is, that the teeth are imperfect, while
all other parts of the mouth are perfect. The lips are per-
fect, the tongue is perfect ; the cheeks, the jaws, the palate,
the pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect : the teeth alone are
Nnt Thonl. 8
170 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
not BO This is the fact with respect to the human mouth .
the fact also is, that the parts ahove enumerated are called
into use from the beginning ; whereas the teeth would be
only so many obstacles and amioyances if they were thtre.
When a contrary order is necessary, a contrary order pro-
vails. 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 maturity.
What has been observed of the teeth, is true of the horns
of animals ; and for the same reason. The horn of a calf or
a lamb does not bud, or at least does not sprout to any con-
siderable length, until the animal be capable of browsing
upon its pasture, because such a substance upon the fore-
head of the young animal would very much incommode the
teat of the dam in the office of giving suck.
But in the case of the teeth, of the human teeth at least,
the prospective contrivance looks still further. A succession
of crops is provided, and provided from the beginning — a sec-
ond tier being originally formed beneath the first, which do
not come into use till several years afterwards. And this
double or supplementary provision meets a difficulty in the
mechanism of the mouth, which would have appeared almost
insurmountable. The expansion of the jaw — the conse-
quence of the proportionable growth of the animal and of its
skull — necessarily separates the teeth of the first set, how-
ever compactly disposed, to a distance from one another,
which would be very inconvenient. In due time, therefore,
that is, when the jaw has attained a great part of its dimen-
nions, a new set of teeth springs up — loosening and pushing
uut the old ones before them — more exactly fitted to tha
space which they are to cccupy, and rising also in such close
ranks as to allow for any extension of line which the subse-
quent enlargement of the head may occasion.
II. It is not veiy easy to conceive a more evidently pro-
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 171
spective contrivance than that which, in all viviparous ani-
mals, is found in the ruilk of the female parent. At the
moment the young animal enters the world there is its main-
tenance 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 chemistry having
been able to make milk out of grass : we have, secondly, the
organ for its reception 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
properties in the subject before us ; and they are all indica-
tions of design. The last circumstance 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 female has no
inteUigible tendency to fill the breasts with milk. The lac-
teal 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 account of
this is to refer it to a designing Creator.
But in the argument before uSj we are entitled to con-
sider not only animal bodies when framed, but the circum-
stance under which they are framed ; and in this view ^f
the subject, the constitution of many of their parts is most
strictly prospective.
III. The eye is of no use at the time when it is formed.
It is an optical instrument made in a dungeon ; constructed
172 NATUEAL THEOLOGY.
for the refraction of light to a focus, and perfect for its pur*
pose 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 2^ovicling for the future
ill the closest sense which can be given to these terms ; for
it is providing for a future change, not for the then sub-
sisting 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 undergo 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 form-
ed, without a view to this change ; without a prospect of
that condition, in which its fabric, of no use at present, is
about to be of the greatest ; without a consideration of
the qualities of that element, hitherto entirely excluded, but
with which it was hereafter to hold so intimate a rela-
tion ? A young man makes a pair of spectacles for him-
self 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 considering the defect of
vision to which advanced age is subject ? Would not the
precise suitableness 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 after-
wards to arise had been considered beforehand, speculated
upon provided for ? all which are exclusively the acts of a
reasoning mind. The eye formed in one state, for use only
in another state, and in a difierent state, aflbrds a proof no
less clear of destination to a future purpose ; and a proof pro-
porlionably stronger, as the machinery is more complicated
and the adaptation more exact.
lY. What has been said of the eye, holds equally true ol
the lungs. Composed of air-vessels, where there is no air ;
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 173
elaborately constructed for the alternate admission and ex-
pulsion of an elastic fluid, where no such fluid exists ; this
great organ, with the whole apparatus belonging to it, lies
collapsed in the foetal thorax ; yet in order, and in readiness
for action, the first moment that the occasion requires iU
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 proper act of intelligence. Consider-
ing 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 was impossible to be ex-
erted ; 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 men-
tioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provisionary contrivances
of the foramen ovale and ductus arteriosus. In the fojtus,
pipes are laid for the passage of the blood through the lungs ;
but until the lungs be inflated by the inspiration of air, that
passage is impervious, or in a great degree obstructed. What
then is to be done ? What would an artist, what would a
master do upon the occasion ? He would endeavor, most
probably, to provide a tc'niporary passage, which might carry
on the communication required, until the other was open.
Now this is the thing which is actually done in the heart.
Instead of the circuitous route through the lungs which the
blood afterwards takes before it gets from one auricle of the
heart to the other, a portion of the blood passes immediately
from the right auricle to the left, through a hole placed in the
partition which separates these cavities. This hole anat-
omists call the foramen ovale. There is likewise another
cross-cut, answering the same purpose, by what is called the
ductus arteriosus, lying between the pulmonary artery and
174 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
the aorta. But both, expedients are so strictly temporary,
that after birth the one passage is closed, and the tube which
forms the other shrivelled up into a ligament. If this be not
contrivance, what is ?
But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the blood m
the lungs appears to be necessary to the perfect concoction
of that fluid, that is, to the life and health of the animal —
otherwise the shortest route might still be the best — how
comes it to pass that the fcstus lives and grows and thrives
without it ? The answer is, that the blood of the foetus is
the mother's ; that it has undergone that action in her habit ;
that one pair of lungs serves for both. When the animals
are separated, a new necessity arises ; and to meet this ne-
cessity as soon as it occurs, an organization is prepared. It
is ready for its purpose ; it only waits for the xtmosphere ; i\
•■^giup to play the moment the air is admitted to it.
RELATIONS. 176
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 wherever this is observed in the works of nature or of
man, it appears to me to carry along with it decisive evi-
dence of understanding, intention, art. In examining, for
instance, the several parts of a ivatch, the spring, the barrel,
the chain, the fusee, the balance, the wheels of various sizes,
forms, and positions, what is it which would take an observ-
er's attention as most plainly evincing a construction direct-
ed by thought, deliberation, and contrivance ? It is the
suitableness of these parts to one another : first, in the suc-
cession 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 orig-
inates and upholds tlicir motion ; in the chain, that which
transmits the motion to the fusee ; in the fusee, that which
communicates it to the Mdieels ; in the conical figure of the
fusee, if he refer to the spring, he sees that which corrects
the inequality of its force. Referring the wheels to one an-
other, 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 connection between themselves, or
common bearing upon some joint effect ; secondly, the cor-
respondency of their position, so that the teeth of one Vv^hee]
catch into the teeth of another ; thirdly, the proportion ob-
served in the number of teeth in each wheel, which deter-
mines the rate of going. Referring the balance to the rest
of the works, he saw, when he came to understand its action,
176 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
that which rendered their motions equable. Lastly, in look-
ing upon the index and face of the watch, he saw the use
and conclusion of the mechanism, namely, marking the suc-
cession of minutes 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 proba-
bly designate by one general name of "relation;" and ob-
serving with respect to all cases whatever, in v/hich the
origin and formation of a thing could be ascertained by evi-
dence, 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 rda-
tiojis.
1. There are. first, what in one form or other belong to
all animals, the parts and powers which successively act
upon ihoii food. Comipare this action with the process of a
manufactory. In men and quadrupeds the aliment is first
broken and bruised by mechanical instruments of mastica-
tion, namely, 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 chemical action, which we call digestion ;
when digested, it is delivered through an orifice, which opens
and shuts, as there is occasion, into the first intestine ; there,
after being mixed with certain proper ingredients, poured
through a hole in the side of the vessel, it is further dissolv-
ed ; in this state the milk, chyle, or part which is wanted,
and which is suited for animal nourishment, is strained ofi
by the mouths of very small tubes opening into the cavity of
the intestines : thus freed from its grosser parts, the perco-
lated fluid is carried by a long, winding, but traceable course,
into the main stream of the old circulation, which conveys
it in its progress to every part of the body. Now I say
RELATIONS. 177
again, compare this with the process of a manufactory — 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 eases as to the
point of contrivance. That which is at present under our
consideration, the "relation'' of the parts successively em-
ployed, 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 fer-
mentation of the stum in the vat is to the perfection of the
liquor. The disposal of the aliment afterwards, the actior
and change which it undergoes, the route which it is made,
to take, in order that, and until that, it arrives at its desti-
nation, 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 cider 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 o{)eration and some
of the processes of art might be carried further into detail.
Spallanzani has remarked^^ a circumstantial resemblance
between the stomachs of gallinaceous fowls and the structure
of corn-mills. While the two sides of the gizzard perform
the ofiice of the mill-stones, the craw or crop supplies the
place of the lioi^iper.
When our fowls are abundantly supplied with meat, they
* Disc. 1, sec. 54.
8*
178 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
soon fill their craw ; but it does not immediately pass thence
into the gizzard : it always enters in very small quantities,
in proportion to the progress of trituration ; in like manner
as, in a mill, a receiver is fixed above the two large stones
which serve for grinding the corn ; which receiver, although
the corn be put into it in bushels, allows the grain to dribble
only in small quantities into the central hole in the upper
miU-stone.
But we have not done with the alimentary history.
There subsists a general relation between the external or-
gans of an animal by which it procures its food, and the
internal powers by which it digests it. Birds of prey, by
their talons and beaks, are qualified to seize and devour
many species both of other birds and of quadrupeds. The
constitution of the stomach agrees exactly with the form of
the members. The gastric juice of a bird of prey, of an owl,
a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal fibre 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. Accordingly
it has been found, by experiments tried not many years ago,
with perforated balls, that the gastric juice of ruminating
animals, such as the sheep and the ox, speedily dissolves
vegetables, but makes no impression upon animal bodies.
This accordancy is still more particular. The gastric juice
even of granivorous birds, will not act upon the grain while
whole and entire. In performing the experiment of digest-
ing with the gastric juice in vessels, the grain must be
crushed and bruised before it be submitted to the menstru-
um ; that is to say, must undergo by art, without the body,
the preparatory action which the gizzard exerts upon it
within the body, or no digestion will take place. So strict,
in this case, is the relation between the ofllces assigned to
the digestive organ — ^between the mechanical operation and
the chemical process.
RELATIONS. l70
II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder, and of the
dreters to both, that is, of the secreting organ to the vessel
receiving the secreted liquor, and tlie pipe laid from one to
the other for the purpose of conveying it from one to the
other, is as manifest as it is among the different vessels em-
ployed in a distillery, or in the communications between
them. The animal structure, in this case, being simple,
and the parts easily separated, it forms an instance of corre-
lation which may be presented by dissection to every eye, or
which indeed without dissection is capable of being appre-
hended by every understanding. This correlation of instru-
ments to one another fixes intention somewhere ; especially
when every other solution is negatived by the conformation.
If the bladder had been merely an expansion of the ureter,
produced by retention of the fluid, there ought to have been
a bladder for each ureter. One receptacle fed by two pipes
issuing from different sides of the body, yet from both con-
veying the same fluid, is not to be accounted for by any such
supposition as this.
III. Relation of parts to one another accompanies us
throughout the whole animal economy. Can any relation
be more simple, yet more convincing than this, that the eyes
are so placed as to look in the direction iai which the legs
move and the hands work ? It might have happened very
difierently if it had been left to chance. There were at least
three quarters of the compass out of four to have erred in.
Any considerable alteration in the position of the eye or the
figure of the joints would have disturbed the line and de-
stroyed the alliance between the sense and the limbs.
IV. But relation, perhaps, is never so striking as when
it subsists, not between different parts of the same thing, but
between difierent things. The relation between a lock and
a key is more obvious than it is between different parts ol
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 implem.ents.
180 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Nor do the works of the Deity want this clearest species
of relation. The sexes are manifestly made for each other
They form the grand relation of animated nature : univer
Bal, organic, mechanical ; subsisting, like the clearest rela-
tions of art, in different individuals, unequivocal, inexplica-
ble without design.
So much so, that were every other proof of contrivance
in nature duhious or obscure, this alone would be sufficient.
The example is complete. Nothing is wanting to the argu-
ment. 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 individuals.
These are general relations, or the relations of parts
which are found either in all animals or in large classes and
descriptions of animals. Partic^dar relations, or the rela-
tions which subsist between the particular configuration of
one or more parts of certain species of animals, and the par-
ticular configuration 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 how the rest follow
it. The web-foot qualifies the bird for swimming ; the
spoon-bill enables it to graze. But how is an animal float-
ing upon the surface of pools of water to graze at the bot-
tom, 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, required a defence
RELATIONS. r83
agdinst the coldness of th^t element. Such a defence ia
furnished to the swan in the muff in which its body is
wrapped. But all tliis outward apparatus would have been
in vain if the intestinal system had not been suited to the
digestion of vegetable substances. I say suited to the diges-
tion of vegetable substances, for it is well known that there
are two intestinal systems found in birds : one with a mem-
branous stomach and a gastric juice capable of dissolving
animal substances alone ; the other with a crop and gizzard
calculated for the moistening, bruising, and afterwards di-
gesting of vegetable aliment.
Or set off with any other distinctive part in the body of
the swan ; for instance, with the long neck. The long neck
without the web-foot would have been an encumbrance te
the bird ; yet there is no necessary connection between j.
long neck and a web-foot. In fact they do not usually go
together. How happens it, therefore, that they meet only
when a particular design demands the aid of both ?
11. 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, the palmated
feet armed with sharp nails, the pig-like nose, the teeth, the
velvet coat, the small external ear, the sagacious smell, the
sunk protected eye, all conduce to the utilities or to the safe-
ty of its under-ground life. It is a special purpose, specially
consulted throughout. The form of the feet fixes the char-
acter of the animal. They are so many shovels ; they deter-
mine its action to that of rooting in the ground ; and every
tiling about its body agrees with its destination. The cylin-
drical figure of the mole, as well as the compactness of its
form, arising from the terseness of its limbs, proportionably
lessens its labor ; because, according to its bulk, it thereby
requires the least possible quantity 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, tendinous, strong, with a pair of nerves
/82 NATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
going down to the end of it. The plush covering which, by
tJie smoothness, closeness, and pohsh of the short piles that
compose it, rejects the adhesion of almost every species of
earth, defends the animal from cold and wet, and from the
impediment which it would experience by the mould stick-
ing to its body. From soils of all kinds* the little pioneer
comes forth bright and clean. Inhabiting dirt, it is of all
animals the neatest.
But what I have always most admired in the mole is its
eyes. This animal occasionally visiting the surface, and
wanting, for its safety and direction, to be informed when it
does so, or when it approaches it, a perception of light was
necessary. I do not know that the clearness of sight depends
at all upon the size of the organ. What is gained by the
largeness or prominence of the globe of the eye, is width in
the field of vision. Such a capacity would be of no use to
an animal which was to seek its food in the dark. The
mole did not want to look about it ; nor would a large ad-
vanced eye have been easily defended from the annoyance
to which the life of the animal must constantly expose it.
How indeed was the mole, working its way under ground,
to guard its eyes at all ? In order to meet this difficulty,
the eyes are made scarcely larger than the head of a cork-
ing-pin ; and these mmute globules are sunk so deeply in the
skull, and lie so sheltered within the velvet of its covering,
as that any contraction of what may be called the eye-
brows, not only closes up the apertures which lead to the
eyes, but presents a cushion, as it were, to any sharp or pro-
truding 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 tliis structure, that which we call rela-
tion. There is no natural connection between a small sunk
eye and a shovel palmated 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,
RELATIONS. l8o
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 pros-
ecution of a common purpose. As has already been observ-
ed, there are different ways of stating the relation, according
as we set out from a different part. In the instance before
us, we may either consider the shape of the feet, as quahfy-
ing the animal for that mode of life and inhabitation to
which the structure of its eyes confines it ; or we may con-
sider 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, whichever 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 peculiarly adapted to an under-ground
life ; and this is what I call relation.
184 NATURAL THEOLOGV.
CHAPTER XYl.
COMPENSATION.
Compensation is a species of relation. It is relation
when the defects of one part, or of one organ, are sup-
plied by the structure of another part, or of another organ.
Thus,
I. The short unbending neck of the elephant^ is com-
pensated by the length and flexibiHty 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 be ansv*^ered,
that the weight of a head so heavy could not have been
supported at the end of a longer lever. To a form, there-
fore, in some respects necessary, but in some respects also
madequate to the occasion of the animal, a supplement is
added which exactly makes up the deficiency under which
he labored.
If it be suggested that this proboscis may have been
produced, in a long course of generations, by the constant
endeavor of the elephant to thrust out its nose — which is
the general hypothesis by which it has lately been attempt-
ed to account for the forms of animated nature — I would
ask. How was the animal to subsist in the mean time, dur-
ing the process, until this prolongation of snout were com-
pleted ? What was to become of the individual while the
species was perfecting ?
Our business at present is, simply to point out the rela-
tion which this organ bears to the pecuhar figure of the ani-
mal to which it belongs. And herein all things correspond
The necessity of the elephant's proboscis arises from the
shortness of his neck ; the shortness of the neck is rendered
necessary by the weight of the head. Were we to enter
* Plate v., Fig. 4.
COMPENSATION. 185
Into an examination of the structure and anatomy of the
proboscis itself, ^ve should see in it one of the most curious of
all examples of animal mechanism. The disposition of the
ringlets and fibres, for the purpose, first, of forming a long
cartilaginous pipe ; secondly, of contracting and lengthening
that pipe ; thirdly, of turning it in every direction at the will
of the animal ; with the superaddition at the end of a fleshy
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
V>gether, exhibit a specimen not only of design — which is
attested by the advantage — ^but of consummate art, and as
I may say, of elaborate preparation, in accomplishing that
design.
II. The hook in the wing of a bat is strictly a mechani-
cal, and also a coTrtpemating 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, laymg hold of crevices, joinings, chinks,
and roughnesses. It hooks itself by this claw ; remains sus-
pended by this hold ; takes its flight from this position :
which operations compensate for the decrepitude of its legs
and feet. Without her hook the bat would be the most
helpless of all animals. She can neither run upon her feet,
nor raise herself from the ground. These inabilities are
made up to her by the contrivance in her wing ; and in
placing a claw on that part, the Creator has deviated from
the analogy observed in winged animals. A singular de-
fect required a singular substitute.
III. The crane kind are tiO live and seek their food
among the waters ; yet having no web-foot, are incapable
of swimming. To make up for this deficiency, they are fur-
nished with long legs for wading, or long bills for groping,
or usually with both. This is compensation. But I think
the true reflection upon the present instance is, how every
* See Fig. 5.
186 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
part of nature is tenanted by appropriate inhabitants. Not
only is the surface of deep waters peopled by numerous tribes
of birds that swim, but marshes and shallow pools are fur-
nished with hardly less numerous tribes of birds that wade.
IV. The common 2^0'f'i'ot has, in the structure of its beak,
both an inconveniency and a compe7isation for it. When 1
speak of an inconveniency, I have a view to a dilemma which
frequently occurs in the works of nature, namely, that the
peculiarity of structure by which an organ is made to an-
swer one purpose, necessarily unfits it for some other pur-
pose. This is the case before us. The upper bill of the
parrot is so much hooked, and so much overlaps the lower,
that if, as in other birds, the lower chap alone had motion,
the bird could scarcely gape wide enough to receive its food ;
yet this hook and overlapping of the bill could not be spared,
for it forms the very instrument by which the bird climbs,
to say nothing of the use which it makes of it in breaking
nuts and the hard substances upon which it feeds. How,
therefore, has nature provided for the opening of this occlud-
ed mouth ? By making the upper chap movable, 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. =^
y. The spider's web is a compensating contrivance.
The spider lives upon flies, without wings to pursue them —
a case, one would have thought, of great difficulty, yet pro-
vided for, and provided for by a resource which no strata-
gem, no effort of the animal, could have produced, had not
both its external and internal structure been specificaUy
adapted to the operation.
VI. In many species of insects the eye is fixed, and con-
sequently without the power of turning the pupil to the ob-
ject This great defect is, however, perfectly compensated^
* Goldsmith's Nat. Hist., vol. 5, p. 274.
COMPENSATION. 187
and by a mechanism which Ave 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 add-
ed to the surprise of the discovery. Adams tells us that
fourteen hundred of these reticulations have been counted
in the two eyes of a drone-bee.
In other cases, the compensation is efiected by the num-
ber and position of the eyes themselves. The spider has
eight eyes, mounted upon difierent parts of the head ; two
in front, two in the top of the head, two on each side. These
eyes are without motion, but by their situation suited to
comprehend every view which the wants or safety of the
animal rendered it necessary for it to take.
VII. The iviemoirs for the Natural History of Animals,
published by the French Academy, a. d. 1687, furnish us
with some curious particulars in the eye of a chameleon.
Instead of two eyelids, it is covered by an eyelid with a hole
in it. This singular structure appears to be compensatory.
and to answer to some other singularities in the shape of the
animal. The neck of the chameleon 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 extra-
ordinary projection the pupil of the eye can be carried by the
muscles in every direction, and is capable of being pointed
towards every object. But th<n so unusual an exposure of
the globe of the eye requires for its lubricity and defence a
more than ordinary protection of eyelid, as well as a more
than ordinary supply of moisture ; yet the motion of an eye-
lid, formed according to the common construction, would be
impeded, as it should seem, by the convexity of the organ.
The aperture in the Ud meets tliis difficulty. It enables the
animal to keep the principal part of the surface of the ey«
IbS NATURAL THEOLOay.
under cover, and to preserve it in a due state of humidity
without shutting out the light, or without performing every
moment a nictitation which it is probable would be more
laborious to this animal than to others.
YIII. In another animal, and in another part of the ani-
mal economy, the same memoirs describe a most remarkable
substitution. The reader will remember what we have
already observed concerning the intestinal canal — that its
length, so many times exceeding that of the body, promotes
the extraction of the chyle from the aliment, by giving room
for the lacteal vessels to act upon it through a greater space.
This long intestine, wherever it occurs, is, in other animals,
disposed in the abdomen from side to side in returning folds.
But in the animal now under our notice, the matter is man-
aged otherwise. The same intention is mechanically effect
uated, but by a mechanism of a different land. The animal
of which I speak is an amphibious quadruped, which our
authors call the alopecias, or sea-fox. The intestine is
straight from, one end to the other ; but in this straight and
consequently short intestine, is a winding, corkscrew, spiral
passage, through which the food, not without several circmii-
volutions, and in fact by a long route, is conducted to it.s
exit. Here the shortness of the gut is comj)ensated by tho
obliquity of the perforation.
IX. But the works of the Deity are known by expedi-
ents. Where we should look for absolute destitution,
where we can reckon up nothing but wants, some con-
trivance always comes in to supply the privation. A snail,
without wings, feet, or thread, climbs up the stalks of plants
by the sole aid of a viscid humor discharged from her skin.
She adheres to the stems, leaves, and fruits of plants by
means of a sticking-plaster. A mussel, which might seem
by its helplessness to lie at the mercy of every wave that
went over it, has the singular power of spinning strong ten-
dinous threads, by which she moors her shell to rocks and
timb-yrs. A cockle, on the contrary, by means of its stiii
COMPENSATION. 1S9
tongue, works for itself a shelter in the sand. The provis-
ions of nature extend to cases the most desperate. A IcbUct
has in its constitution 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 accession of substance is made at the
sutures. Bivalve shells grow bigger by receiving an accre-
tion at their edge ; it is the same with spiral shells at their
mouth. The simplicity of their form admits of this. But
the lobster's shell being apphed to the limbs of the body, as
well as to the body itself, alloAVS not of either of the modes
of growth which are observed to take place in other shells.
Its hardness resists expansion, and its complexity renders it
incapable of increasing its size by addition of substance to its
edge. How then was the growth of the lobster to be 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 body ; the seams open, and the claws burst
at the joints. When the shell has thus become loose upon
the body, the animal makes a second effort, and by a trem-
ulous, spasmodic motion casts it off'. In this state, the liber-
ated 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 humor upon the
surface, that is, a new shell, is formed, adapted in every part
to the increased dimensions of the animal. This wonderful
mutation is repeated every year.
If there be imputed defects without compensation, I
should suspect that they Avere defects only in appearance.
190 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
Thus, the body of the sloth has often been reproached for the
slowness of its motions, which has been attributed to an im-
perfection in the formation of its limbs. But it ought to be
observed, that it is this slowness wliich alone suspends the
voracity of the animal. He fasts during his migration ftom
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 stomach. The tardiness of his pace
seems to have reference to the capacity of his organs, and to
his propensities with respect to food ; that is. is calculated
to counteract the effects of repletion.
Or there may be cases in ^vhich a defect is artificial, and
compensated by the very cause which produces it. Thus
the sheep, in the domesticated state in w^hich we see it, is
destitute of the ordinary raieans of defence or escape — is in-
capable either of resistance or flight. But this is not so
with the wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and
active ; and if it lose these qualities Avhen it comes under
the subjection of man, the loss is compensated by his protec-
tion. Perhaps there is no species of quadruped whatevei
which suffers so little as this does from the depredation ol
animals of prey.
For the sake of making our meaning better understood,
we have considered this business of compensation under cer-
tain 'particularities of constitution in which it appears to
be most conspicuous. This view of the subject! necessarily
limits the instances to single species of animals. But there
are compensations, perhaps not less certain, which extend
over large classes and to large portions of living nature.
I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usually com-
pensated by the faculty of rumination. The sheep, deer,
and ox tribe are wdthout fore-teeth in the upper jaw. These
ruminate. The horse and ass are furnished with teeth in
the upper jaw, and do not ruminate. In the former class,
the grass and hay descend uito the stomach nearly in the
COMPENSATION. 191
state in -which they are cropped from the pasture or gathered
from the bundle. In the stomach they are softened by the
gastric juice, which in these animals is unusually copious.
Thus softened and rendered tender, they are returned a sec-
ond time to the action of the mouth, where the grinding teeth
complete at their leisure the trituration which is necessary,
but which was before left imperfect : I say the trituration
which is necessary, for it appears from experiments that the
gastric fluid of sheep, for example, has no effect in digesting
plants unless they have been previously masticated ; that it
only produces a slight maceration, nearly as common water
would do in a like degree of heat ; but that when once veg-
etables 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 natm-al consistency ; it
then goes on to dissolve them, not sparing even the toughest
parts, such as the nerves of the leaves. =*
I think it very probable that the gratification also of the
animal is renewed and prolonged by this faculty. Sheep,
deer, and oxen appear to be in a state of enjoyment while
they are chewing the cud ; it is then, perhaps, that they
best relish their food.
II. In birds, the comi^cnmtion is still more striking.
They have no teeth at all. What have they then to make
up for this severe want ? I speak of granivorous and herbiv-
orous birds, such as common fowls, turkeys, ducks, geese,
pigeons, etc. ; for it is concerning these alone that the ques-
tion need be asked. All these are furnished with a peculiar
and most powerful muscle, called the gizzard ; the inner
coat of which is fitted up with rough plaits, which, by a
strong friction against one another, break and grind the hard
aliment as effectually, and by the same mechanical action,
as a coffee-mill would do. It has been proved by the mf)s{
correct experiments, that the gastric juice of these birds will
not operate u])on the entire grain ; not even when ?oftened
■^ Spallanzar ?'. disc. 3, .sec. 140.
192 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
by water or macerated in the crop. Therefore, without a
grinding machine within its body, without the trituration of
the gizzard, a chicken would have starved upon a heap of
corn. Yet, why should a bill and a gizzard go together ?
"Why should a gizzard never be found where there are
teeth?
Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such. A gizzard
is not found in birds of prey ; theij- food requires not to be
ground down in a mill. The compensatory contriva:^ce
goes no further than the necessity. In both classes of birds,
however, the digestive organ within the body bears a strict
and mechanical relation to the external instruments for pro-
curing food. The soft membranous stomach accompanies a
hooked, notched beak ; short, muscular legs ; strong, sharp,
crooked talons : the cartilaginous stomach attends that con-
formation of bill and toes which restrains the bird to the
picking of seeds or the cropping of plants.
III. But to proceed with our compensations. A very
numerous and comprehensive tribe of terrestrial animals are
entirely without feet ; yet locomotive, and in a very consid-
erable degree swift in their motion. How is the icant oj
feet compensated ? It is done by the disposition of the mus-
cles and fibres of the trunk. In consequence of the just col-
location and by means of the joint action of longitudmal
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 movement of the whole body, in any direction to which
the will of the animal determines it. The meanest creature
is a collection of wonders. The play of the rings in an earih-
ivorm, as it craw^ls, the undulatory motion propagated along
the body, the beards or prickles with which the annuli are
armed, and which the animal can either shut up close to its
body, or let out to lay hold of the roughness of the surface
upon which it creeps, and the power arising from all these,
COMPENSATION. 103
of changing its place and position, aflbrd, when compared
with the provisions for motion in other animals, proofs ol
i\ew and appropriate mechanism. Suppose that we had
never seen an animal move upon the ground without feet,
and that the problem was — muscular action, that is, recipio-
cal contraction and relaxation being given — to describe how
such an animal might be constructed capable of voluntarily
changing place. Something, perhaps, like the organization
of reptiles might have been hit upon by the ingenuity of an
artist ; or might have been exhibited in an automaton, by
the combination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets ; but
tc the solution of the problem would not be denied, surely,
the praise of invention and of successful thought : least of all,
could it ever be questioned whether intelligence had beon
employed about it or not
194 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
CHAPTER XYII.
THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TO INAN
IMATE NATURE.
We have already considered relation, and under difierent
Tiews ; but it was the relation of parts to parts, 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 important relation to natures alto-
gether external to their own — to inanimate substances, and to
the specific qualities of these ; for example, they hold a sti'ict
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 the fins of fiish to water ? They are
instruments of motion, severally suited to the properties oi
the medium in which the motion is to be performed ; which
properties are diflerent. Was not this difference contempla-
ted when the instruments were differently constituted ?
II. The structure of the animal ear depends for its use,
not simply upon being surrounded by a fluid, but upon the
specific nature of that fluid. Every fluid would not serve :
its particles must repel one another ; it must form an elastic
medium : for it is by the successive pulses oisuch a medium
that the undulations excited by the surrounding body are
carried to the organ — that a communication is formed be-
tween the object and the sense ; which must be done be-
fore the internal 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 tlieir operation, to the
peculiar qualities of the fluid in which the animal is im-
mersed They, therefore, as well as the ear, are constituted
upon the supposition of such a fljiid, that is, of a fluid with
such particular properties, being always present. Ohauffv-
THlNaS ANIMATE AND INANIMATK. 195
the properties of the fluid, and the organ cannot act ; cliange
ihe organ and the properties of the fluid would be lost. The
structure, therefore, of our organs, and the properties of our
atmosphere, are made for one another. Nor does it alter the
relation, whether you allege the organ to be made for the
element — which seems the most natural way of considerin«|
it — or the element as prepared for the organ.
IV. But there is another fluid with which we have to
d( with properties of its own — with laws of acting, and of
bemg acted upon, totally different from those of air and wa-
ter : and that is light. To this new, this singular element —
to qualities perfectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote
from the qualities of any other substance with which we are
acquainted — an organ is adapted, an instrument is correctly
adjusted, not less peculiar among the parts of the body, not
less singular ni 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 speciflc amidst the substances
with which we converse. If this does not prove appropria-
tion, I desire to know what would prove it.
Yet the clement of light and the organ of vision, how-
ever related in their office and use, have no connection what-
ever in then* original. The action of rays of light upon tlie
surfaces of animals has no tendency to breed eyes in their
heads. The sun might shiiie 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.
V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful lyropor-
lioning of one thing to another The size of animals, the
liuman animal especially, when considered with respect to
other animals, or to the plants ^^■hich grow around him, is
such as a regard to his convenieney would have pointed out.
A giant or a pigmy could not have milked goats, reaped com,
nr mowed grass ; we may add, could not have rode a horse,
196 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
trained a vine, shorn a sheep, with the same bodily ease as
we do, if at all. A pigmy would have been lost among
rushes, or carried ofi^ by birds of prey.
It may be mentioned, likewise, that the model and the
materials of the human body being what they are, a mucli
greater bulk would have broken down by its own weight.
The persons of men who much exceed the ordinary stature
betray this tendency.
YI. Again — and which includes a vast variety of par-
ticulars, and those of the greatest importance — how close is
the suitableness of the earth and sea to their several inhabi-
tants, and of these inhabitants to the places of their appoint-
ed residence I
Take the earth as it is, and consider the correspondency
of the powers of its inhabitants with the properties and con-
dition of the soil which they tread. Take the inhabitants
as they are, and consider the substances which the earth
yields for their use. They can scratch its surface, and its
surface supplies all which they want. This is the length of
their faculties ; and such is the constitution of the globe, and
their own, that this is sufficient for all their occasions.
When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land to
water, we pass through a great change ; but an adequate
change accompanies us, of animal forms and functions, of ani-
mal capacities and wants, so that correspondency remains.
The earth in its nature is very different from the sea, and
the sea from the earth, but one accords with its inhabitants
,18 exactly as the other.
VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall men-
tion is that of sleep to 7iight, and it appears to me to be a
relation which was expressly intended. Two points are
manifest : first, that the animal frame requires sleep ; sec-
ondly, that night brings with it a silence and a cessation ol
activity, which allows of sleep being taken without interrup-
tion and without loss. Animal existence is made up of ac-
tion and slumber ; nature has provided a season for each
THINGS ANIMATE AND INANIMATE. 197
All animal which stood net in need of rest, would alwayp
live in daylight. An animal which, though made for ac-
tion and delighting in action, must have its strength repair-
ed by sleep, meets, by its constitution, the returns of day and
night. In the human species, for instance, were t]:e bustle,
the labor, the motion of life upheld by the constan. presence
of light, sleep could not be enjoyed without being disturbed
by noise, and without expense of that time which the eager-
ness of private interest would not contentedly resign. It is
happVj therefore, for this part of the creation — I r.san that
it is conformable to the frame and wants of their constitu-
tion, that nature, by the very disposition of her elements,
has commanded, as it were, and imposed upon them, at
moderate intervals, a general intermission of their toils, their
occupations, and pursuits.
But it is not for man, either solely or principally, that
night is made. Inferior but less perverted natures taste its
solace, and expect its return with greater exactness and ad-
vantage than he does. I have often observed, and never
observed but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the
regularity, with which the greatest part of the irrational
world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissitude:
how comfortably the birds of the air, for example, address
themselves to the repose of the evening ; with what alertness
they resume the activity of the day.
Nor does it disturb our argument to confess that certain
species of animals are in motion during the night, and at
rest in the day. With respect even to them, it is still true
that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an
external change corresponding with it. There is still the
relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose oi
itiur animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to theii
food or their sport.
If the relation of sleep to ?iight, and in some instances,
its converse, be real, Ave cannot reflect without amazement
upjn the extent to which it carries us. Day and night are
l9vS NA1UE.AL THEOLO(iY.
things close to us ; the change apphes immediately to oui
sensations : of all the phenomena of nature, it is the mo;-t
obvious and the most familiar to our experience ; but, in its
cause, it belongs to the great motions which are passing in
the heavens. While the earth glides round her axle, she
ministers to the alternate necessities of the animals dwelling
upon her surface, at the same time that she obeys the influ-
ence of those attractions which regulate the order of many
thousand worlds. The -relation, therefore, of sleep to night
is the relation of the inhabitants of the earth to the rotation
of their globe ; probably it is more : it is a relation to thb
system of which that globe is a part ; and still further, 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.
VIII. But if any one object to our representation, that
the succession of day and night, or the rotation of the earth
upon which it depends, is not resolvable into central attrac-
tion, we will refer him to that which certainly is — to the
change of the seasons. Now the constitution of animals
susceptible of torpor bears a relation to winter, similar to
that which sleep bears to night. Against not only the cold,
but the want of food, which the approach of winter induces,
the Preserver of the world has provided in many animals by
migration, in many others by torpor. As one example out
of a thousand, the bat, if it did not sleep through the win-
ter, must have starved, as the moths and flying insects
upon which it feeds disappear. But the transition from
Eummer to winter carries us into the very midst of physical
asJronomy; that is to say, into the midst of those laws
which govern the solar system at least, and probably all thfi
heavenly bodies.
INSTINCTS. 199
CHAPTER X\^II1
INSTINCTS.
The order may not be very obvious by which I place
instincti next to relations. But I consider them as a species
of relation. They contribute, along with the animal organ-
ization, to a joint effect, in which view they are related to
that organization. In many cases, they refer from one ani-
mal to another animal ; and when this is the case, become
strictly relations in a second point of view.
An INSTINCT is a propensity prior to experience and inde-
pendent of instruction. We contend that it is by insti7ict
that the sexes of animals seek each other ; that animals
cherish their offspring ; that the young quadruped is directed
to the teat of its dam ; that birds build their nests and brood
with so much patience upon their eggs ; that insects which
do not sit upon their eggs, deposit them in those particular
situations in which the young when hatched find their ap-
propriate food ; that it is instinct which carries the salmon,
and some other fish, out of the sea into rivers, for the pur-
pose of shedding their spav/n in fresh water,
\Ye may select out of this catalogue the incubation of
eggs. I entertain no doubt but that a couple of sparrows
hatched in an oven, and kept separate from the rest of their
species, would proceed as other sparrows do in every office
which related to the production 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 in-
duce 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 might feel in a partic-
ular part of the body, from the growth and solidity of the
Qgg within her, could not possibly inform her that she was
•^0 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
about to produce something which, when produced, was to
be preserved and taken care of. Prior to experience, there
was nothing to lead to this inference, or to this suspicion.
The analogy was all against it ; for, in every other instance,
what issued from the body was cast out and rejected.
But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be produced into
day ; how should birds know that their eggs contain their
young ? There is nothing either in the aspect or in the in-
ternal composition 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 dabbhng
in the slime, much rather than a dry, winged, feathered crea-
ture, a compound of parts and properties impossible to be
used in a state of confinement in the egg, and bearing no
conceivable relation, either in quality or material, to nny
thing observed in it. From the white of an egg, would any
one look for the feather of a goldfinch ; or expect from a
simple uniform mucilage the most complicated of all ma-
chines, the most diversified of all collections of substances ?
lYor would the process of incubation, for some time at least,
lead us to suspect the event. Who that saw red streaks
shooting in the fine membrane which divides the white from
the yolk, would suppose that these were about to become
bones and Hmbs? Who that espied two discolored points
first making their appearance in the cicatrix, would have
had the courage to predict that these points were to grow
into the heart and head of a bird ? It is difficult to strip
the mind of its experience. It is difficult to resuscitate sur
INSTINCTS. 201
prise when familiarity has once laid the sentiment asleep.
But could we forget all that we know, and which our spar-
rows never knew, about oviparous generation — could we
divest ourselves of every information but what we derived
from reasoning upon the appearances or quality discovered
in the. objects presented to us, I am convinced that harle-
quin coming out of an egg upon the stage is not more aston-
ishing to a child, than the hatching of a chicken both would
be, and ought to be, to a philosopher.
But admit the sparrow by some means to know that
within that egg was concealed the principle of a future bird ;
from wdiat chemist was she to learn that icarmth was nec-
essary to bring it to maturity, or that the degree of warmth
imparted by the temperature of her own body w'as the de-
gree required ?
To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts in tliis
process from a sagacity and reason of her ow^i, is to suppose
her to arrive at conclusions which there are no premises to
justify. If our sparrow, sitting upon her eggs, expect young
sparrow^s to come out of them, she forms, I will venture to
say, a wdld and extravagant expectation, in opp ition to
present appearances and to probability. She must have
penetrated into the order of nature further than any facul
ties of ours will carry us ; and it has been w^ell observed
that this deep sagacity, if it be sagacity, subsists in conjunc
tion with grea^ stupidity, even in relation to the same sub-
ject. "A ch .mical operation," says Addison, " could not be
followed wdilj greater art or diligence than is seen in hatch
ing a chickfi' , yet is the process carried on without the
least glimm' ring of thought or common-sense. The hen
will mistake a piece of chalk for an egg — is insensible o{
the increaiif or diminution of their number — does not dis-
tingaish between her own and those of another species — is
fri/^htciicd when her supposititious breed of ducklings take
ibe watoL'."
Fnt il will be said, that what reason could not do for the
9*
202 NATUE-AL THEOLOGY.
bird, observation., or instruction, or tradition might. Now
if' it be true tliat a couple of sparrows, brought up from the
first in a state of separation from all other bh'ds, would build
their nest, and brood upon their eggs, then there is an end
of this solution. What can be the traditionary knowledge
of a chicken hatched in an oven ?
Of young birds taken in their nests, a few species breed
when kept in cag3s ; 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 instmct, without
having recourse to experiments upon birds hatched by artifi-
cial 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 history of her gestation, her timely preparation of a
nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long incubation, and of
the joyful eruption at last of her expected ofispring ; 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 e^g, had attentively observed the con-
formation of the nest in which she was rmrtured, and had
treasured up her remarks for future imitation ; which is not
only extremely improbable — for who that sees a brood o/
callow 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 eg^.'' This she could not gain from
observation in her infancy.
It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon eggs which
she has laid without any communication with the male,
and which are therefore necessarily 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
INSTINCTS. 203
alluded to taking place chiefly, if not solely, among domesti-
cated fowls, in which nature is forced out of her course.
There is another case of oviparous economy, which i«
still less likely to be the eflcct of education than it is even in
birds, namely, that of Q7ioths and butterflies, which deposit
their eggs in the precise substance, that of a cabbage for ex
ample, from which, not the butterfly herself, but the caterpil-
lar which is to issue from her egg, draws its appropriate fcod.
The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage — cabbage is no food
for her ; yet in the cabbage, not by chance, but studiously and
electively, she lays her eggs. There are, among many other
kinds, the willow-caterpillar 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 butterfly 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 experi-
ence, if it ever were such, could be transmitted from one gen-
eration to another. There is no opportunity either for instruc-
tion or imitation. The parent race is gone before the new
brood is hatched. And if it be original reasoning in the but-
terfly, it is profound reasoning indeed. She must remember
her caterpillar state, its tastes and habits, of which memory
she shows no signs whatever. She must conclude from anal-
ogy, for here her recollection cannot serve her, that the little
round body which drops from her abdomen will at a future
period produce a living creature, not like herself, but like the
caterpillar which she remembers herself once to have been.
Under the influence of these reflections, she goes about to
make provision for an order of things which she concludes
will some time or other take place. And it is to be observed,
that not a few out of many, but that all butterflies argue
thus ; all draw this conclusion ; all act upon it.
But suppose the address, and the selection, and the plan,
wliich we perceive in the preparations which many irra^
tional animals make for their young, to be traced to some
204 NATURAL THEOLOay.
probable origin, still there is left to be accounted for that
which is the source and foundation of these phenomena, that
which sets the whole at work, the aropyrj, 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 de-
cency, a care of reputation, a compliance with public man-
ners, with public laws, or with rules of life built upon a long
experience of their utility. And all attempts to account for
the parental affection from association, I think, fail. With
what is it 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 w^hich
depends upon analogy, is all against it. Every thing else
which proceeds from the body is cast away and rejected.
In birds, is it the egg which the hen loves ; or is it the ex
pectation which she cherishes of a future progeny, that keeps
her upon her nest ? What cause has she to expect delight
from her progeny ? Can any rational answer be given to
the question, why, prior to experience, the brooding hen
should look for 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 anj
other bird. She does not leave her egg in every hole.
The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to oppose
her progress up the stream of fresh rivers. And what does
she do there ? She sheds a spawn, which she immediately
quits in order to return to the sea ; and this issue of her body
she never afterwards recognizes in any shape whatever.
Where shall we find a motive for her efforts and her 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-
bide. When she reaches the coast, she casts her spawn into
the open sea, and sets out upon her return home.
INSTINCTS. 205
Moths and butterflies, as has ah'eady been observed, seel-
out for their eggs those precise situations and substances in
which the oflspring caterpillar will find its appropriate food.
That dear caterpillar the parent butterfly must never see.
There are no experiments 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 judgment in
selecting and securing a maintenance for her young, but for
the impulse upon which she acts. What should induce her
to exert any art, or judgment, or choice, about the matter ?
The undisclosed grub, the animal which she is destined not
to know, can hardly be the object of a particular afiection
if we deny the influence of instinct. There is nothing there-
fore left to her, but that of which her nature seems incapa-
ble, an abstract anxiety for the general preservation of th(^
species — a kind of patriotism — a solicitude lest the butterfly
race should cease from the creation.
Lastly, the principle of association will not explain tht
discontinuance of the afiection when the young animal is
grown up. Association operating in its usual way, would
rather produce a contrary effect. The object would become
more necessary by habits of society ; whereas birds and
beasts, after a certain time, banish their oflspring, disown
their acquaintance, seem to have even no knowledge of the
objects which so lately engrossed the attention of their minds,
and occupied the industry and labor of their bodies. This
change, in different animals, takes place at diflerent distan-
ces of time from the birth ; but the time always corresponds
with the ability of the young animal to maintain itself, never
anticipates it. In the sparrow tribe, when it is perceived
that the young broud can fly and shift for themselves, th( n
the parents forsake them for ever ; and though they continue
to live together, pay them no more attention than they do to
other birds in the same flock. ^ I believe the same thing is
true of all gregarious quadrupeds.
* Goldsmith's Natural History, vol. iv., p. 244.
206 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
In this part of the case, the variety of resources, expedi'
ents, and materials which animals of the same species are
said to have recourse to under different circumstances, and
when differently supplied, makes nothing against the doc-
trine of instincts. The thing which we want to account for
is the propensity. The propensity being there, it is probable
iiiough 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 consideration
rather than of instinct ; but still the propensity is instinctive.
For instance, suppose 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 cavities the eggs lie concealed from the eye, and iu
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 on the twigs of tall trees, thereby
placing them out of the resich. o[ mo?ike?js and snakes; that
is, that in each situation she prepares against the danger
which she has most occasion to apprehend. Suppose, I say,
this to be true, and to be alleged, on the part of the bird
that builds these nests, as evidence of a reasoning and dis-
tinguishing precaution; still the question returns, whence
the propensity to build at all ?
Nor does parental afiection accompany generation by any
universal law of animal organization, if such a thing were
intelligible. Some animals cherish their progeny with the
most ardent fondness and the most assiduous attention ; others
entirely neglect them ; and this distinction always meets the
constitution of the young animal with respect to its wants
and capacities. In many, the parental care extends to the
young animal ; in others, as in all oviparous fish, it is con-
fined to the Qg^, and even as to that, to the disposal of it in
its proper element. Also, as there is generation Avithout
parental affection, so is there parental instinct, or what ex-
actly resembles it, without generation. In the bee trib(!, the
INSTINCTS. 207
grub is nurtureJ neither by the father nor the mother, but by
the neutral bee. Probably the case is the same with ants.
I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves 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 animal's body, and of pleasure or
pain experienced at the time. Thus the incubation of eggs
is accounted for by the pleasure which the bird is supposed
to receive from the pressure of the smooth convex surface o(
the shells against the abdomen, or by the relief which the
mild temperature of the egg may aflbrd to the heat of the
lower part of the body, which is observed at this time to be
increased beyond its usual state. This present gratification
is the only motive with the hen for sitting upon her nest ;
the hatching of the chickens is, with respect to her, an acci-
dental consequence. The affection of viviparous animals for
their young is in like manner solved by the relief, and per-
haps the pleasure, which they perceive from giving suck.
The young animal's seeking, in so many instances, the teat
of its dam, is explained from its sense of smell, which is
attracted by the odor of milk. The salmon's urging its w^ay
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 said,
First, that of the cases which require solution, 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 circumstances of the case.
The attention of the cow to its calf, and of the ewe to its
Limb, appear to be prior to their sucking. The attraction
of the calf or lamb to the teat of the dam, is not explained by
lUinply referring it to the sense of smell. "VYhat made the scent
of milk so agreeable to the lamb that it should follow it up
with its nose, or seek with its mouth the place from wliich
it proceeded ? No observation, no experience, no argument
aOS NATURAL THEOLOaY.
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
Siuck, or to seek out any such food. 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 lessen the force of the argument for intention and
design. The doctrine of instinct is that of appetencies,
superadded to the constitution of an animal, for the efiectu-
ating of a purpose beneficial to the species. The above-
stated solution would derive these appetencies from organi-
zation ; but then this organization is not less specifically,
not less precisely, and therefore not less evidently adapted
to the same ends, than the appetencies themselves would be
upon the old hypothesis. In this way of considering the
subject, sensation supplies 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 brooJ
upon her eggs by the enjoyment or relief which, in the heat
ed state of her abdomen, she experiences from the pressun
of round sm.ooth surfaces, or from the application of a tem
perate warmth. Ho^v comes this extraordinary heat or
itching, or call it what you will, which you suppose to be
the cause of the bird's inclination, to be felt just at the time
when the inclination itself is wanted ; when it talHes so
exactly with the mternal constitution of the egg, and with
the help which that constitution requires in order to bring
it to maturity ? In my opinion, this solution, if it be accept-
ed 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 come
INSTINCTS. 209
together, they do not meet to confer upon ih^ expediency ol
perpetuating their species. As an abstract proposition, they
care not the vahie of a barley-corn whether the species bo
perpetuated or not : they follow their sensations, and all
those consequences ensue which the wisest counsels could
have dictated, which the most solicitous care of futurity,
which the most anxious concern for the sparrow- world could
have produced. But how do these consequences ensue ?
riie sensations, and the constitution upon which they de-
pend, are as manifestly directed to the purpose which we
see fulfilled by them ; and the train of intermediate effects
as manifestly laid and planned with a view to that purpose ;
tliat is to say, design is as completely evinced by the phe-
nomena, as it would be even if we suppose the operations
to begin or to be carried on from what some will allow to
be alone properly called instincts, that is, from desires direct-
ed to a future end, and having no accomplishment or grati-
fication distinct 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 actions of animals which we refer
to instinct are not gone about with any view to their conse-
quences, 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
'prospectio7i, which must be somewhere, is not in the ani-
mal, but in the Creator?
In treating of the parental aHection in brutes, our busi-
ness lies rather with the origin of the principle, than with
the effects and expressions of it. Writers recount these with
pleasure and admiration. The conduct of many kinds ol
animals towards their young has escaped no observer, no
iiistorian of nature. " How will they caress them," says
Derham, " with their affectionate notes ; lull and quiet them
with their tender parental voice ; put food into their mouths ;
cherish and keep them warm ; teach them to pick, and eat,
and gather food for themselves ; and, in a word, perform the
2ie NATURAL THEOLOay.
part of so many nurses, deputed by the Sovereign Lord and
Preserver of the world to help such young and shiftless crea-
tures !" Neither ought it, under this head, to be forgotten,
how much the instinct costs the animal which feels it ; how
much a bird, for example, gives up by sitting upon her nest ;
how repugnant it is to her organization, her habits, and he?
pleasures. An animal, formed for liberty, submits to con-
finement in the very season when every thing invites her
abroad : what is more, an animal delighting in motion,
made for motion, all whose motions are so easy, and so free,
hardly a moment, at other times, at rest, is, for many hours
of many days together, fixed to her nest as close as if her
limbs were tied down by pins and wires. For my part, 1
never see a bird in that situation but I recognize an invisi-
ble hand detaining the contented 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 hberty is not the whole of what the
procreant bird suffers. Harvey tells us that he has often
found the female wasted to skin and bone by sitting upon
her eggs.
CO
One observation more, and I will dismiss the subject.
The 2J<^in'r^g of birds, and the non-2')airi7ig of beasts, forms
a distinction between the two classes, which shows that the
conjugal instinct is modified with a reference to utility found-
ed on the condition of the offspring. In quadrupeds, the
young animal draws its nutriment from the body of the dam.
The male parent neither does, nor can contribute any part
to its sustentation. In the winged race, the young bird is
supplied by an importation of food, to procure and bring
home which, in a sufficient quantity for the demand of a
numerous brood, requires the industry of both parents. In
this difference, we see a reason for the vagrant instinct of
the quadruped, and for the faithful love of the feathered
mate
INSECTS. 211
CHAPTER XIX.
OF INSECTS.
"We arc not writing a system of natural history , tln/re
i'.iw we have not attended to the classes into which the sub'
jects of that science are distributed. What we had to ob-
serve concerning different species of animals, iell easily, lor
the most part, within the divisions which the course of our
argument led us to adopt. There remain, however, some
remarks upon the insect tribe which could not properly be
introduced under any of these heads ; and which therefore
■H/e have collected into a chapter by themselves.
The structure, and the use of the parts of insects, are
less understood than that of quadrupeds and birds, not only
by reason of their minuteness, or the minuteness of their
parts — for that minuteness we can, in some measure, follow
with glasses — ^but also by reason of the remoteness of their
manners and modes of life from those of larger animals.
For instance, insects, under all their varieties of form, are
endowed Avith antennce, which is the name given to those
long feelers that rise from each side of the head : but to
what common use or want of the insect kind a provision so
universal is subservient, has not yet been ascertained ; and
it has not been ascertained, because it admits not of a clear,
or very probable comparison with any organs Avhich we
possess ourselves, or with the organs of animals which re-
semble ourselves in their functions and faculties, or A'idth
which we are better acquainted than we arc with insects.
Wc 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. Nevertheless,
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 of our argument.
I. The elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of scaraboeus
212 NATURAL IHEOLOaY.
or beetle, furnish an example of this kind. The true wing
of the animal is a light, transparent membrane, finer than
the finest gauze, and not unlike it. It is also, when expand-
ed, in proportion to the size of the animal, very large. In
order to protect this delicate structure, and perhaps, also, to
•preserve it in a due state of suppleness and humidity, a
strong, hard case is given to it in the shape of the horny
wing which we call the elytron. When the animal is at
rest, the gauze wings lie folded up under this impenetrable
shield. When the beetle prepares for flying, he raises the
integument, and spreads out his thin membrane to the air.*
And it cannot be observed without admiration, what a tissue
of cordage, that is, of muscular tendons, must run in various
and complicated, but determinate directions, along this fine
surface, in order to enable the animal either to gather it up
into a certain precise form, whenever it desires to place its
wings under the shelter v\4iich nature has given to them,
or to expand again their folds when wanted for action
In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body; in oth
ers, half; in others, only a small part of it ; but in all, they
completely hide and cover the true wings. Also,
Many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes in the
earth, environed by hard, rough substances, and have fre-
quently to squeeze their way through narrow passages ; in
which situation, wings so tender, and so large, could scarce-
ly have escaped injury, without both a firm covering to de-
fend them, and the capacity of collecting themselves up un-
der its protection.
11. Another contrivance, equally mechanical and equally
clear, is the aivl, or borer, fixed at the tails of various species
of files ; and with which they pierce, in some cases, plants ;
in others, wood ; in others, 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
1 need not add, that having pierced tho substance, they do-
* Plate V.. Ftg. 6. a, a, the elytra; t, 6, the true winsfs.
INSECTS. 213
posit their eggs in the hole. The descriptions whiuh natural-
ists give of this organ are such as the following : It is a sharp-
pointed instrument, which, in its niactivc state, lies concealed
in the extremity of the abdomen, and which the animal
draws out at pleasure, for the purpose of making a puncture
in the leaves, stem, or bark of the particular plant which ia
suited to the nourishment of its young. In a sheath, which
divides and opens whenever the organ is used, there is in-
closed a compact, solid, dentated stem, along which runs a
guttej' or gi'oovc, by which groove, after the penetration is
effected, the e^^, assisted in some cases by a peristaltic mo-
tion, passes to its destined lodgement. In the OBstrus or
gad-fly, the wimble draivs 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 neces-
sary to display the mechanism, than to relate the fact ?
III. The stings of insects, though for a different purpose,
are, in their structure, not unlike the piercer. The sharp-
ness to which the point in all of them is wrought ; the temper
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 not a little to be admired.
The sting of a hee 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 chemistry and mechanism, such as, if it be not
a proof of contrivance, nothing is. First, as to the chemis-
try, how highly concentrated m.ust be the venom, which, in
so small a quantity, can produce such powerful effects I And
ni 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 respect to the mechanism, the stinj^
214 NATURAL THEOLOG r.
is not a simple, but a compound instrument. The visibk
Bting,=^ though drawn to a point exquisitely sharp, is in strict
ness only a sheath, for, near to the extremity, may be per-
ceived by the microscope two minute orifices, from which
orifices, in- the act of stinging, and, as it should seem, after
the point of the main sting has buried itself in the flesh, are
launched out two subtile rays, which may be called the true
or proper stings, as being those through which the poison is
infused into the puncture already made by the exterior sting.
I have said that chemistry and mechanism are here united ,
by which observation I meant, that all this machinery would
have been useless, telwn imbelle, if a supply of poison, intense
in proportion to the smallness of the drop, had not been fur-
nished to it by the chemical elaboration which was carried
on in the insect's body ; aud that, on the other hand, the poi-
son, the result of this process, could not have attained its effect,
or reached its enemy, if, when it was collected at the extrem-
ity of the abdomen, it had not found there a machinery fitted
to conduct it to the situations in which it was to operate —
namely, an awl to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the
fluid. Yet these attributes, though combined in their action,
are independent in their origin. The venom does not breed
the sting; nor does the sting concoct the venom.
IV. TYiQ proboscis, with which many insects are endowed,
comes next in order to be considered. It is a tube attached
to the head of the animal. In the bee, it is composed of two
pieces, connected by a joint ; for, if it were constantly extend-
ed, it Avould 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 office of the mouth, the insect having no
other ; and how much better adapted it is than a month
* Plate v., Fig. 7. A sting magnified; a. a, muscles that projoot
it; 6, the tube; c, the sheath-, a, the true sting; e, the poison-basf.
INSECTS. 215
would be, for the colle?tmg of the proper nou rishment oi the
animal, is sufficiently evident. The food of the bee is the
nectar of flowers ; a drop of syrup, lodged deep in the bottom
of the corollsB, in the recesses of the petals, or down the neck
of a monopetalous glove. Into these cells the bee thrusts its
long narrow pump, through the cavity of which it sucks up
this precious fluid, inaccessible to every other approach. It
is observable also, that the plant is not the worse for wh.it
the bee does to it. The harmless plunderer rifles the sweets,
but leaves the flower uninjured. The ringlets of which the
proboscis of the bee is ccmposed, the muscles by which it is
extended and contracted, form so many microscopical won-
ders. 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 suitableness of the structure to the
use, of the means to the end, and especially the wisdom by
which nature has departed from its most general analogy —
for animals being furnished Avith 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 contains the food,
and then 02Je?7S within the luouncl, to allow the inclosed
tube, through which the juice is extracted, to perform its
office. Can any mechanism be plainer than tliis is, or sur-
pass this ?
V. The r/icta7?ior]}hosis 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 cas-e
we see a Avhite, smooth, soft worm tiu'ned into a black, hard,
erustaceous beetle with gauze wings. These, as I said, are
.istonishing processes, and must require, as it should seem, a
IMG NATURAL THEOLOGY.
proportionably artificial apparatus. The hypothesis which
appears to me most probable is, that in the grub there exist
at the same time three animals, one within another, all
nourished by the same digestion, and by a communicating
circulation, but in difierent stages of maturity. The latest
discoveries made by naturalists seem to favor this supposi-
tion. The insect already equipped with wings, is descrieJ
under the membranes both of the worm and nymph. In
some species, the proboscis, the antenna), the limbs, and wings
of the fly, have been observed to be folded up within the
body of the caterpillar, 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 owqi proper charac-
ter, serves as an integument to the other two, being the far-
thest advanced, dies, as we suppc:-' and drops ofT first. The
second, the pupa or chrysalis, then ofTer^: itself to observation.
This also, in its turn, dies ; its dead and brittle husk falls to
pieces, and makes way for the appearance of the fly or moth.
Now if this be the case, or indeed AA'hatever explication be
adopted, we have a prospective contrivance of the most curi-
ous kind ; we have organizations three deep, yet a vascular
system W'hich supplies nutrition, growth, and life, to all of
them together.
VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature keeps
lier butterflies, moths, and caterpillars locked up during the
winter in their egg-state ; and w^e have to admire the vari-
ous devices to which, if we may so speak, the same nature
has resorted for the security of the egg. Many insects in-
close their eggs in a silken web ; others cover them with a
coat of hair torn from their own bodies ; some glue them
together, and others, like the moth of the silk-worm, glue
them to the leaves upon which they are deposited, that they
may not be shaken ofi^ by the wind, or washed away by
rain. Some, again, make incisions into leaves, and hide an
Qgg in each incision ; while some envelope their eggs with
a soft substance, which forms the first aliment of the young
INSECTS. 217
THimal ; and some, again, make a hole in tlje earth, and
having stored it with a quantity of proper food, deposit their
eggs in it. In all which we are to observe, that the expe-
dient depends not so much upon the address of the animal,
as upon the physical resources of his constitution.
The art also with which the young insect is coiled up
M the Q^^ presents, where it can be examined, a subject of
great curiosity. The insect, furnished with all the mem-
bers 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 colloca-
tion of the parts would be more various than it is. In the
same species, I believe, it is always the same.
These observations belong to the whole insect tribe, or to
a great part of them. Other observations are limited to fewer
species, but not perhaps less important or satisfactory,
I. The organization in the abdomen of the silk-worrii
or sjndcr, whereby these insects form their thread, is as
incontestably mechanical as a wire-drawer's mill. In the
body of the silk-worm are two bags, remarkable for their
form, position, and use. They wind round the intestine ;
when drawn out they are ten inches in length, though the
animal itself be only two. Within these bags is collected a
glue ; and communicating wdth 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 aper-
tures, forms hairs of almost imperceptible fineness ; and these
hairs, when joined, compose the silk which we wind cli
h-om the cone in which the silk- worm has wrapped itscK
up : in the spider, the web is formed from this thread, lu
both cases, the extremity of the thread, by means of its
adhesive quality, is first attached by the animal to some
internal hold; and the end being now fkstened to a point,
Nat. Theol. 10
218 NATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
the insect, by; turning round its body, or by receding froia
that point, driws out the thread through the holes above
described, by an operation, as has 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 re-
spect there is a difference. The wire is the metal unal-
tered, except in figure. In the animal process, the nature of
ihe substance is somewhat changed as well as the form ;
for as it exists wdthin 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 Avhich the glue is collected, and of the external holes
communicating with these bags ; and the action of the ma-
chine is seen in the forming of a thread, as wire is formed,
by forcing the material already prepared through holes oi
proper dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile for
our discernment, except as we perceive it by the produce.
But one thing answers to another — the secretory glands to
the quality and consistence required in the secreted sub-
stance, the bag to its reception. The outlets and orifices
are constructed not merely for relieving 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. I shall in this
place confine myself to one, and that is the relation which
obtains between the wax and the honey. No person who
has inspected a beehive can forbear remarking how com-
modiously the honey is bestowed in the comb, and among
other advantages, how efiectually the fermentation of the
honey is prevented by distributing it into small cells. The
INSECTS. 219
fact is, that when the honey is separated from the comb and
pvit into jars, it runs into fermentation with a much less
degree of heat than what takes place in a hive. This may
be rc'jkoned a nicety ; but independently of any nicety in
thi matter, I would ask, what could the bee do with the
iioney if it had not the wax ; how, at least, could it store
it up for winter ? The wax, therefore, answers a purpose
with respect to the honey, and the honey constitutes that
purpose with respect to the wax. This is the relation be-
tween them. But the two substances, though together of
the greatest use, and without each other of little, come from
a different origin. The bee finds the honey, but makes the
wax. The honey is lodged in the nectaria of flowers, and
probably undergoes little alteration — is merely collected ;
whereas the wax is a ductile, tenacious paste, made out of a
dry powder, not simply by kneading it with a liquid, but by
a digestive process in the body of the bee. What account
can be rendered of facts so circumstanced, but that the ani-
mal being intended to feed upon honey, was by a peculiar
external configuration enabled to procure it ? That, more-
over, wanting the honey when it could not be procured at
all, it was farther endued wdth the no less necessary faculty
of constructing repositories for its preservation ? Whic-h
faculty, it is evident, must depend primarily upon the capac-
ity of providing suitable materials. Two distinct functions
go to make up the ability. First, the power in the bee,
with respect to wax, of loading the farina of flowers upon
its thighs. Microscopic observers speak of the spoon-shaped
appendages with which the thighs of bees are beset for this
very purpose ; but inasmuch as the art and wdll of the bee
may be supposed to be concerned in this operation, there is,
•secondly, that which does 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 cre-
ative inteUijrence along with it.
220 NATURAL THEOLOi>Y.
The sting also of the bee has this relation to the honey,
that it is necessary for the protection of a treasure which
invites so many robbers.
III. Our business is with mechanism. In the pannrpa
tribe of insects, there is a forceps in the tail of the male
insect, with which he catches and holds the female. Are a
pair of pincers more mechanical than this provision in its
structure ; or is any structure more clear and certain in its
design ?
] \'. bt. Pierre tells us,^ that in a fly with six feet — I do
not remember that he describes the species — the pair next
the head and the pair next the tail have brushes at their
extremities, with which the fly dresses, as there may be
occasion, the anterior or the posterior part of its body ; but
that the middle pair have no such brushes, the situation of
these legs not admitting of the brushes, if they were there,
being converted to the same use. This is a very exact
mechanical distinction.
V. If the reader, looking to our distributions of science,
wish to contemplate the chemistry as well as the mechan-
ism of nature, the insect creation will aflbrd him an exam-
ple. I refer to the light in the tail of a glowicorm. 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 singu-
larity seems to be the difference which subsists between the
male and the female, which difference is greater than what
we find in any other species of animal whatever. The glow-
worm is a female cateiyillar, the male of which is a jiy,
lively, comparatively small, dissimilar to the female in ap-
pearance, probably also as distinguished from her in habits
pursuits, and manners, as he is unlike in form and external
* Vol. I., p. 342.
INSECTS. 221
constitution. Here then is the diversity of tlie case. The
caterpillar cannot meet her companion hi the air. The
winged rover disdains the ground. They might never there-
fore be brought together, did not this radiant torch direct
<,he volatile mate to his sedentary female.
In this example we also see the resources of art antici-
pated. One grand operation of chemistry is the making
of phosphorus ; and it was thought an ingenious device to
make phosphoric matches supply the place of lighted tapers.
Now this very thing is done in the body of the glowworm.
The phosphorus is not only made, but kmdled, and caused
to emit a steady and genial beam, for the purpose Avhich is
here stated, and which I believe to be the true one.
VI. Nor is the last the only instance that entomology
affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our projects, turn
out to be imitations of nature. Some years ago a plan was
suggested of producing propulsion by reaction in this way :
by the force of a steam-engine, a stream of v/ater was to be
shot out of the stern of a boat, the impulse of which stream
upon the water in the river was to push the boat itself foj--
ward ; it is in truth the principle by which skyrockets
ascend in the air. Of the use or practicability of the plan
I am not speaking ; nor is it my concern to praise its inge-
nuity ; but it is certainly a contrivance. Now, if natural-
ists 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 dragonfly, according to Adams,
swims by ejecting water from its tail — ^is driven forward by
the reaction of water in the pool upon the current issuing
in a direction backward from its body.
VII. Again, Europe has lately been surprised by the
elevation of bodies in the air by means of a balloon. The
discovery consisted in finding out a manageable substance,
which was, bulk for bulk, lighter than air ; and the appli-
cation of the discovery was to make a body composed of this
substance bear up, along with its own weight, some heavier
222 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
body wliicli 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 S'pider. We frequently see this
spider's thread floating in the air, and extended from hedge
to hedge, across a road or brook of four or five yards width.
The animal which forms the thread has no wings where
with to fly from one extremity to the other of this line, nor
muscles to enable it to spring or dart to so great a distance ;
yet its Creator has laid for it a path in the atmosphere,
and after this manner. Though the animal itself be heavier
than air, the thread which it spins from its bowels is spe-
cifically 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 provis-
ion ; and to a contemplative eye it is a gratifying spectacle
to see this insect M^affced 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 ibr-
bidden to its nature.
I 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
water, which are covered by shells.
I. The shells of syiaiU are a wonderful, a mechanical,
and, if one might so speak concerning the works of nature,
an original contrivance. Other animals have their proper
retreats, their hybernacula also, or winter-quarters, but tho
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 ^gg 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
INSECTS. 223
the aniina'i, whereby it avails itself of its gift, and of the con-
stitution of its glands — to say nothing of the work being
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 w^iich design, though it might build the house,
it 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 the snail, with its pillar and
convolution, is a very artificial fabric ; while a snail, as it
should seem, is the most numb and unprovided of all arti-
ficers. In the midst of variety, there is likewise a regularity
which could hardly be expected. In the same species of
snail, the number of turns is usually, if not always, the same.
The sealing up of the mouth of the shell by the snail, is also
well calculated for its warmth and security ; but the cerate
is not of the same substance with the shell.
II. Much of what has been observed of snails belongs to
shell-Jish and their sJiells, particularly to those of the uni-
valve kind, with the addition of two remarks, one of which
is upon the great strength and hardness of most of these
shells. I do not know whether, the weight being giveii, art
can produce so strong a case as are some of these shells ;
which defensive strength suits well with the life of an ani-
mal 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 excre-
tion, not only of congealing, but of congealing — or, as a builder
would call it, setting — in water, and into a cretaceous sub-
stance, firm and hard. This property is much more extra-
ordinary, and, chemically speakmg, more specific, than that
of hardening in the air, which may be reckoned a kind c
exsiccation, like the drying of clay into bricks.
Ill In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles, miscius,
oysters, etc., what contrivance can be so simple or so clear
AS the insertion, at the back, of a tough tendinous substance.
224 NATUJIAL THEOLOaY.
that becomes at once the ligament which binds the two
shells together, and the hijige upon which they open and
shut?
IV. The shell of a lobster's tail, in its articulations and
overlappings, represents the jointed part of a coat of mail ;
or rather, which I believe to be the truth, a coat of mail is
an imitation of a lobster's shell. The same end is to be
answered by both ; the same properties, therefore, are re-
quired in both, namely, hardness and flexibility — a covering
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 devise any thing bettei
than what nature presents to his observation. Is not this
therefore mechanism, which the mechanic, having a similar
purpose in view, adopts ? Is the structure of a coat of mail
to be referred to art ? Is the same structure of the lobster,
conducing to the same use, to be referred to any thing less
than art?
Some who may acknowledge the imitation, and assent to
the inference which we draw from it in the instance before
us, may be disposed, possibly, to ask, why such imitations
are not more frequent than they are, if it be true, as we
allege, that the same principle of intelligence, design, and
mechanical contrivance was exerted in the formation of nat-
ural bodies as we employ in the making of the various instru-
ments by which our purposes are served ? The answers to
this question, are, first, that it seldom happens that precisely
the same purpose, and no other, is pursued in any works
which we compare of nature and of art ; secondly, that it
still more seldom happens that we ca7i imitate nature, if we
would. Our materials and our workmanship are equally
deficient. Springs and wires, and cork and leather, produce
a poor substitute for an arm or a hand. In the example
which we have selected, I mean a lobster's shell compared
with a coat of mail, these difficulties stand less in the way
than m almost any other that qan be assigned ; and the con
INSECTS. 225
sequence is^ as we have seen, that art gladly borrows from
nature her contrivance, and imitates it closely.
But to return to insects. I think it is in this class of
animals, above all others, especially when we take in the
multitude of species which the microscope discovers, that we
are struck with what Cicero has called " the insatiable vari-
ety of nature." There are said by St. Pierre to be six thou-
sand species of flies ; seven hundred and sixty butterflies ;
each different from all the rest. The same writer tells us,
from his own observation, that thirty-seven species of winged
insects, with distinctions well expressed, visited a single
strawberry-plant in the course of three weeks.* E.ay ob-
served, within the compass of a mile or two of his own house,
two hundred kinds of butterflies, nocturnal and diurnal. He
likewise asserts, but I think without any grounds of exact
computation, that the number of species of insects, reckoning
all sorts of them, may not be short of ten thousand.! 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 arc sometimes led to take
notice of the diflerent methods, or rather of the studiously
diversified methods, by which one and the same purpose is
attained. In the article of breathing, for example, which
was to be provided for in some way or other, besides the ordi-
nary varieties of lungs, gills, and breathing-holes — for insects
in general respire, not by the mouth, but through holes in
the sides — the nymphee of gnats have an apparatus to raise
their hacks to the top of the water, and so take breath. The
hydrocanthari do the like 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
ttift, when expanded upon the surface, the insect both sup-
ports itself in the water, and draws in the air which is neces-
* Vol. ], p. 3. t Wisdom of God, p. 23. t Dcrliam. p. 7.
10*
226 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
sary. In the article of natural clothing, we have the skins
of animals invested with scales, hair, feathers, mucus, froth,
or itself turned into a shell or cru-st. In the no less neces-
sary article of offence and defence, we have teeth, talons,
beaks, horns, stings, prickles, with — the most singular expe-
dient 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 foBtor, or of blackening
the water through which they are pursued. The considera
tion of these appearances might induce us to believe that
variety itself, distinct from eveiy other reason, was a motive
in the mind of the Creator, or with the agents of his will.
To this great variety in organized life the Deity has
given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a corresponding vari-
ety of animal apj^etitcs. 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 sup-
pUed and accommodated than what at present live conven-
iently together, and find a plentiful subsistence. What one
nature rejects, another delights in. Food which is nauseous
to one tribe of animals becomes, by that very property Avhich
makes it nauseous, an alluring dainty to another tribe.
Carrion is a treat to dogs, ravens, vultures, fish. The ex-
halations of corrupted substances attract flies by crowds
Maggots revel in putrefaction.
PLANTS 227
CHAPTER XX
OF PLANTS.
I THINK a designed and studied mechanism to l»e in gen-
eral more evident in animals than in plants; and it is un-
necessary to dwell upon a weaker argument where a stronger
IS at hand. There are, however, a few observations upon
the vegetable kingdom which lie so directly in our way, that
it would be improper to pass by them without notice.
The one great intention of nature in the structure of
plants, seems to be the perfecting of the seed, and, what is
part of the same intention, the preserving of it until it be
lierfected. This mtention shows itself, in the first place, by
the care which appears to be taken to protect and ripen, by
every advantage which can be given to them of situation in
the plant, those parts which most immediately contribute to
fructification, namely, the antherse, 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 expan-
sion of the petals , after which they have, in many cases,
by the very form of the flower during its blow, the light and
warmth reflected upon them from the concave side of the
cup. What is called also the sZeep 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 cither change of
position requisite. In the growth of corn, whenever the
plant begins to shoot, the two upper leaves of the stalk join
together, embrace the ear, and protect it till the pulp has
228 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
acquired a certain degree of consistency. In some water-
plants, the flowering and fecundation are carried on luithin
the stem, which afterAvards opens to let loose the impregna-
ted seed.^ The pea, or papilionaceous tribe, inclose the parts
of fructiiication within a beautiful folding of the internal
blossom, sometimes called, from its shape, the boat or keel —
itself also protected under a penthouse formed by the exter-
nal petals. This structure is very artificial ; and what adds
to the value of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very
general. It has also this further advantage — and it is an
advantage strictly mechanical — that all the blossoms turn
their backs to the wind whenever the gale blows strong
enough to endanger the delicate parts upon which the seed
depends. I have observed 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 mechan-
ical, as much so as the turning of a w^eather-board or tin cap
upon the top of a chimney. Of the poppy, and of many
similar species of flowers, the head while it is growing hangs
down, a rigid curvature in the upper part of the stem giving
to it that position ; and in that position it is impenetrable
by rain or moisture. AYhen 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 fructification, to the genial influ-
ence of the sun's rays. This always struck me as a curious
property, and specifically as w^ell as originally provided for
in the constitution of the j^lant ; for if the stem be only bent
by the weight of the head, how comes it "to slraighlen itsell
when the head is the heaviest ? These instances show the
attention of nature to this principal object, the safety and
maturation of the parts upon which the seed depends.
In trees, especially in those which are natives of coldei
climates, this point is taken up earlier. Many of these
trees — observe in particular the asli and the horsecliest-
•* Philosophical Transactions, part 11., 1796, p. 502.
PLANTS. 229
nut — pro'luce 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 embryos 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 inclosed in scales, which
scales are formed from the remains of past leaves and the
rudiments of future ones. Neither is this the whole. In
the coldest climates, a third preservative is added, by the
bud having a coat of gum or resin, which being congealed,
resists the strongest frosts. On the approach of warm
weather, this gum is softened, and ceases to be a hinderance
to the expansion of the leaves and flow^ers. 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 caj)sule, a
\essel composed of coats which, compared with the rest of
the flower, are strong and tough. From this vessel projects
a tube, through which tube the farina, or some subtile fecun-
dating effluvium that issues from it, is admitted to the seed
And here also occurs a mechanical variety, accommodated tt
the difTerent circumstances under wliich the same purpose
is to be accomplished. In flowers which are erect, the pistil
is shorter than the stamina ; and the pollen, shed from the
antherte 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 invert-
ed. The pistil in these flowers is usually longer, instead of
shorter, than the stamina, that its protruding summit may
receive the pollen as it irops to the ground. In some cases,
as in the nigella, where the shafts of the pistils or styles ara
^30 NATURAL THEOLOay.
disproportion ably long, they bend down their extremities
upon the anthera3, that the necessary approximation may be
effected.
But, to pursue this great work in its progress, the im-
piegnation, to which all this machinery relates, being com-
pleted, the other parts of the flower fade and drop ofl^ while
the gravid seed-vessel, on the contrary, proceeds to increase
its bulk, always to a great, and in some species — in the
gourd, for example, and melon — to a surprising comparative
size ; assuming in different plants an incalculable variety of
forms, but all evidently conducing to the security of the
seed. By virtue of this process, so necessary, but so diver-
sified, we have the seed at length in stone-fruits and nuts
encased in a strong shell, the shell itself inclosed in a pulp
or husk, by which the seed within is or has been fed ; or
more generally, as in grapes, oranges, and the numerous
kinds of berries, plunged overhead in a glutinous syrup con-
tained within a skin or bladder ; at other times, as in apples
and pears, embedded in the heart of a firm, fleshy sub-
stance, or, as in strawberries, pricked into the surface of a
soft pulp.
These and many more varieties exist in what we call
fruits.^ In pulse and grain and grasses, in trees and shrubs
* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even
Avithout experience, to suppose that part of tliis provision was destined
for the utilities of annuals. 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
fcvent shows that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the sup-
port and gratification of animal natures ; and when we observe a pro-
vision to be more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for an-
other- purpose, it is not mifair to conclude that both purposes wt^re
contemplated together. It favors 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 yeai :
«ome in summer, some in autumn; that some require the slow matu-
ration of the winter, and supply the spring; also, that the ^oliiesit
PLANTS. 23)
and flowers, the variety of the seed-vessels is incomputable
We have the seeds, as in the pea tribe, regularly disposed in
parchment pods, which, though soft and membranous, 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, as in the senna, distended like a blown bladder ;
or we have the seed enveloped in wool, as in the cotton-
plant, lodged, as in pines, between the hard and compact
scales of a cone, or barricaded, as in the artichoke and
thistle, with spikes and prickles ; in mushrooms, placed
under a penthouse ; in ferns, within slits in the back part
of the leaf; or, which is the most general organization of
all, we find them covered by strong, close tunicles, and at-
tached 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 employed in prosecuting the same
intention. Secondly, we may observe, that in all these
fruits grow in the hottest places. Cucumbers, pineapples, meloii:^, 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, communicated to
rae by Mr. Brinldey.
"The eatable part of the cherry or peach first serves the purpose;
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 instrvunent for per-
fecting the kernel, now receives and retains to itself the whole of tho
Bun's influence, and thereby becomes a grateful food to man. Also,
what an evident mark of design is the stone protectmg the kernel
The intervention of the stone prevents the second use from interfering
with the first."
232 JJATURAL THEOLOGY.
cases tlie purpose is fulfilled within a just and limited de-
gree. 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 ac-
cess to them. The plant would overrun the soil, or the seed
be .wasted for want of room to sow itself. It is sometimes
as necessary to destroy particular species of plants, as it is
at other times to encourage their growth. Here, as in many
cases, a balance is to be maintained between opposite uses.
The provisions for the preservation of seeds appear to be
directed chiefly against the inconstancy of the elements, oi
the sweeping destruction of inclement seasons. The depre-
dation of animals and the injuries of accidental violence are
allowed for in the abundance of the increase. The result is,
that out of the many thousand different plants which cover
the earth, not a single species, perhaps, has been lost since
the creation.
When nature has perfected her seeds, her next care is
to disperse them. The seed cannot answer its purpose
while it remains confined in the capsule. After the seeds
therefore are ripened, the pericarpium opens to let them out ;
and the opening is not like an accidental bursting, but for
the most part, is according to a certain rule in each plant.
What I have always thought very extraordinary, nuts and
shells which we can hardly crack with our teeth, divide and
make v/ay for the little tender sprout which proceeds from
the kernel. Handling the nut, I could hardly conceive how
the plantule was ever to get out of it. There are cases, it
is said, in which the seed-vessel, by an elastic jerk at the
moment of its explosion, casts the seeds to a distance. Wo
all however know, that many seeds — those of most composite
flowers, as of the thistle, dandelion, etc. — are endowed with
what are not improperly called ivings ; that is, doAvny ap-
pendages, by which they are enabled to float in the air, and
are carried oftentimes by the wind to great distances from
PLANTS. 233
the plant which produces them. It is the swelling also of
this downy tuft within the seed-vessel, that seems to over-
come the resistance of its coats, and to open a passage for
the seed to escape.
But the amslitution of seeds is still more admirable than
either their preservation or their dispersion. In the body
oi the seed of every species of plant, or nearly of every one,
provision is made for two grand purposes : first, for the
safety of the genu; secondly, for the temporary support ol
the future plant. The sprout, as folded up in the seed, is
delicate and brittle beyond any other substance. It cannot
be touched without being broken. Yet in beans, pease,
grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on all sides, so shu(
up and protected, that while the seed itself is rudely handled,
tossed into sacks, shovelled into heaps, the sacred particle,
the miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is wonderful 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 favorable
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
substance, from which the sprout draws its aliment for some
considerable time after it is put forth, namely, until the
fibres shot out from the other end of the seed are able to
imbibe juices from the earth in a sufhcient quantity for its
demand. It is owing to this constitution that we see seeds
sprout, and the sprouts make a considerable progress with-
out any earth at all. It is an economy also, in which we
remark a close analogy between the seeds of plants and the
eggs of animals. The same point is provided for in the
same manner in both. In the e^g, the residence of the liv-
ing principle, the cicatrix, forms a very minute part of tho
2M NATURAL THEOLOay.
contents. The white, and the white only, is expended in
the formation of the chicken. The yolk, yery little altered
or diminished, is wrapped up in the abdomen of the yonny
bird when it quits the shell, and serves for its nourishment
till it has learned to pick its own food. This perfectly
resembles the first nutrition of a plant. In the plant, ag
well as in the animal, the structure has every character ol
contrivance belonging to it : in both, it breaks the transition
from prepared to unprepared aliment ; in both, it is prospec-
tive and compensatory. In animals which suck, this inter-
mediate nourishment is supplied by a different source.
In all subjects the most common observations are the
best, when it is their truth and strength which have made
them common. There are, of this sort, ttco concerning plants,
which it falls wathin our plan to notice. The Jirst relates
to what has already been touched upon, their germination.
When a grain of corn is cast into the ground, this is the
change which takes place. From one end of the grain
issues a green sprout ; from the other, a number of white
fibrous threads. How can this be explained ? Why not
sprouts from both ends ; why not fibrous threads from both
ends ? To what is the difierence to be referred, but to de-
sign ; to the difierent uses which the parts are thereafter to
serve — uses which discover themselves in the sequel of the
process ? The sprout, or plumule, struggles into the air,
and becomes the plant, of which from the first it contained
the rudiments ; the fibres shoot into the earth, and thereby
both fix the plant to the ground, and collect nourishment
from the soil for its support. Now, what is not a httle
remarkable, the parts issuing from the seed take their re-
epectivc directions into whatever position the seed itself hap-
pens to be cast. If the seed be thrown into the wrongest
possible position, that is. if the ends point in the ground the
reverse of wtat they ought to do, every thing nevertheless
goes on right. The sprout, after being pushed down a little
vvav. makes a bend, and turns upwards ; the fibres, on the
PLANTS. 2oS
ccutrary, after shooting at first upwards, turn dowu. 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 moii^t-
ure, and elongates itself when it is thus most excited.
Whence one of these grows upward in quest of its adapted
object, and the other downward."^' Were this account Det-
ter verified by experiment than it is, it only shifts the con-
trivance. It does not disprove the contrivance ; it only re-
moves it a little further back. Who, "k) use our author's
own language, ''adai^ted the objects?" Who gave such a
quahty to these connate parts, as to be susceptible of differ-
ent "stimulation ;' as to be "excited" each only by its own
element, and precisely by that which the success of the veg-
etation requires ? I say, " which the success of the vegeta
tion requires," for the toil of the husbandman would haw
been in vain, his laborious and expensive preparation of the
ground in vain, if the event must, after all, depend upon the
position in which the scattered seed was sown. Not one
seed out of a hundred would fall in a right direction.
Our second observation is upon a general property of
climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In these
plants, from each knot or joint, or as botanists call it, axilla,
of the plant, issue, close to each other, two shoots, one bear-
ing the flower and fruit, the other drawn out into a wire,
a long, tapering, spiral tendril, that twists itself round any
thing which lies within its reach. Considering that in this
class two purposes are to be provided for, and together —
fructification and support, the fruitage of the plant and the
sustentation of the stalk — what means could be used mor«!
ctTectual, or, as I have said, more mechanical, than what
this structure presents to our eyes ? Why, or how, without
a view to this double purpose, do two shoots, of such differ-
ent and appropriate forms, spring from the same joint, from
* Darwin's Phytologia, p. 144.
236 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
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 has a firm and
strong stem, and that is able to mount up and stand alone
without assistance, y^r^izzs/ie^ icith these tendrils'^ Make
only so simple a comparison as that between a pea and a
bean. Why does the pea put forth tendrils, the bean not,
but because the stalk of the pea cannot support itself, the
stalk of the bean can? We may add also, as a circum-
stance not to be overlooked, that, in the pea tribe, these
clasps do not make their appearance till they are wanted —
till the plant has grown to a height to stand in need of
support.
This word "support" suggests to us a reflection upon a
property of grasses, of corn, and canes. The hollow stems
of these classes of plants are set at certain intervals with
joints. These joints are not found in the trunks of trees, or
in the solid stallis 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 corroborate the
stem, which by its length and hollo wness 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. Cattle feed
upon their leaves ; birds upon their smaller seeds ; men
upon the larger; for few readers need be told that the
plants which produce our bread-corn belong to this cla&s.
In those tribes which are more generally considered as
grasses, their extraordinary means and powers of preserva-
tion and increase, their hardiness, their almost unconquer-
able disposition to spread, their faculties of reviviscence, co-
incide with the intention of nature concerning them. They
thrive under a treatment by which other plants are destroy-
ed. The more their leaves are consumed, the more their
roots increase. The more they are trampled upon, the
thicker they grow Many of the seemingly dry and dead
PLANTS. 237
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 consequently able to propagate themselves
without seed. It is an observation, likewise, which has often
been made, that herbivorous animals attach themselves to
the leaves of grasses ; and if at liberty in their pastures to
range and choose, leave untouched the straws which support
the flowers. *=
The GENERAL properties of vegetable nature, or proper-
ties common to large portions of that kingdom, are almost
all which the compass of our argument allows us to bring
forward. It is impossible to follow plants into their several
species. We may be allowed, however, to single out three
or four of these species as worthy of a particular notice,
either by some singular mechanism, or by some peculiar
provision, or by both.
I. In Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden, vol. 1, p. 395, note,
is the following account of the vallisneria, as it has been ob-
served in the river Rhone. " They have roots at the bottom
of the Rhone. The flowers of the female 'plant float on the
surface of the water, and are furnished with an elastic sjnral
stalk, 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 mature, they separate them-
selves 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 2:)ar-
ticulars : 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.
* Witliering's Botanical Arrangement, vol. I., p 2S, eilit. 2.
238 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
II. My second example I take from Withering's Ar-
rangement, vol. 2, p. 209, edit. 3. " The cusciita curopcca is
a parasitical plant. The seed opens and puts forth a little
spiral body, which does not seek the earth to take root, but
climbs in a spiral direction, from right to left, up other
plants, from which, by means of vessels, it draws its nour-
ishment." 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 downwards, this points up-
wards. In the rule and in the exception we equally per-
ceive design.
III. A better known parasitical plant is the evergreen
shrub called the 'mistletoe. What we have to remark in
it is a singular instance of compensation. No art has 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 mis-
tletoe plant is produced next winter.* Of no other plant
do the roots refuse to shoot in the ground — of no othei
plant do the seeds possess this adhesive, generative quality,
v/hen applied to the bark of trees.
IV. Another instance of the compensatory system is in
the autumnal crocus or meadow-safiron. colchicmn aulum-
nale. I have pitied this poor plant a thousand times. Itb
blossom rises out of the ground in the most forlorn condi-
tion 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 disadvantages of the de-
* Withering's Botan. Arr., vol. I., p. 20^, edit 2.
1'i.ANTS. 239
dining 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 pro-
vide for its security, and to make up to it for all its defects.
The seed-vessel, which in other plants is situated within the
cup of the flower, or just beneath it, in this plant lies buried
ten or twelve inches under ground, within the bulbous root.
The tube of the flower, which is seldom more than a few
tenths of an inch long, in this plant extends down to the
root. The styles 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 in the year, and probably would not have
time to ripen its seeds before the access of winter, which
vYould destroy them, Providence has contrived its structure
such, that this important office may be performed at a depth
in the earth out of reach of the usual eflects of frost. "=^ That
is to say, in the autumn nothing is done above ground but
the business of impregnation ; which is an affair between
Ihe antherae 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 cffectJ^
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 ad-
mirable provision is made to raise them above the surface
when they are perfected, and to sow them at a proper dis-
tance," namely, the germ grows up in the spring, upon a
fruit-stalk, accompanied with leaves. The seeds noW; in
common wif,h those of other plants, have the benefit of the
* Withering's Botan. Arr., vol. I., p. '^(S0.
240 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
summer, and are sown upon the surface. The order of
vegetation externally is this : the plant produces its flowers
in Septemher ; its leaves and fruits in the spring following.
V. I give the account of the dio?icca inuscipula, 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 observation, I am unable to say. " Its
leaves are jointed, and furnished v/ith two rows of strong
prickles ; their surfaces covered with a number of minute
glands, which secrete a sweet liquor that allures the ap-
proach of flies. When these parts are touched by the legs
of flies, the two lobes of the leaf instantly spring up, the
rows of prickles lock themselves fast together, and squeeze
the unwary animal to death."^ Here, under a new model,
we recognize the ancient plan of nature, namely, the rela-
tion of parts and provisions to one another, to a common
office, and to the utility of the organized body to which they
belong. The attracting syrup, the rows of strong prickles,
their position so as to interlock the joints of the leaves, and,
what is more than the rest, that singular irritabihty of theii
surfaces, by which they close at a touch, all bear a con-
tributory part in producing an eflect, connected either with
iLe defence or with the nutrition of the plant.
♦ Smellie's Philosophy of Natural History, vol. I., p. 5.
IHE ELEMENTS. 241
CHAPTER XXL
THE ELEMENTS.
When we come to the elements we take leave of our
mechanics, because w^e come to those things, of the organi-
tation of which, if they be organized, we are confessedly
ignorant. This ignorance is implied by their name. To
say the truth, our investigations are stopped long before wc
arrive at this point. But then it is for our comfort to find
that a knowledge of the constitution of the elements is not
necessary for us. For instance, as Addison has well observ-
ed, " We know water sufficiently, when we know how to
boil, how to freeze, how to evaporate, how to make it fresh
how to make it run or spout out in what quantity and
direction we please, without knowing what water is." The
observation of this excellent waiter has more propriety in it
now, than it had at the time it was made ; for the consti-
tution and the constituent parts of water appear in some
measure to have been lately discovered ; yet it does not, I
think, appear that we can make any better or greater use
of water since the discovery, than w^e did before it.
We can never think of the elements without reflecting
upon the number of distinct uses which are consolidated in
the same substance. The air supplies the lungs, supports
fire, conveys sound, reflects light, difluses smells, gives rain,
wafts ships, bears up birds. 'E^ vftaroq ra navra : ivater, be-
sides maintaining its own inhabitants, is the universal nour-
isher of plants, and through them of terrestrial animals ; is
the basis of their juices and fluids ; dilutes their food ; quench-
Ds their thirst ; floats their burdens. Fire warms, dissolves,
enlightens ; is the great promoter of vegetation and life, il
not necessary to the support of both,
We might enlarge, to almost any length v/e please, upon
each of these uses ; but it appears to me sufficient to state
t hem. The few remarks which I judge it necessary to add, are,
Xnt. Theol. 1 1
a42 NATURAL THEOLOar.
I. Air is essentially different from earth. There appears
to be no necessity for an atmosphere'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 t*»
every order of animated, not to say of organized beings,
which are placed upon the terrestrial surface. I think that
^very one of these uses will be understood upon the first
mention of them, except it be that of rejlecting light, which
may be explained thus : If I had the power of seeing only
by means of rays coming directly from the sun, whenever I
turned my back upon the luminary I should find myself in
darkness. If I had the power of seeing by reflected light,
yet by means only of light reflected 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 illuminated, by the light of 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 quality of the atmosphere is the powei
of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this quality to oui
use is seen in its action upon the sea. In the sea, water and
salt are mixed together most intimately ; yet the atmosphere
raises the water and leaves the salt. Pure and fresh as drops
of rain descend, they are collected from brine. If evapora-
tion 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
M'e attempt to imitate the process 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 distasteful-
ness of the marine substance ; and, after all, it is owmg tc
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
THE ELEMENTS. 24»
how does it fall ? Not by the clouds behig all at once re-
converted mto 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 rain. Yet, a 'priori^ I should have thought
either of the two former methods more likely to have taken
place than the last.
By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered unfit
foi the support of animal life. By the constant operation of
these corrupting principles, the whole atmosphere, if there
were no restoring causes, would come at length to be de-
prived of its necessary degree of purity. Some of these causes
seem to have been discovered, and their efficacy ascertained
by experiment ; and so far as the discovery has proceeded, it
opens to us a beautiful and a wonderful economy. Vegeta-
tion proves to be one of them. A sprig of mint, corked up
with a small portion of foul air and placed in the light, renders
it again capable of supporting light or flame. Here, there-
fore, is a constant circulation of benefits maintained between
the two great provinces of organized nature. The plant
purifies what the animal has poisoned ; in return, the con-
taminated air is more than ordinarily nutritious to the plant.
Agitation with ivater turns out to be another of these resto-
ratives. The foulest air, shaken in a bottle with water for a
sufficient length of time, recovers a great degree of its purity.
Here then, again, allowing for the scale upon which nature
works, we see the salutary effects of storms and tempests.
The yeasty waves which confound the heaven and the sea,
are doing 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 recon-
cile us, therefore, to these agitations of the elements, of which
we sometimes deplore the consequences, to know that tliey
tend powerfully to restore to the air that purity Avhicli so
many causes are constantly impairing.
II. In water, what ought not a little to be admired, are
244 natueal theology.
those negative qualities which constitute its purity. Had
it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid — had the sea been filled,
or the rivers flowed with wine or milk, fish, constituted as
they are, must have died ; plants, constituted as they are,
would have 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 men-
strua. 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 %vould have infected every thing Ave
ate or drank, with an importunate repetition of the same
flavor.
Another thing in tliis element not less to be admired, is
the constant round which it travels ; and by which, Avith-
-out suffering either adulteration or waste, it is continuall)
offering itself to the wants of the habitable globe. From the
sea are exhaled those vapors which form the clouds : these
clouds descend in showers, which penetrating into the crevi-
ces of the liills, supply springs ; which springs flow in little
streams into the valleys, and there uniting, become rivers ;
which rivers, in return, feed the ocean. So there is an inces-
sant circulation of the same fluid ; and not one drop proba-
bly more or less now than there was at the creation. A par-
ticle of water takes its departure from the surface of the sea,
in order to fulfil certain important offices to the earth ; and
having executed the service which was assigned to it, returns
to the bosom which it left.
Some have thought that Ave have too much Avater upon
the o-lobe, the sea occupying above three-quarters of its whole
surface. But the expanse of ocean, immense as it is, may
be no more than sufficient to fertilize the earth. Or, inde-
j)endently of this reason, I knoAV not why the sea may not
have as good a right to its place as the land. It may pro-
portionably support as many inhabitants — minister to as large
an ao-o-reo-ate of enjoyment. The land only affords a habita
ble surface ; the sea is habitable to a great depth.
THE ELEMENTS. 245
III. 01' fire, we have said that it dissolves. The only
idea probably which this term raised in the reader's mind,
was that of fire melting metals, resins, and some other sub-
stances, fluxing ores, running glass, and assisting us in many
of our operations, chemical or cuhnary. Now these are only
uses of an occasional kind, and give us a very imperfect no-
tion of what fire does for us. The grand importance of this
dissolving power, the great office indeed of fire in the econo-
my of nature, is keeping things in a state of solution, that
is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were it not for the presence
of heat, or of a certain degree of it, all fluids would be frozen.
The ocean itself would be a quarry of ice ; universal nature
stifi' and dead.
"We see, therefore, that the elements bear not only a strict
relation to the constitution of organized bodies, but a relation
to each other. Water could not perform its office to tho
earth without air ; nor exist as water, without fire.
TV. Of light, whether we regard it as of the same sub-
stance with fire, or as a different substance, it is altogether
superfluous to expatiate upon the use. No man disputes it.
The observations, therefore, which I shall ofl^er, 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 by such a velocity, with what
force 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 I It might
seem to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the hard-
est bodies.
How then is this efiect, the consequence of such prodig-
ious velocity, guarded against ? By a proportionable mi-
nuteness of the particles of which light is composed. It is
impossible for the human mind to imagine to itself any thing
so small * s a particle of light. But this extreme exility,
though difficult to conceive, it is easy to prove. A drop of
tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle shall send
246 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere of a mile diameter,
and to fill it so full of these rays, that an aperture not larger
than the pupil of an eye, wherever it be placed within the
hemisphere, shall be sure to receive some of them. AVhat
floods of light are continually poured from the sun, we can
not estimate ; but the immensity of the sphere which is filled
"vvith particles, even if it reached no further than the orbit of
the earth, we can in some sort compute ; and we have rea-
son to believe, that throughout this wliole region, the parti-
cles of light lie, in latitude at least, near to one another. The
spissitude of the sun's rays at the earth is such, that the
number which falls upon a burning-glass of an inch diame-
ter is sufficient, when concentrated, to set wood on fire.
The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light, as
ascertained by separate observations, may be said to be pro-
portioned to each other ; both surpassing our utmost stretch
of comprehension, but proportioned. And it is this propor-
tion alone which converts a tremendous element mto a wel-
come visitor.
It has been observed to me by a learned friend, as hav-
ing often struck his mind, that if light had been made by a
common artist, it would have been of one uniform color ;
whereas, by its present composition, we have that variety of
colors which is of such infinite use to us for the distinguish-
ing of objects — which adds so much to the beauty of the
earth, and augments the stock of our hinocent pleasures.
With which may be joined another reflection, namely,
that considering light as compounded of rays of seven difier-
ent colors — of which there can be no doubt, because it can
be resolved into these rays by simply passing it through a
prism — ^the constituent parts must be well mixed and blended
together to produce a fluid so clear and colorless as a beara
of light is, when received from the sun.
ASTRONOMY. 247
CHAPTER XXIL
ASTRONOMY.*
My opinion of Astronomy has always been, that it is not
die best medium through which to prove the agency of an
intelligent Creator ; but that, this being proved, it shows,
beyond all other sciences, the magnificence of his operations.
The mind which is once convinced, it raises to sublimer
views of the Deity than any other subject affords ; but it is
not so well adapted as some other subjects are to the pur-
pose of argument. We are destitute of the means of exam-
ining the constitution of the heavenly bodies. The very
simplicity of their appearance is against them. We see
nothmg but bright points, luminous circles, or the phases of
spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them. Now
we deduce design from relation, aptitude, and correspond-
ence of ^?<2?fs. Some degree, therefore, of comj^lexity is nec-
essary to render a subject fit for this species of argument.
But the heavenly bodies do not, except perhaps in the in-
stance of Saturn's ring, present themselves to our observation
as compounded of parts at all. This, which may be a per-
fection in them, is a disadvantage to us as inquirers after
their nature. They do not come within our mechanics.
And what we say of their forms, is true of their motiofis.
Their motions are carried on without any sensible interme-
diate apparatus ; whereby we are cut off from one prin-
cipal ground of argumentation — analogy. 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 orreries, planetaria, celestial
* For the articles of this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am
indebted to some obliging communications received, through the hands
of the Lord Bishop of Elphin, from the Rev. J. Brinkley, M. A., An
draws Professor of Astronomy in the University of Dublin.
248 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
glomes, etc., bear no affinity to them, in the cause and prin-
ciple by which their motions are actuated. I can assign fbi
this difference a reason of utihty, namely, a reason why,-
though the action of terrestrial bodies upon each other be, in
almost all cases, through the intervention of solid or fluid
substances, yet central attraction does not operate in this
manner. It was necessary that the intervals between the
planetary orbs should be devoid of any inert matter, either
fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance would,
by its resistance, destroy those very motions which attrac-
tion is employed to preserve. This may be a final cause o1
the difference ; but still the difference destroys the analogy.
Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive natures by
which other planets are inhabited, necessarily keeps from us
the knowledge of numberless utilities, relations, and subser-
viences, which we perceive upon our own globe.
After all, the real subject of admiration is, that we un-
derstand 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
3reature, by the use of senses which were given to it for its
domestic necessities, and by means of the assistance of those
senses which it has had the art to procure, should have been
enabled to observe the whole system of worlds to which its
own belongs and the changes of place of the immense globes
which compose it, and with such accuracy as to mark out
beforehand the situation in the heavens in which they will
be found at any future point of time ; and that these bodies,
after sailing through regions of void and trackless space,
should arrive at the place where they were expected, not
within a minute, but within a few seconds of a minute, of
the time prefixed and predicted : all this is wonderful,
whether Vv'^e refer our admiration to the constancy of the
heavemy motions themselves, or to the perspicacity and pre-
cision wdth which they have been noticed by mankind.
ASTRONOMY. 249
N(>r is this the whole, nor indeed the chief part of what
astronomy teaches. By bringing reason to bear upon obser-
vation, the acutest reasoning upon the exactest observation,
the astronomer 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
paths.
Our knowledge, therefore, of astronomy is admirable,
though imperfect ; and, amid the confessed desiderata and
desideranda which impede our investigation of the wisdom
of the Deity in these the grandest of his works, there are to
be found, in the phenomena, ascertained circumstances and
law^s sufficient to indicate an intellectual agency in three of
its principal operations, namely, in choosing, in determining,
in regulating : in choosing, out of a boundless variety of sup-
positions M^hich were equally possible, that which is bene-
ficial ; in detcrmming what, left to itself, had a thousand
chances against conveniency, for one in its favor ; in regu-
lating subjects, as to quantity and degree, which, by their
nature, were unlimited with respect to either. It will be
our business to offer, under each of these heads, a few instan-
ces, such as best admit of a popular explication.
I. Among proofs of choice, one is, fixing the source ol
light and heat in the centre of the system. The sun is
ignited and luminous ; the planets, which move round him,
are cold and dark. There seems to be no antecedent neces-
sity 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 fjre. There is nothing in the nature of the heav-
enly bodies which requires that those which are stationary
should be on fire, that those which move should be cold ;
for, in fact, comets are bodies on fire, or at least capable oi
the most intense heat, yet revolve round a centre ; nor docs
this order obtain between the primary planets and th^ir sec-
ondaries, which are all opaque. When we consider, there-
11#
250 NATURAL THEOL.OGr.
fore, that the sun is one ; that the planets going round it aic
at least seven ; that it is indifferent to their nature which
are luminous and which are opaque ; and also in what order,
with respect to each other, these two kinds of bodies are dis
posed, we may judge of the improbability of the present
arrangement taking place by chance.
If, by way of accounting for the state in which we find
he solar system, it be alleged — and this is one among the
guesses of those Avho 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 follows, that the sun also himself must be
in his progress towards growing cold, which puts an end to
the possibility of his having existed as he is from eternity.
This consequence arises out of the hypothesis with still more
certainty, if we make a part of it what the philosophers who
maintain it have usually taught, that the planets were orig-
inally masses of matter, struck off in a state of fusion from
the body of the sun by the percussion of a comet, or by a
shock li-om some other cause with which we are not ac-
quainted; for if these masses, partaking of the nature and
substance of the sun's body, have in process of time lost their
heat, that body itself, in time likewise, no matter in how
much longer time, must lose its heat also, and therefore be
mcapabie of an eternal duration in the state in which we
see it, either for the time to come, or the time past.
The preference of the present to any other mode of dis-
tributing 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 one of the
planets being luminous ; but I think it manifest, without
either plates or calculation, first, that supposing the neces-
sary proportion of magnitude between the central and the
revolving bodies to be preserved, the ignited planet would
Qot be sufficient to illuminate and warm the rest of the sys-
ASTRONOMY. 251
tern ; secondly, that its light and heat would bt; imparted to
the other planets much more irregularly than light and heat
are now received from the sun.
{*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears to be
exercised, and in which, among the possibilities out of which
the choice was to be made, the immber of those whicfi were
wrong bore an infinite proportion to the number of those
which were right, is in what geometricians call the axis of
rotation. This matter I will endeavor to explain. The
earth, it is well known, is not an exact globe, but an oblate
spheroid, something like an orange. Now the axes of rota-
tion, or the diameters upon which such a body may be made
to turn round, are as many as can be drawn through its centre
to opposite points upon its whole surface ; but of these axes
none are iiermanent, except either its shortest diameter, that
is, that which passes through the heart of the orange from
the place where the stalk is inserted into it, and which is
but one ; or its longest diameters, at right angles with the
former, which must all terminate in the single circumference
which goes round the thickest part of the orange. The
shortest diameter is that upon which in fact the earth turns,
and it is, as the reader sees, what it ought to be, a perma-
nent axis ; whereas, had blind chance, had a casual impulse,
had a stroke or push at random set the earth a spinning,
the odds were infinite but that they had sent it round upon a
wrong axis. And what would have been the consequence?
The difference between a permanent axis and another axis
is this : when a spheroid in a state of rotatory motion gets
upon a permanent axis, it keeps there ; it remains steady
and faithful to its position ; its poles preserve their direction
with respect to the plane and to the centre of its orbit ;
but while it turns upon an axis which is not permanent—
and the number of those we have seen infinitely exceeds the
number of the other — it is always liable to shift and vacil-
late from or\Q axis to another, with a corresponding change
in the inclination of its poles. Therefore, if a planet once
20% ^-ATUHAL THEOLOGY.
set off revolving upon any other than its shortest, or one ot
its longest axes, the poles on its surface would keep perpet-
ually changing, and it never would attain a permanent axis
of rotation. The effect of this unfixedness and instability
would be, that the equatorial parts of the earth might bo-
Dome 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 respectively adapted
to their own. As to ourselves, instead of rejoicing in our
temperate zone, and annually preparing for the moderate
vicissitude, or rather the agreeable succession of seasons
which we experience and expect, we might come to be lock-
ed up in the ice and darkness of the arctic circle, with bodies
neither inured to its rigors, nor provided with shelter or de-
fence 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 latitude than any other animal, still more
noxious would this translation of climate have proved to life
in the rest of the creation, and most perhaps of all in
plants. The habitable earth and its beautiful variety might
have been destroyed by a simple mischance in the axis oi
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 infor-
mation 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 nmtual gravitation of its parts and its
rotatory motion. This, as Ave have said, is a point in the
history of the earth which our observations are not sufficient
to determine. For a very small depth below the surface,
but extremely small — less, perhaps, than an eight-thousandth
Dart, compared with the depth of the centre, we find vesti-
ASTRONOMY. 253
ges of ancient lluidUy. But this fluidity must have gone
down many hundred times further than we can penetrate, to
enable the earth to take its present oblate form ; and whether
any traces of this kind exist to that depth, we are ignorant.
Calculations were made a few years ago, of the mean density
of the earth, by comparing the force of its attraction with the
force of attraction of a rock of granite^ the bulk of w^hich
could be ascertained ; and the upshot of the calculation was,
that the earth upon an average, through its whole sphere,
has twice the density of granite, or above five times that ol
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 water. The sohd parts must greatly
exceed the fluid parts ; and the probability is, that it is a
solid mass throughout, composed of substances more ponder-
ous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, w^e may conceive the
present face of the earth to have originated from the revolu-
tion of a sphere covered by a surface of a compound mixture ;
the fluid and solid parts separating, as the surface becomes
quiescent. Here then comes in the moderating hand of the
Creator. If the water had exceeded its present proportion,
even but by a trifling quantity, compared with the whole
globe, all the land would have been covered ; had there
been much less than there is, there would not have been
enough to fertilize the continent. Had the exsiccation been
progressive, such as we may suppose to have been produced
by an evaporating heat, how came it to stop at the point at
which we see it ? Why did it not stop sooner ; why at all ?
The mandate of the Deity will account for this ; nothing
else wdll.
IV. Of centripetal forces. " By virtue of the simphst
law that can be imagined, namely, that a body conli7iue& in
the state in w^hich it is, whether of motion or rest ; and, if
in motion, goes on in the line in which it was proceeding,
and wdth the same velocity, unless there be some cause for
change : by virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to pass — what
^5^: NATURAL THEOLOGY.
may appear to be a strange consequence — that cases arise
in which attraction, incessantly drawing a body towards a
centre, never brings, nor ever will bring, the body to that
centre, but keep it in eternal circulation round it. If it
were possible to fire off a cannon-ball with a velocity of hve
miles in a second, 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 appoint-
ed 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 it has a quarter of the force ; at half
Ihe distance, four times the strength, and so on. Now, con-
cerning this law of variation, we have three things to ob-
serve : first, that attraction, for any thing we know about it,
was just as capable of one laAV of variation as of another ;
secondly, that out of an infinite number of possible laws,
those which were admissible for the purpose of supporting
the heavenly motions, lay within certain narrow limits;
thirdly, that of the admissible laws, or those which come
within the Umits prescribed, the law that actually prevails
is the most beneficial. So far as these propositions can be
made out, we may be said, I thmk, to prove choice and reg-
ulatioii : choice, out of boundless variety ; and regulation
of that which, by its own nature, was, in respect of the prop-
erty regulated, indifferent and indefinite.
I. First, then, attraction, for any thing we know about
it, was originally indifferent to all laws of variation depend-
ing upon change of distance, that is, 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 dis-
tance, yet in ten thousand different proportions from the
ASTRONOMY. 25o
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 de-
pendent upon or traceable to any other material cause ;
then, by the very nature and definition of a primordial prop-
erty, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the agency of
something immaterial, then also, for any thing we know of
it, it was indifferent to all laws. If the revolution of bodies
round a centre depend upon vortices, neither are these lim-
ited to one law more than another.
There is, I know, an account given of attraction which
should seem, in its very cause, to assign to it the law which
we find it to observe ; and wliich, therefore, makes that law
a law not of choice, but of necessity : and it is the account
which ascribes attraction to an emanation from the attract-
ing body. It is probable that the influence of such an em-
anation will be proportioned to the spissitude of the rays of
which it is composed ; which spissitude, supposing the rays
to issue in right lines on all sides from a point, will be re-
ciprocally as the square of the distance. The mathematics
of this solution we do not call in question : the question with
us is, whether there be any sufficient reason for believing
that attraction is produced by an emanation. For my part,
I am totally at a loss to comprehend how particles stream-
'mgfr07?i a centre should draw a body toicards it. The im-
pulse, if impulse it be, is all the other way. Nor shall we
find less difficulty in conceiving a conflux of particles, in-
cessantly flowing to a centre, and carrying down all bodies
along with it, that centre also itself being in a state of rapid
motion through absolute space ; for by what source is the
stream fed, or what becomes of the accumulation ? Add
to which, that it seems to imply a contrariety of properties,
to suppose an ethereal fluid to act, but not to resist ; pow-
erful enough to carry down bodies with great force towards
a centre, yet, inconsistently with the nature of inert matter,
powerless and perfectly yielding with respect to the motion?
?.56 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
v/hich result from the projectile impulse. By calculations
drawn from ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can
prove that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance has
had no sensible effect upon the moon's motion for two thou-
sand five hundred years. The truth is, that except this one
circumstance of the variation of the attracting force at differ-
ent distances agreeing with the variation of the spissitude,
there is no reason whatever to support the hypothesis of an
emanation ; and there are, as it seems to me, almost insu
perable reasons against it.
(*) II. Our second proposition is, that while the possi
ble laws of variation were infinite, the admissible laws, oi
the laws compatible with the preservation of the system, lie
within narrow limits. 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 havB
taken place. The direct simple proportion of the distance
would, it is true, have produced an ellipse ; but the per-
turbing forces would have acted with so much advantage
as to be continually changing the dimensions of the elhpse
in a manner inconsistent with our terrestrial creation. For
Instance, if the planet Saturn, so large and so remote, had
attracted the earth, both in proportion to the quantity of
matter contained in it, which it does, and also in any pro-
portion to its distance, that is, if it had pulled the harder
for being the further 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 incompatible
with our security, our enjoyments, and probably our exist-
ence. Of the inverse laws, if the centripetal force had
changed as the cube of the distance, or in any higher pro-
portion ; that is — for I speak to the unlearned — if, at double
the distance, the attractive force had been diminished to an
eighth part, or to less than that, the consequence would have
been, that the planets, if they once began to approach the
Eun, would have fallen into his body ; if they oviv.o. thoiigh
ASTRONOMY. 257
by ever so little, increased their distance from the centre,
would for ever have receded from it. The laws, therefore,
of attraction, by which a system of revolving bodies couh'
be upholden in their motions, lie within narrow limits, com-
pared with the possible laws. I much underrate the re-
striction, when I say that, in a scale of a mile, they are
conhned 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 demonstrable consequence, that every the
least change of distance would, under the operation of such
laws, have been fatal to the repose and order of the system.
We do not know, that is, we seldom reflect, how interested
we are in this matter. Small irregularities may be en-
dured ; but changes within these limits being allowed for,
the permanency of our ellipse is a question of life and death
to our whole sensitive world.
{*) III. That the subsisting law of attraction falls with-
in the limits which utility requires, when these Umits bear
so small a proportion to the range of possibilities upon which
chance might equally have cast it, is not, with any appear-
ance 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 further. We
say, in the third place, that out of the different laws which
lie within the limits of admissible laws, the best is made
choice of; that there are advantages in this particular law
which cannot be demonstrated to belong to any other law :
and concerning some of which, it can be demonstrated that
they do not belong to any other.
{*) 1 . While this law prevails between all particles of
matter; the united attraction of a sphere composed of that
matter observes the same law. This 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
258 NATURAL THEOLuaY.
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, w^e have
already noticed.
We may follow this regulation somewhat further, and
still more strikingly perceive that it proceeded from a de-
signing mind. A law both admissible and convenient was
requisite. In what way is the law of the attracting globes
obtained ? Astronomical observations and terrestrial exper-
iments shoM'' that the attraction of the globes of the system
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 system of bodies gravitat-
ing by the united gravitation of their parts, unless each
particle of matter were attracted by a force varying by one
particular law, namely, 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 ad-
missible and convenient 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 further
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 w^ould have answered the purpose in-
tended.
{*) 2. All systems must be liable to jpertui'bations.
And therefore, to guard against these perturbations, or
rather to guard against their running to destructive lengths,
is perhaps the strongest evidence of care and foresight that
can be given. Now we are able to demonstrate of our law
of attraction — what can be demonstrated of no other, and
what qualifies the dangers which arise from, cross but una-
AbTRONOMY. 259
voidable iiifl'iences — that the action of the parts of our
system upon one another will not cause permanently in-
creasing irregularities, but merely periodical or vibratory
ones ; that is, they will come to a limit and then go back
again. This we can demonstrate only of a system in which
the following properties concur, namely, that the force shal]
be inversely as the square of the distance ; the masses ol
the revolving bodies small, compared with that of the body
at the centre ; the orbits not much inclined to one another ;
and their eccentricity little. In such a system the grand
points are secure. The mean distances and periodic times,
upon which 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 per-
forming.
It has been rightly also remarked, that if the great plan-
ets Jupiter and Saturn had moved in lower spheres, their
influences would have had much more effect as to disturb-
ing the planetary motions than they now have. While they
revolve at so great distances from the rest, they act almost
equally on the sun and on the inferior planets ; which has
nearly the same consequence as not acting at all upon
either.
If it be said, that the planets might have been sent round
the sun in exLct circles, in which case, no change of dis-
tance from the centre taking place, the law of variation ol
the attracting power would have never come m 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 retaining in other re-
spects its present constitution, though the planets had been
260 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
at first sent round in exact circular orbits, they could not
have kept them ; and if the law of attraction 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 been, out of its course, would have wandered in end-
less error.
(*) V. "What we have seen in the law of the centripetal
force, namely, 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 in the figures of the plan-
etary orbits. It was not enough to fix the law of the cen
tripetal 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 revolution, to be brought very near to
the sun, and carried away to immense distances from him.
The comets actually move in orbits of this sort ; and had
the planets done so, instead of going round in orbits nearly
circular, the change from one extremity of temperature to
another must, in ours at least, have destroyed every animal
and plant upon its surface. Now, the distance from the
centre at which a planet sets cIT and the absolute force of at-
traction at that distance being fixed, the figure of its orbit —
it being a circle, or nearer to, or further off from a circle,
namely, a rounder or a longer oval — depends upon two
things, the velocity with which, and the direction in which the
planet is projected. And these, in order to produce a right
result, must be both brought within certain narrow limits.
One, and only one velocity, united with one and only one
direction, will produce a peifect 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 circular ; that is, ellipses with small eccentrici-
ties. The velocity and the direction must both be right. If
the velocity be wrong, no direction will cure the error ; if
ASTRONOMY. 2Gl
ihe direction be in any considerable degree oblique, no veloc-
ity will produce the orbit required. Take, for example, the
attraction of gravity at the surface of the earth. The force
of that attraction being what it is, out of all the degrees of
velocity, swift and slow, with v/hich a ball might be shot
ofi' none would answer the purpose of Mdiicli we are speak-
ing but what was nearly that of five miles in a second. II
it were less than that, the body would not get round at all,
but would come to the ground ; if it were in any considera-
ble degree more than that, the body would take one of those
eccentric courses, those long ellipses, of which we have no-
ticed the inconveniency. If the velocity reached the rate of
seven miles in a second, or went beyond that, the ball would
fly ofl' from the earth and never be heard of more. In like
manner with respect to the direction : out of the innumer-
able angles in wdiich the ball might be sent ofi^ — I mean
angles formed with a line drawn to the centre — none would
serve but what was nearly a right one. Out of the various
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 among the rest. We are entitled there-
fore 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 infi-
nite number of directions, which would have made it ap-
proach much nearer to, or recede much further from the
sun ?
The planets going round, all in the same direction, and
all nearly in the same plane, afibrded to Bufibn 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, besides that this is to attribute
to chance the fortunate concurrence of velocity and direction
which we have been here noticing, the hypothesis, oa I ap
262 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
prehend, 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 supposing that the same violent blow which shattered
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 shattered frag-
ments would have a progressive motion, which indeed may
possibly be the case with our system ; but then each frag-
ment would, in every revolution, return to the surface of
the sun again. The hypothesis is also contradicted by the
vast difference which subsists between the diameters of the
planetary orbits. The distance of Saturn from the sun, to
say notliing of the Georgium Sidus, is nearly five-and-twenty
times that of Mercury ; a disparity which it seems impossi-
ble to reconcile with Buffon's scheme. Bodies starting from
the same place, with whatever difference of direction or
velocity they set off, could not have been found at these dif
ferent distances from the centre, still retaining their nearly
circular orbits. They must have been carried to their proper
distances before they were projected. =^
To conclude — in astronomy, the great thing is to raise
the imagination to the subject, and that oftentimes in oppo-
* "If we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in
the centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance
of this power of gravity, could separate the vast mass into such parts
as the sun and planets ; and after carrying them to their different
distances, project them in their several directions, preserving still the
quality of action and reaction, or the state of the centre of gravity of
the system. Such an exquisite structure of things could only arise
from the contrivance ani powerful influences of an intelligent, free,
and most potent agent. The same powers, therefore, which at pres-
ent govern the material universe, and conduct its various motions, are
xcry different from those which were necessary to have produced it
Irom nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form in which
it now proceeds." — Maclaurin's Account of Newtonh Philosophy ^ p
407, edit. 3.
ASTRONOMY. 263
sition to the impression made upon the senses. An iUusion,
for example, must be gotten over, arising from the diotance
at which we view the heavenly bodies ; namely, the apparent
sloivness 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 diiving
through the heavens at the rate of considerably more than
two thousand miles in an hour ; which is more than double
that with which a ball is shot off from the mouth of a can-
non. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as much imder govern-
ment as if the planet proceeded ever so slowly, or were con-
ducted in its course inch by inch. It is also difficult to bring
the imagination to conceive — what yet, to judge tolerably
of the matter, it is necessary to conceive — how loos^, if we
may so express it, the heavenly bodies are. Enormous
globes held by nothing, confined by nothing, are turned into
free and boundless space, each to seek its course by the vir-
tue of an invisible principle ; but a principle, one, common,
and the same in all, and ascertainable. To preserve such
bodies from being lost, from running together in heaps, from
hindering and distracting one another's motions, in a degree
inconsistent with any continuing order ; that is, to cause them
to form planetary systems — systems that, when formed, can
be upheld ; and more especially, systems accommodated to
the organized and sensitive natures which the planets sus-
tain, as we know to be the case, where alone we can know
what the case is, upon our earth : all this requires an io-
teliigent interposition, because it can be demonstrated con-
cerning it, that it requires an adjustment of force, distance,
direction, and velocity, out of the reach of chance to have
pro-iuced — an adjustment, in its view to utility, similar to
that which we see in ten thousand subjects of nature which
are nearer to us, but in power, and in the extent of space
through which that power is exerted, stupendous.
But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and fixed
264 NATUHAL THEOLOGY.
Stars, are stationary. Their rest must be the effect of an
absence or of an equilibrium of attractions. Tt proves also,
that a projectile impulse was originally given to some of tht
heavenly bodies, and not to others. But further, if attrac-
tion act at all distances, there can only be one quiescent
centre of gravity in the universe ; and all bodies whatever
must be approaching 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
•'eason for believing that either the one supposition or the
other is true ; and then it will follow, that attraction itself
is controlled or suspended by a superior agent — that there is
a power above the highest of the powers of material nature —
a will which restrains and circumscribes the operations of
the most extensive.^
* It must here, however, be stated, that many astronomers deny
that any of the heavenly bodies are absokitely 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 pronoimce with certainty that they may not
iiave the same. The motions in the fixed stars which have been ob-
served, are considered either as proper to each of them, or as com-
pounded of the motion of our system and of motions proper to each
Btar. 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 attraction is unliruited,
and that the whole material universe is revolving round some fixed
point within its containing sphere or space.
PERSONALITY OF DLIT? 25.*>
CHAPTER XXIII.
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.
Con TRiVj^NCE, if established, appears to me to prove
every thing which we wish to prove. Among' other things,
it pioves the 2^erso?ialiti/ of the Deity, as distinguished from
what is sometimes caUed nature, sometimes called a princi-
ple ; which terms, in the mouths of those who use them
philosophically, seem to be intended to admil and to express
m efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal agent.
.Now, that which can contrive, which can design, must be
I person. These capacities constitute personality, for they
:mply consciousness and thought. They require that which
lan perceive an end or purpose, as well as the power of
providing means and directing them to their end,^ They
require a centre in which perceptions unite, and from which
volitions flow ; which is mind. The acts of a mind prove
the existence of a mind ; and in whatever a mind resides, is
a person. The seat of intellect is a person. We have no
authority to limit the properties of mind to any particular
corporeal form, or to any particular circumscription of space.
These properties subsist, in created nature, under a great
variety of sensible forms. Also, every animated being has
its sensorium; that is, a certain portion of space, within
which perception and volition are exerted. This sphere
may be enlarged to an indefinite extent — may comprehend
the imiverse ; and being so imagined, may serve to furnish
us with as good a notion as we are capable of forming, of thf
vmnensity of the divine nature, that is, of a Being, infinite;
1 5 well in essence as in power, yet nevertheless a person.
"No man hath seen God at any time." And this, 1
believe, makes the great difficulty. Now, it is a difficulty
which chiefly a.rises from our not duly estimating the state
* Priestley's Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, p. KOS, edit. 2.
Hat Theol. 1 2
26G NATURAL THEOLOaY.
of our faculties. The Deity, it is true, is the object of none
of our senses ; but reflect what limited capacities anima,!
senses are. Many animals seem to have but one sense, or
perhaps tw^o at the most — touch and taste. Ought such an
animal to conclude against the existence of odors, sounds,
and colors ? To another species is given the sense of smell-
rg. This is an advance in the knowledge of the powers
and properties of nature ; but if this favored animal should
infer from its superiority over the class last described, that
it perceived every thing which w^as perceptible in nature, it
is known to us, though perhaps not suspected by the animal
itself, that it proceeded upon a false and presumptuous esti-
mate of its faculties. To another is added the sense of hear-
ing ; which lets in a class of sensations entirely unconceived
by the animal before spoken of, not only distinct, but remote
from any which it had ever experienced, and greatly supe-
rior to them. Yet this last animal has no more ground for
believing that its senses comprehend all things, and all prop-
erties of things which exist, than might have been claimed
by the tribes of animals beneath it ; for w^e know that it is
still possible to possess another sense, that of sight, w^hich
shall disclose to the percipient a new world. This fifth
sense makes the animal what the human animal is ; but to
infer that possibility stops here, that either this fifth sense
is the last sense, or that the five comprehend all existence,
is just as unwarrantable a conclusion as that which might
have been made by any of the difierent species which pos-
sessed fewer, or even by that, if such there be, which pos-
sessed only one. The conclusion of the one-sense animal
and the conclusion of the five-sense animal stand upon the
same authority. There may be more and other senses than
those which w^e have. There may be senses suited to the
perception of the powders, properties, and substance of spirits.
These may belong to higher orders of rational agents ; foi
there is not the smallest reason for supposing that we are
the highest, or that the scale of creation stops with us.
PERSONALITY OF DEITY. 2C)1
The great energies of nature are known to us only by
their efiects. The substances which produce them are aa
much concealed from our senses as the divine essence itself.
Gravitation, though constantly present, though constantly
3xerting its influence, though everywhere around us, near
u£, and within us — though diflused throughout all space,
raid penetrating the texture of all bodies with which we are
acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a fl.uid 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 ive receive
no distinguishable impressions. Is it then to be wondered
at, that it should in some measure be the same with the
divine nature ?
Of this, however, we are certain, that whatever the Dei-
ty be, neither the universe, nor 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 question ; and organized substances
include marks of contrivance. But whatever includes marks
of contrivance, whatever in its constitution testifies design,
necessarily carries us to something beyond itself, to som<i
other 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 author to itself of the design wath
which they were constructed. That supposition involves
all the absurdity of self-creation, that is, of acting without
existing. Nothing can be God, Avhich is ordered by a wis-
dom and a will which itself is void of — which is indebted
for any of its properties to contrivance ah extra. The not
having that in his nature which requires the exertion of an-
other prior being — which property is sometimes called self-
sulFiciency, and sometimes self-comprehension — appertains
to the Deity, as his essential distinction, and removes his
nature from that of all things w^iich we see : which consid-
eration contains the answer to a quest'on that has sometimes
268 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
been asked, namely, "Why, since some other thing must have
existed from eternity, may not the present universe be that
something ? The contrivance perceived in it proves that to
be impossible. Nothing contrived can, in a strict and proper
sense, be eternal, forasmuch as the contriver must have exist^
ej before the contrivance.
Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are led for its
cause to an intelligent author. And this transition of the
understanding is founded upon uniform experience. We see
intelligence constantly contriving ; that is, we see intelligence
constantly producing eiTects, marked and distinguished by
certain properties — not certain particular properties, but by
a kind and class of properties, such as relation to an end
relation of parts to one another and to a common purpose.
We see, wherever we are witnesses to the actual formation
of things, nothing except intelligence producing effects so
marked and distinguished. Furnished with this experience,
we view the productions of nature. We observe them also
marked and distinguished in the same manner. We wish
to account for their origin. Our experience suggests a cause
perfectly adequate to this account. No experience, no single
instance or example, can be offered in favor of any other.
In this cause, therefore, we ought to rest ; in this cause the
common-sense of mankind has, in fact, rested, because it
agrees with that which in all cases is the foundation of
knowledge — the undeviating course of their 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 ej^es, and because we have
aever known these effects to result from any other opera-
tion. And this resemblance may subsist in so many circum-
stances as not to leave us under the smallest doubt m form-
ing our opinion. Men are not deceived by this reasoning ;
for whenever it happens, as it sometimes does happen, that
the truth comes to be known by direct information, it turns
PERSONALITY OF JEITY. 209
?ut to be what was expected. Iii like manner and upon
the same foundation — which in truth is that of experience —
we conclude that the works of nature proceed from intelli-
gence and design ; because, in the properties of relation to a
purpose, subserviency to a use, they resemble what intelli-
gence and design are constantly producing, and what noth-
ing except intelligence and design ever produce at all. Oi
every argument which would raise a question as to the safety
of this reasoning, it may be observed, that if such argument
be listened to, it leads to the inference, not only that the
present order of nature is insuflicient to prove the existence
of an intelligent Creator, but that no imaginable order would
be sufficient to prove it — that no contrivance, Avere it evei
so mechanical, ever so precise, ever so clear, ever so perfect-
ly 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 sometimes sunk
by our taking up with mere names. We have already no-
ticed,* and we must here notice again, the misapplication
of the term "law," and the mistake concerning the idea
which that term expresses in physics, whenever such idea is
made to take the place of power, and still more of an intelli-
gent 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 oi-ganized
bodies — plants, for instance, or animals — owing their pro-
duction, their form, their growth, their qualities, their beau-
ty, their use, to any law or laws of nature ; and when we
are contented to sit down with that ansvy-er to our inquiries
concerning them. I say once more, that it is a perversion
of language to assign any law as the efficient, operative cause
of any thing. A law presupposes an agent, for it is only the
mode according to which an agent proceeds ; it implies a
power, for it is the order according to which that power acts.
* Chap. I., sect. 7.
270 NATURAL THEOLOG?.
Without tills agent, without this power, w^iich are both dis-
tinct 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 sc
many, ever so complicated, ever so finely wrought or arti-
ficially put together, it cannot go without a weight or spring;
that is, 'without a force independent of, and ulterior to its
mechanism. The spring, acting at the centre, will produce
dilTerent motions and different results, according to the va-
riety of the intermediate mechanism. One and the self-
same spring, acting in one and the same manner, namely,
by simply expanding itself, may be the cause of a hundred
different and all useful movements, if a hundred different
and well-devised sets of wheels be placed between it and
the final effect : for example, 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 ser-
viceable notices ; and these movements may fulfil their pur-
poses with more or less perfection, according as the mechan-
ism is better or worse contrived, or better or worse executed,
or in a better or worse state of repair ; but in all cases it is
7iecessary tlmt iiie spring tict at the centre. The cour;LU of
our reasoning upon such a subject would be this : by inspect-
ing the watch, even when standing still, we get a proof of con-
trivance, 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 purpose of a closer examination, we are still more fully
convinced. But when we see the watch goijig, we see proof
of another point, namely, that there is a power somewhere, ana
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
svord, that there is force- and energy as well as mechanism.
TERSONAJ.ITY OF DEITY. 271
So, then, the watch iu motion establishes to the observer
two conclusions : one, that thought, contrivance, and design
liave been employed in the forming, proportioning, and ar-
ranging of its parts ; and that wlioever 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, J
should see contrivance ; but if I saw it grinding, I should
be assured that a hand was at the windlass, though in an-
other room. It is the same in nature. In the works of na-
ture we trace mechanism, and this alone proves contriv-
ance ; but living, active, moving, productive nature proves
also the exertion of a power at the centre ; for wherever
the power resides may be tlenominated the centre.
The intervention and disposition of what are called
.^' S€CO?icl causes,'' fall under the same observation. This
disposition is or is not mechanism, according as we can or
can not trace it by our senses and means of examination.
That is all the difference there is ; and it is a difference
which respects our faculties, not the things themselves.
Now, where the order of second causes is mechanical, what
is here said of mechanism strictly applies to it. But it would
be always mechanism — natural chemistry, for instance,
would be mechanism — if our senses were acute enough to
descry it. Neither mechanism, therefore, in the works of
nature, nor the intervention of what are called second caus-
es— for I think that they are the same thing — excuses the
ne;*.essity of an agent distinct from both.
If, in tracing these causes, it be said that we find certain
general properties of matter which have nothing in them
that bespeaks intelligence, I answer, that still the managing
oi these properties, the pointing and directing them to the
uses wdiich we see made of them, demands intelligence in
the highest degree. For example, suppose animal secre-
tions to be elective attractions, and that such and such at-
tractions universallv belonsf to such and such substances —
^12 NATURAL THEULOfrY.
ill all wliich there is no intellect concerned ; still, the choice
and collocation of these substances, the fixing upon right
substances, and disposing them in right places, must be an
act of intelligence. "What mischief would follow were there
a single transposition of the secretory organs ; a single mis-
take in arranging the glands wliich compose them I
There may be many second causes, and many courses ol
second causes, one behind another, between what we observe
of nature and the Deity, but there must be intelligence
somewhere — there must be more in nature than what we
see ; and, among the things unseen, there must be an intel
ligent, designing author. The philosopher beholds with
astonishment the production of things around him. Uncon-
scious particles of matter take tli^ir stations, and severally
range themselves in an order, so as to become collectively
plants or animals, that is, organized bodies, with parts bear- .
ing 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 discre-
tion. There may be particular intelligent beings guiding
these motions in each case ; or they may be the result of
trains of mechanical 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
frinciple, and of the appearance of simplicity, in accounting
for phenomena. Yet this principle, this simplicity, resides
merely in the name ; which name, after all, comprises per-
haps under it a diversified, multifarious, or progressive oper-
ation, distinguishable into parts. The power in organized
bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, is one of theso
principles. Give a philosopher this, and he can get on.
But he does not reflect what this mode of production, this
principle — if such he choose to call it — requires ; how much
it presupposes ; what an apparatus of instruments, some of
rEE-SONALITY OF DEITY- 273
wliich are strictly mechanical, is necessary to its succesy ;
what a train it includes of operations and changes one suc-
ceeding another, one related to another, one ministering to
another ; all advancing by intermediate, and frequently by
sensible steps, to their ultimate result. Yet, because the
whole of this complicated action is wrapped up in a single
term, generation, we are to set it dow^i 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 design-
ing, intelligent Creator. The truth is, generation is not a
principle, but a inoce^s,. V/e might as well call the casting
of metals a principle ; we might, so far as appears to me, as
well call spinning and weaving principles ; and then, refer-
ring the texture of cloths, the fabric 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 ani-
mals 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 maggot. These, by a progress
through different stages of life and action and enjoyment — ■
and, in each state, provided with implements 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 principle ; and proves, moreover,
that the property of animated bodies of producing their like
bolongs to them, not as a primordial property, not by any
blind necessity in the nature of things, but as the efTeci of
12*
274 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
eooiiom?, wisdom, and design ; because the property it&eli
assumes diA^ersities, and submits to deviations dictated by
intelligible utilities, and serving distinct purposes of animal
happiness.
The opinion which would consider " generation " as a
'princiiile in nature, and which would assign this principle
as the cause, or endeavor to satisfy our minds with such a
cause of the existence of organized bodies, is confuted, in my
judgment, not only by every mark of contrivance discover-
able in those bodies, for which it gives us no contriver, offers
no account whatever, but also by the further consideration,
that things generated possess a clear relation to things not
generated. If it were merely one part of a generated body
bearing a relation to another part of the same body, as the
mouth of an animal to the throat, the throat to the stomach,
the stomach to the intestines, those to the recruiting of the
blood, and, by means of the blood, to the nourishment of the
whole frame ; or if it were only one generated body bearing
a relation to another generated body, as the sexes of the
same species to each other, animals of prey to their prey,
herbivorous and granivorous animals to the plants or seeds
upon which they feed, it might be contended that the whole
of this correspondency was attributable to generation, the
common origin from which these substances proceeded. But
what shall we say to agreements which exist between things
generated and things not generated? Can it be doubted,
was it ever doubted, but that the hmgs of animals bear a
relation to the air, 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 properties correspond. The eye is made for light,
and light for the eye. The eye would be of no use without
light, and light perhaps of little without eyes ; yet one is
produced by generation, the other not. The ear depends
upon undidations of air. Here are two sets of motions :
first, of the pulses of the air ; secondly, of the drum, bones,
PERSONALITY OF DEITY. 275
and nerves of the ear — sets of motions bearing an evident
reference to each other ; yet the one, and the apparatus for
the one, produced by the intervention of generation ; the
other altogether independent of it.
If it be said that the air, the light, the elements, the
u-orld itself is generated, I answer, that I do not compre-
hend the proposition. If the term mean any thing similar
to what it means when applied to plants or animals, the
proposition is certainly without proof, and I think draws
as near to absurdity as any proposition can do which docs
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 generation of an animal. If the term generation
signify something quite difierent 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
language of Otaheite would convey as much theory concern-
ing the origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its being
generated.
"VYe know a cause — intelligence — adequate to the appear-
ances 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 destitute of a single fact for their sup-
port, and coilfirmed by no analogy with which we are
acquainted. Were it necessary to inquire into the motives,
of men's opinions, I mean their motives separate from their
arguments, I should almost suspect, that because the proof
of a Deity drawn from the constitution of nature is not only
popular, but vulgar — which may arise from the cogency oi
the proof, and be indeed its highest recommendation — and
because it is a species almost Oii 'puerility to take up with it ;
for these reasons, minds Avhich are habitually in search of
invention and originality, feel a resistless inclination to strike
off into other solutions and other expositions. The truth is.
276 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
tliat many miiids are not so indisposed to any thing winch
can be offered to them, as they are to the jlatness 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 endeavor to dispense with the necessity
in nature of a particular, personal intelligence ; that is to
say, with the exertion of an intending, contriving mind, in
the structure and formation of the organized constitutions
which the world contains. They would resolve all produc-
tions mto unconscious energies, of a like kind, in that respect,
with attraction, magnetism, electricity, etc., without any
thing further.
In this, the old system of atheism and the new agree.
And I much doubt v/hether the new schemes have advance(?
any thing upon the old, or done more than changed the terms
of the nomenclature. For instance, I could never see tht
difference between the antiquated 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 en-
dowed with life, but without organization or senses of theii
own ; and endowed also with a tendency to marshal them-
selves into organized forms. The concourse of these par-
ticles, by virtue of this tendency, but without intelligence,
will, or direction — for I do not find that any of these quali-
ties are ascribed to them — has produced the living forms
which we now see.
Very few of the conjectures which philosophers hazard
upon these subjects have more of pretension in them, than
the challenging you to show the direct impossibility of the
PERSONALITY OF DEITT. 277
hypothesis. In the present example., there seemed to be a
positive objection to the whole scheme upon the very face of
it ; which W'as, that if the case w^ere as here represented,
new combinations ought to be perpetually taking place ; new
plants and animals, or organized bodies which were neither,
ought to be starting up before our eyes every day. For this,
however, our philosopher has an answer. While so many
forms of plants and animals are already in existence, and
consequently so many " internal moulds," 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 prop-
agation. By which means things keep their ancient course.
But, says the same philosopher, should any general loss oi
destruction of the present constitution of organized bodie?
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 organized substances.
Is there any history to countenance this notion ? Is it
known that any destruction has been so repaired ; any desert
thus repeopled ?
So far as I remember, the only natural appearance men-
tioned by our author, by way of fact whereon to build his
hypothesis, is the formation of tuorms in the intestines ol
animals, which is here ascribed to the coalition of supera-
bundant organic particles floating about in the first passages ;
and which have combined themselves into these simple ani-
mal forms for want of internal moulds, or of vacancies 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 includ-
ed under it. But to make it a fact at all, or in any sort
applicable to the question, we must begin with asserting an
equivocal generation, contrary to analogy, and without neces-
sity : contrary to an analogy which accompanies us to the
very limits of our knowledge or inquiries ; for wherever.
278 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
either in plants or animals, we are able to examine the sub-
ject, we find procreation from a parent form : without neces-
sity, for I apprehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest
methods by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invisible rudi-
ments of these vermin may have obtained a passage into the
cavities in which they are found.^ Add to this, that their
constancy to their species, which I believe is as regular in
these as in the other vermes, decides the question against
our philosopher, if in truth any question remained v pon the
subject.
Lastly, these wonder-working instruments, these " inter-
nal moulds," what are they after all ; Avhat, when examin-
ed, but a name without signification ; unintelligible, if not
self-contiddictory ; at the best, differing in nothing from the
" essential forms " of the Greek philosophy ? One iihort
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 recep-
tacle, it gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same
species." Does any reader annex a meaning to the expres-
sion " internal mould," in this sentence ? Ought it then to
be said, that though we have little notion of an internal
mould, we have not much more of a designing mind ? The
very contrary of this assertion is the truth. "When we ^peak
of an artificer or an architect, we talk of what is compre-
hensible to our understanding and familiar to our experience.
We use no other terms than what refer us for their meaning
to our consciousness and observation — what express the con-
stant objects of both ; whereas names like that we have
mentioned refer us to nothing, excite no idea ; they convey a
sound to the ear, but I think do no more.
* I trust I may be excused for not citing, as another fact Tviuch la
to confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this 'write'-, that the
branches of trees upon •■vhich the stag feeds break out again in his
h-^rns. SuchjTarfs merit no discussion.
PERSONALITY OF DEITY. 279
Another system wliich has lately been brought forward,
and with much ingenuity, is that o^ appetencies. The prin-
ciple and the short account of the theory is this. Pieces ot
soft, ductile matter, being endued with propensities or ap-
petencies for particular actions, would, by continual endeav-
ors, carried on through a long series of generations, work
themselves gradually into suitable forms ; and at length
acquire, though perhaps by obscure and almost impercepti-
ble improvements, an organization fitted to the action which
their respective propensities led them to exert. A piece
of animated matter, for example, that vvas endued with a
propensity to Jly, 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 million of years, perhaps in
a hundred millions of years — for our theorists, having eter-
nity to dispose of, are never sparing in time — acquire icings.
The same tendency to locomotion in an aquatic animal, or
rather in an animated lump, which might happen to be
surrounded by water, would end in the production of Jins;
in a living substance confined to the solid earth, would put
out legs and feet ; or, if it took a diflerent turn, would break
the body into ringlets, and conclude by crawling upon the
ground.
Although I have introduced the mention of this theory
into this place, I am unwilling to give to it the name of an
athcisti: scheme, for two reasons : first, because, so far as I
am abie to undei stand it, the original propensities and the
numberless varieties of them — so difTerent, in this respect,
from the laws of mechanical nature, which are few and
simple — 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 organized like themselves,
seems to be referred to the same cause ; at least, is not at-
tempted to be accoimted for by any other. In oik; impor-
280 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
taut respect, however, the theory before us coincides with
atheistic systems, namely, in that, in the formation of plants
and animals, in the structure and use of their parts, it does
away final causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or ani-
mal, or the particular structure of the parts, having been
intended for the action or the use to which we see them
applied, according to this theory they have themselves
grown out of that action, sprung from that use. The theory,
therefore, dispenses with that which we insist upon, the
necessity, in each particular case, of an intelligent, design-
ing mind, for the contriving and determining of the forms
which organized bodies bear. Give our philosopher these
appetencies ; give him a portion of living irritable matter —
a nerve, or the clipping of a nerve — to work upon ; give also
to his incipient or progressive forms the power, in every
stage of their alteration, of propagating their like ; and, il
he is to be believed, he could replenish the world with all
the vegetable and animal productions which we at present
see in it.
The scheme under consideration is open to the same ob-
jection with other conjectures of a similar tendency, namely,
a total defect of evidence. No changes like those which the
theory requires, have ever been observed. All the changes
in Ovid's Metamorphoses might have been effected by these
appetencies, if the theory were true ; yet not an example,
nor the pretence of an example, is offered of a single change
being known to have taken place. Nor is the order of gen-
eration obedient to the principle upon which this theory is
built. The mammas* of the male have not vanished by
inusitation ; ncc curtoruni, iier multa scecida, Judceorum
jjropagini deest prceputiu?7i. It is easy to say, and it has
^ I confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reas >n, either
filial or efficient, for this part of the animal frame ; unless there be
some foundation for an opinion, of which I draw the hint from a paper
of Mr. Ererard Home, Phil. Transact. 1799, pt. 2, namely, that thf
mammae of the foetus may be formed before the sex is determined.
PERSONALITY OF DEITY. 281
L-een said, lluit the alterative process is too slow to be per-
ceived ; that it has been carried on through tracts of im-
measurable time ; and that the present order of things is the
result of a gradation of which no human records can trace
the steps. It is easy to say this ; and yet it is still true, that
the hypothesis remams destitute of evidence.
The analogies which have been alleged are of the fol-
lowing kind. The hunch of a camel is said to be no other
than the eflect of carrying burdens ; a service in which the
species has been employed from the most ancient times of
the M^orld. The first race, by the daily loading of the back,
would probably find a small grumous tumor to be formed in
the flesh of that part. The next progeny would bring this
tumor into the world with them. The life to which they
were destined would increase it. The cause which first gen-
erated the tubercle being continued, it would go on, through
every succession, to augment its size, till it attained the
form and the bulk under which it now appears. This may
serve for one instance : another, and that also of the passive
sort, is taken from certain species of birds. Birds of the
crane kind, as the crane itself, the heron, bittern, stork, have,
in general, their thighs bare of feathers. This privation is
accounted for from the habit of wading in water, and from
the effect of that element to check the growth of feathers
upon these parts ; in consequence of which, the health and
vegetation of the feathers declined through each generation
of the animal ; the tender down, exposed to cold and wet-
ness, becam.e weak, 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 were from passive habits ; and
that is the i^uch 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, reaching from the whole
length of the bill to the neck, which is said to be capable
of containing fifteen quarts of water. This bag the bird has
'^82 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
a power of wrinkling up into the hollow of the under chap
When the bag is empty, it is not seen ; but when the bird
has fished with success, it is 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 wddest extent, a person may run his head into the bird s
mouth, and conceal it in this monstrous pouch, thus adapt-
ed for very singular purposes. "=^ Now this extraordinary
conformation is nothing more, say our philosophers, than the
result of habit — not of the habit or eflbrt of a single pelican,
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 its appetite
w^as glutted, the remainder of its prey, w^iich 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 distention increased the
cavity. The original bird, and many generations which
succeeded 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
considerable capacity, would more readily accelerate its ad-
vance to perfection, by frequently pressing dowai the sack
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 instances themselves are unau-
thenticated 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 unlike
the camel's is found between the shoulders of the buffalo,
of the origin of wdiich it is impossible to give the account
* Goldsmith, vol. 6, p. .'^2.
PERSONALITY OF DEIT jT. 283
hero given. In the second example, wliy should the appli-
cation of water, which appears to promote and thicken the
growth of feathers upon the bodies and breasts of geese and
swans, and other water-fowls, have divested of this covering
the thighs of cranes ? The third instance, which appears
lo me as plausible as any that can be produced, has this
against it, that it is a singularity restricted to the species ;
whereas, if it had its commencement in the cause and man-
ner which have been assigned, the like conformation might
be expected to take place in other birds which feed upon
fish. How comes it to pass, that the pelican alone was the
inventress, 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 credibility, to assert that birds and beasts
and fish, with all their variety and complexity of organ
ization, have been brought into their forms, and distin
guished 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 gen-
erally, is contradicted by many of the phenomena, and to-
tally inadequate to others. The ligaments or strictures by
which the tendons are tied down at the angles of the joints,
could by no possibility be formed by the motion or exercise
of the tendons themselves, by an appetency exciting these
parts into action, or by any tendency arising therefrom.
The tendency is all the other way — the conatiis in constant
opposition to them. Length of time does not help the case
at all, but the reverse. The valves also in the bloodvessels
could never be formed in the manner Vvdiich our theorist
proposes. The blood, in its right and natural course, hag
no tendency to form them. "When obstructed or refluent, il
2S4 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
has the contrary. These parts could not grow out of theii
use, though they had eternity to grow m.
The senses of animals appear to me altogether incapable
of receiving the explanation of their origin which this theory
affords. Including under the word "sense" the organ and
the perception, we have no account of either. How will
our philosopher get at vision, or make an eye ? How should
the blind animal affect sight, of which blind animals we
know have neither conception nor desire ? Affecting it, by
what operation of its will, by what endeavor to see, could it
so determine the fluids of its body as to inchoate the fo-rma
tion of an eye ? Or suppose the eye formed, would the per
ception follow ? The same of the other senses. And this
objection holds its force, ascribe what you will to the hand
of time, to the power of habit, to changes too slow to be
observed by man, or brought within any comparison which
he is able to make of past things with the present : concede
what you please to these arbitrary and unattested supposi-
tions, how wdll they help you ? Here is no inception. No
laws, no course, no powers of nature which prevail at pres-
ent, nor any analogous to these, would give commencement
to a new sense. And it is in vain to inquire how that might
proceed which could never begin.
I think the senses to be the most inconsistent with the
hypothesis before us, of any part of the animal frame. But
other parts are sufficiently so. The solution does not apply
to the parts of animals which have little in them of motion.
If we could suppose joints and muscles to be gradually form-
ed by action and exercise, w^hat action or exercise could
form a skull, and fill it with brains ? No effort of the ani-
mal could determine the clothing of its skin. What conatuh
could give prickles to the porcupine or hedgehog, or to the
sheep its fleece ?
In the last place, what do these appetencies mean when
applied to plants ? I am not able to give a signification to
the terra which can be transferred from animals to plants ;
PERSONALITY OF DEITY. 2S5
or which is common to both. Yet a no less successful or-
ganization 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 philosophy, 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 designer must have been
a person. That person is God,
286 NATURAL THEOLOGF.
CHAPTER XXIY.
OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE LEITY
It is an immense conclusion, that there is a God — a per-
ceiving, inteUigent, designing Being, at the head of creation,
and from whose will it proceeded. The attributes of such
a Being, suppose his reality to be proved, must be adequate
to the magnitude, extent, and multiplicity of his operations ;
which are not only vast beyond comparison with those per-
formed by any other power, but so far as respects our con-
ceptions of them, infinite, because they are unlimited on all
sides.
Yet the contemplation of a nature so exalted, however
surely we arrive at the proof of its existence, overwhelms
our faculties. The mind feels its powers sink under the sub-
ject. One consequence of which is, that from painful abstrac-
tion the thoughts seek relief in sensible images ; whence
may be deduced the ancient and almost universal propen-
sity to idolatrous substitutions. They are the resources of a
laboring imagination. False religions usually fall in with
the natural propensity ; true religions, or such as have de-
rived themselves from the true, resist it.
It is one of the advantages of the revelations which Ave
acknowledge, that while they reject idolatry with its many
pernicious accompaniments, they introduce the Deity to hu-
man apprehension under an idea more personal, more deter-
minate, 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 relation or from the history of his providences ; which
method suits the span of our intellects much better than the
universality which enters into the idea of God, as deduced
from the views of nature. AYhen, therefore, these repre
ATTRIBUTES OF DEITY. 281
sentations are well founded in point of authority — for all
depends upon that — they afford a condescension to the state
cf our faculties, of which they who have most reflected on
Ihe 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 conrming our explanations to what con-
cerns ourselves, and do not aflect more precision in our ideas
than the subject allows of, the several terms Avhich are em-
ployed 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 comprehension.
These terms are, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence,
eternity, self-existence, necessary existence, spirituality.
"Omnipotence," "omniscience," "infinite" power, "in-
finite" knowledge, are superlatives, expressing our concep-
tion of these attributes in the strongest and most elevated
terms which language supplies. We ascribe power to the
Deity under the name of "omnipotence," the strict and cor-
rect conclusion being, that a power which could create such
a world as this is, must be, beyond all comparison, greatei
than any which we experience in ourselves, than any which
we observe in other visible agents ; greater also than any
which we can want, for our individual protection and pves-
orvation, in the Being upon whom we depend. It is a
power likewise, to which we are not authorized, by our ob-
sirvation or knowledge, to assign any limits of space or
luration.
Very much of the same sort of remark is applicable to
the term " omniscience," infinite knowledge, or infinite wis-
dom. In strictness of language, there is a diflerence between
knowledge and wisdom ; wisdom always supposing action,
and action directed by it. With respect to the first, namely.
knoic'Iedge, the Creator must know intimately the constitu-
tion and pro])erties of the things which he created ; which
seems also to imply a foreknowledge of their action upon
288 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
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 de-
ducible from his nature, as an intelligent being, joined with
the extent, or rather the universality of his operations.
Where he acts, he is ; and where he is, he perceives. The
icisclor)i of the Deity, as testified in the works cf creation
surpasses all idea we have of M'isdom drawn from the high
est intellectual operations of the highest class of intelligent
beings with whom we are acquainted; and, which is of the
chief importance to us, Avhatever be its compass or extent,
which it is evidently impossible that we should be able to
determine, it must be adequate to the conduct of that order
of things under which we live. And this is enough. It is
of very inferior consequence by what terms we express our
notion, or rather our admiration of this attribute. The
terms which the piety and the usage of language have ren-
dered 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 formation
of created nature cannot, with respect to us, be distinguished
from infinite.
The divine "omnipresence" stands, in natural theology,
upon this foundation : in every part and place of the uni-
verse with which we are acquainted, we perceive the exer-
tion of a power which we beheve, mediately or immediately,
to proceed from the Deity. For instance, in what part or
point of space that has ever been explored, do we not dis-
cover attraction ? In what regions do we not find light ?
In what accessible portion of our globe do we not meet with
gravity, magnetism, electricity, together with the properties
also and powers of organized substances, of vegetable or oi
animated nature ? Nay, further, we may ask, What king-
dom is there of nature, what corner of space, in which there
is any thing that can be examined by us, where we do not
ATTRIBUTES OF DEITY. 289
fall upon contrivance and design ? The only reflection per-
haps, which arises in our minds from this view of the world
around us, is, that the laws of nature everywhere prevail ;
that they are uniform and universal. But what do you
mean by the laws of nature, or by any law ? Effects are
produced by power, not by laws. A law cannot execute
itself. A law refers us to an agent. Now, an agency so
general as that we cannot discover its absence, or assign the
place in which some effect of its continued energy is not
found, may, in popular language at least, and perhaps with-
out much deviation from philosophical strictness, be calle<J
universal ; and with not quite the same, but with no incon-
siderable propriety, the person or being in whom that power
resides, or from whom it is derived, may be taken to be om-
niprese7it. He who upholds all things by his power, may
be said to be everywhere present.
This is called a virtual presence. There is also what
metaphysicians denominate an essential ubiquity, and which
idea the language of Scripture seems to favor ; but the for-
mer, I think, goes as far as natural theology carries us.
"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 v/hich nothing existed,
because that condition must have continued. The universal
blank must have remained ; nothing could rise up out of it ;
nothing could ever have existed since ; nothing could exist
now. In strictness, however, we have no concern with du-
ration prior to that of the visible world. Upon this article,
therefore, of theology, it is sufficient to know that the con-
triver necessarily existed before the contrivance.
"Self-existence" is another negative idea, namely, the
negation of a preceding cause, as of a progenitor, a m.akei,
an author, a creator.
Nat. Theol. 13
290 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
"Necessary existence" means demonstrable 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 sohdity, 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 resides the essential
superiority of spirit over matter, " which caimot move, un-
less 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' Principles of Natural Religion, p. 106.
UNITY OF THE DEITY. 291
CHAPTER XXV.
OF THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.
Of the "unity of the Deity," the proof is, the wnfoy^n*
ity of plan observable in the universe. The universe itself
is a system ; each part either depending upon other parts, oi
being connected with other parts by some common law o.
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 attrac-
tion carries all the difierent planets about the sun. Thi?
philosophers demonstrate. There are also other points o
agreement among 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 experience vicissitudes of days and
nights, and changes of season. They all, at least Jupiter
Mars, and Yenus, have the same advantages from their at
mosphere as we have. In all the planets, the axes of rota-
tion are permanent. Nothing is more probable than that
the same attracting influence, acting according to the samv
rule, reaches to the fixed stars ; but if this be only probable,
another thing is certain, namely, that the same element of
light does. The light from a fixed star affects our eyes in
the same manner, is refracted and reflected according to the
same laws, as the light of a candle. The velocity of the
light of the fixed stars is also the same as the velocity of the
light of the sun, reflected 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 in them; new plants perhaps, or animals, but
always in company with plants and anim.als which we
i>92 NATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
already know, and always possessing many of the same
genera] properties. We never get among such original, oi
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 order
of things attends us wherever we go. The elements act
upon one another, electricity operates, the tides rise and fall,
the magnetic needle elects its position in one region of the
earth and sea as well as in another. One atmosphere in-
vests all parts of the globe, and coimects all ; one sun illu-
minates, one moon exerts its specific attraction upon all parts.
If there be a variety in natural effects, as, for example, in
the tides of different seas, that very variety is the result of
the same cause acting under different circumstances. In
many cases this is proved ; in all, is probable.
The inspection and comparison of living foi-ms add to
this argument examples without number. Of all large ter-
restrial animals, the structure is very much alike ; their
senses nearly the same ; their natural functions and passions
nearly the same ; their viscera nearly the same, both in
substance, shape, and office ; digestion, nutrition, circulation,
secretion go on in a similar manner in all ; the great circu-
lating fluid is the same, for I think no difference has been
discovered in the properties of blood, from whatever animal
it be drawn. The experiment of transfusion proves that thp
blood of one animal will serve for another. The skeletoni
also of the larger terrestrial animals show particular vane
ties, but still under a great general affinity. The resem-
blance is somewhat less, yet sufficiently evident, between
quadrupeds and birds. They are all alike in five respects,
for one in which they difler.
In fish, which belong to anothei department as it weie
of nature, the points of comparison become fewer. But Ave
never lose sight of our analogy : for example, we still meet
with a stomach, a liver, a spine ; with bile and blood ; A\dth
teeth ; with eyes — which eyes are only slightly varied froni
UNITY OF THE DEITY. 293
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, namely,
to the different refraction of light passing into the eye out of
1 denser medium. The provinces, also, themselves of water
and ea.'th, are connected by the species of animals which
ir.habit both ; and also by a large tribe of aquatic animals,
which closely resemble the terrestrial in their internal struc-
ture : I mean the cetaceous tribe, M^iich have hot blood,
respiring lungs, bowels, and other essential parts, like those
of land-animals. This similitude surely bespeaks the same
creation and the same Creator.
Insects and sliell-jish appear to me to difier from other
classes of animals the most widely of any. Yet even here,
besides many points of particular resemblance, there exists
a general relation of a peculiar kind. It is the relation of
inversion — the law of contrariety : namely, that whereas,
in other animals, the bones, to which the muscles are at-
tached, lie williiii 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 hone, by furnishing to the tendons that
fixed basis or immovable fulcrum, without which, mechani-
cally, they could not act. The crust of an insect is its shell,
and answers the like purpose. The shell also of an oyster
stands in the place of a bone ; the bases of the muscles be-
ing fixed to it in the same manner as, in other animals,
they are fixed to the bones. All which, under wonderful
varieties indeed, and adaptations of form, confesses an imi-
tation, a remembrance, a carrying on of the same plan.
The observations here made are equally applicable to
plants ; bui, I think, unnecessary to be pursued. It is a very
striking circumstance, and also sufficient to prove all which
we contend for, that, in this part likewise of organized na-
ture, we perceive a continuation of the sexual system.
Certain however it is, that the whole argument for the
divine unity goes no further than -to a unity of counsel.
294 NATURAL TllEOLOli-Y.
It may likewise be acknowledged, that no argument?
whicK we are in possession of exclude the ministry of subor-
dinate 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.
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 29f
CHAPTER XXVI.
OF THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.
The pi3of of the divine goocbiess rests uptii two proposi-
tions ; each, as we contend, capable of being made out by
observations drawn from the appearances of nature.
The first is, "that in a vast pluraUty of instances in
which contrivance is perceived, the design of the contriv-
ance is boieficial.''
The second, " that the Deity has superadded j^Zeaswre to
animal sensations beyond what was necessary for any other
purpose, or when the purpose, so far as it was necessar}'',
might have been effected by the operation of pain."
First, "in a vast plurality of instances in which con-
trivance is perceived, the design of the contrivance is ben-
eficial.''
No productions of nature display contrivance so mani-
festly as the parts of animals ; and the parts of animals have
all of them, I believe, a real, and with very few exceptions,
all of them a known and intelligible subserviency to the use
of the animal. Now, when the multitude of animals is con-
sidered, the number of parts in each, their figure and fitness,
the faculties depending upon them, the variety of species,
the complexity of structure, the success, in so many cases,
and felicity of the result, we can never reflect without the
profoundest adoration, upon the character of that Being from
whom all these things have proceeded ; we cannot help
acknov/ledging what an exertion of benevolence creation
was — of a benevolence how minute in its care, how vast in
il s comprehension I
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 say that the
insensible parts of nature are made solely for the sensitive
296 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
parts ; but this I say, that when we consider tlie benevv>
ience of the Deity, we can only consider it in relation to
sensitive being. Without this reference, or referred to any
thing else, the attribute has no object, the term has no
meaning. 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 ma-
terial creation, yet, since they alone are instruments of per
ception, 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 benevolent design.
Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy world after all.
The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted existence.
In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on whichever side
I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my
view. "The insect youth are on the^wing." Swarms of
new-born Jlies are trying their pinions in the air. Their
sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activ-
ity, their continual change of place without use or purpose,
testify their joy, and the exultation which they feel in their
lately discovered faculties. A bee among the flower? in
spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that can be k.ked
upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment ; so busy, and so
pleased : yet it is only a specimen of insect life with wdiich,
by reason of the animal being half domesticated, we happen
to be better acquainted than we are with that of others.
The ivhole-icmged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally
intent upon their proper employments, and, under eveiy va-
riety 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 enjoy-
ment 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
G-OODNESS OF THE DEITi'. 297
this is a state of gratincation. What else should fix Lhem
EG close to the operation, and so long ? Other species are
running about, with an alacrity in their motions which
carries with it every mark of pleasure. Large patches ot
ground are sometimes half covered with these brisk and
sprightly natures. If we look to what the waters produce,
shoals of the fry of fish frequent the margins of rivers, of
lakes, and of the sea itself These are so happy that they
know not what to do with themselves Their attitudes,
their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics in it,
which I have noticed a thousand times with equal attention
and amusement, all conduce to show their excess of spirits,
and are simply the efTects of that excess. Walking by the
sea-side in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an
ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appearance of a
dark cloud, or rather a 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 w^et 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 intelligibly. Suppose, then, what I have no doubt
of, each individual of this number to be in a state of positive
enjoyment; what a sum, collectively, of gratification and
pleasure have we here before our view !
The young of all animals appear to me to receive pleas-
ure simply from the exercise of their limbs and bodily facul-
ties, without reference to any end to be attained, or any use
to be answered by the exertion. A child, without knowing
any thing of the use of language, is in a high degree delight-
ed with being able to speak. Xts incessant repetition of a few
articulate sounds, or. perhaps of the single word which it
13*
29S NATUHAL THEOLOGY.
has learnt to pronounce, proves this pomt clearly. Nor 113
it less pleased with its first successful endea.vors to walk, or
rather to run — which precedes walking — although entirel}''
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 disposed to believe that the
waldng hours of infancy are agreeably taken up with the
exercise of vision, or perhaps, more properly speaking, with
learning to see.
But it is not for youth alone that the great Parent ol
creation has provided. Happiness is found with the purring
3at, no less than with the playful kitten — in the arm-chaii
of dozing age, as well as in either the sprightliness of the
dance, or the animation of. the chase. To novelty, to acute-
ness of sensation, to hope, to ardor of pursuit, succeeds 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. The young are not happy but when
enjoying pleasure ; the old are happy when free from pain.
And this constitution suits with the degrees of animal power
which they respectively possess. The vigor of youth was to
be stimulated to action by impatience of rest ; while, to the
imbecility of age, quietness and repose become positive grati-
fications. In one important respect, the advantage is with
the old. A state of ease is, generally speaking, more attain-
able than a state of pleasure. A constitution, therefore,
which can enjoy ease, is preferable to that which can taste
only pleasure. This same perception of ease oftentimes ren-
ders old-age a condition of great comfort ; especially when
riding at its anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is
well described by Rousseau, to be the interval of repose and
enjoyment between the hurry and the end of life. How fax
the same cause extends to other animal natures, cannot be
judged of with certainty. The appearance of satisfaction
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 299
witli which most animals, as their activity subsides seek
and enjoy rest, affords reason to beUeve that this source of
gratification is appointed to advanced life, under all, or most
of its various forms. In the species with which we are best
acquainted, namely, our own, I am far, even as an observer
of human life, from thinking that youth is its happiest sea-
son, much less the only happy one : as a Christian, I am
willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth in the
following representation given by a very pious writer as well
as excellent man :* " To the intelligent and virtuous, old-age
presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetite,
of well-regulated affections, of maturity in knowledge, and
of calm preparation for immortality. In this serene and
dignified state, placed as it were on the confines of two worlds,
the mind of a good man reviews what is past with the com-
placency of an approving conscience ; and looks forw^ard
with humble confidence in the mercy of God, and wdth de-
vout aspirations towards his eternal and ever-increasing
favor."
What is seen in different stages of the same life, is still
more exemplified in the lives of different animals. Animal
enjoyments are infinitely diver si jiecl. The modes of life to
wdiich the organization of different animals respectively de-
termines them, are not only of various, but of opposite kinds.
Yet each is happy in its owai. 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 con-
tented among their companions, than is the pike or the lion
\\\i\\ the deep solitudes of the pool or the forest.
But it will be said, that the mstances which we have
here brought forw^ard, whether of vivacity or repose, or ol
apparent enjoyment derived from either, are picked and favor-
able instances. "We answer, first, that they are instances,
nevertheless, which comprise large provinces of sensitive
* Father's Listructions ; by Dr. Percival. of Manchester, p 317
300 NATURAL ThEOLOGY.
existence ; that every case which we have described is tiie
case of minions. At this moment, in every given moment
of time, how many myriads of animals are eating their food,
gratifying their appetites, ruminating in their holes, accom-
plishing their wishes, pursuing their pleasures, taking their
pastimes I In each individual, how many things must go
right for it to be at ease, yet how large a proportion out oi
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 acquainted with it, looking to the average
of sensations, the plurality and the preponderancy is in favoi
of happiness by a vast excess. In our own species, in which
perhaps the assertion may be more questionable than any
other, the prepoUeiicy of good over evil, of health, for exam-
ple, and ease, over pain and distress, is evinced by the very
notice which calamities excite. What inquiries does the
sickness of our friends produce ; what conversation, their mis-
fortunes. This shows that the common course of things is
in favor 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 dis-
ease and want.
One great cause of our insensibility to the goodness of
the Creator, is the very extensivoiess of his bounty. We
prize but little what we share only in common with the rest,
or with the generality of our species. When we hear of
blessings we think forthwith of successes, of prosperous for-
tunes, of honors, riches, preferments, that is, of those advan-
tages and superiorities over others which we happen either
to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to covet. The common
benefits of our nature entirely escape us. Yet these are the
great things. These constitute Avhat 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
CtOODness of the deity. 301
understandings, arc gifts which admit of no comparisoii witlj
any other. Yet because almost every man we meet with
possesses these, we leave them out of our enumeration.
They raise no sentiment, they move no gratitude. Now,
harein is our judgment perverted by our selfishness. A bless-
ing ought in truth to be the more satisfactory^ the bounty at
least of the donor is rendered more conspicuous, by its very
diffusion, its commonness, its cheapness — by its falling to the
lot, and forming the happiness of the great bulk and body oi
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 Avay of thinking. We
court distinction. That is not the w^orst : we see nothing
but what has distinction to recommend it. This neces-
sarily 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 ampli-
tude of the divine benignity is perceived.
But pain, no doubt, and privations exist in numerous
instances and to a great 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, there-
lore, of our proposition to that mixed state of things which
these exceptions induce, two rules are necessary, and both, I
think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard those
effects alone w^iich are accompanied with proofs of inten-
tion ; the other, that when we cannot resolve all appear-
ances into benevolence of design, w^e make the few give
place to the many, the little to the great — that we take our
judgment from a large and decided preponderancy, if there
be one.
I crave leave to transcribe into this place what I have
Eaid upon this subject in my Moral Philosophy.
•* When God created the human species, either ho washed
their happiness, or he wished their misery, or he was indij'
ferent and unconcerned about either.
302 JSATURAL THEOLOG-Y.
" 11 lie had wished our misery, he might have mads sure
of his purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores
and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratification
and enjoyment ; or by placing us amid objects so ill-suited
to our perceptions as to have continually offended us, instead
of ministering to our refreshment and delight. He might
have made, for example, every thing we tasted, bitter ;
every thing Vv'^e saw, loathsome ; every thing we touched, a
sting ; every smell, a stench ; and every sound, a discord.
" If he had been indifferent about our happiness or mis-
ery, we must impute to our good fortune — as all design by
this supposition is excluded — both the capacity of our senses
to receive pleasure, and the supply of external objects fitted
to produce it.
"But either of these, and still more, both of them, being
too much to be attributed to accident, nothing remains but
the first supposition, that God, when he created the human
species, wished their happiness, and made for them the
provision which he has made, vAth. that view and for that
purpjDse.
" The same argument may be proposed in difierent
terms, thus : contrivance proves design ; and the predominant
tendency of the contrivance indicates the disposition of the
designer. The world abounds with contrivances ; and all
the contrivances which we are acquainted with are directed
to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists, but is never,
that we can perceive, the object of contrivance. Teeth are
contrived to eat, not to ache ; their aching nov/ and then is
incidental to the contrivance, perhaps inseparable from it :
or even, if you will, let it be called a defect in the contriv-
ance ; but it is not the object of it. This is a distinction
which well deserves to be attended to. In describing imple-
ments of husbandry, you would hardly say of the sickle, that
it is made to cut the reaper's hand ; though from the con-
struction of the instrument, and the manner of using it, this
mischii^f often follows. But if you had occasion to describe
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 303
insiruiiients of torture, or execution, this engine, you would
gay, is to extend the sinews, this to dislocate the joints, this
to break the bones, this to scorch the soles of the feet. Here,
pain and misery are the very objects of the contrivance.
Now nothing- of this sort is to be found in the works of na-
ture. We never discover a train of contrivance to bring
about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever discovered a sys-
tem of organization calculated to produce pain and disease ;
or, in explaining the parts of the human body, ever said, this
IS to irritate, this to inflame, this duct is to convey the gravel
to the kidneys, this gland to secrete the humor which forms
the gout : if by chance he come at a part of which he knows
not the use, the most he can say is, that it is useless ; no
one ever suspects that it is put there to incommode, to annoy,
or to torment."
The TWO CASES which appear to me to have the most
difficulty in them, as forming the most of the appearance ot
exception to the representation here given, are those of vcn-
omovs animals, and of animals iweyin^ upon one another.
These properties of animala, w^herever 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 organization provided for the producing of them.
Under the first 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 incontest-
ably beneficial. And the same thing must, under the second
head, be acknowledged of the talons and beaks of birds, of
the tusks, teeth, and claws of beasts of prey — of the shark's
mouth, of the spider's web, and of numberless weapons of
offence belonging to different tribes of voracious insects. We
cannot, tlierefore, avoid the difficulty by saying that the
cfiect -was not intended. The only question open to us is,
whether it be ultimately evil. From the confessed and felt
imperfection of our kno\yledge, we ought to presume that
there may be consequences of this economy which are hidden
S04 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
from us : from the benevolence which pervades the general
designs of nature, we ought also to presume that these con-
sequences, if they could enter into our calculation, would
turn the balance on the favorable side. Both these I con^
tend to be reasonable presumptions. Not reasonable pre-
sumptions if these two cases were the only cases which
nature presented to our observation ; but reasonable pre-
sumptions, under the reflection, that the cases in question
are combined with a multitude of intentions, all proceeding
from the same author, and all, except these, directed to ends
of undisputed utility. Of the vindications, however, of this
economy, which we are able to assign, such as most exten-
uate the difficulty, are the following.
With respect to venomous bites and stings, it may be ob
served,
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
stomach, which may be no less merciful to the victim than
salutary to the devourer. In the viper, for instance, the
poisonous fang may do that which, in other animals of prey,
is done by the crush of the teeth. Frogs and mice might bo
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 deleteri-
ous than it is. Now I believe the case of bites which pro-
duce death in large animals — of stings I think there are
none — to be very few. The experiments of the Abbe Fon-
tana, which were numerous, go strongly to the proof cf this
point. He found that it required the action of five exasper-
ated 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;
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 30fi
wliicli agrees with the use \\4iich we assign to the faculty.
The abbe seemed to be of opinion, that the bite even of the
rattlesnake would not usually be mortal ; allowing, however,
that in certain particularly unfortunate cases, as when the
puncture had touched some very tender part, pricked a prin-
cipal nerve, for instance, or, as it is said, some more consider-
able lymphatic vessel, death might speedily ensue.
3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked concerning
serpents, that while only a lew species possess the venomous
property, that property guards the whole tribe. The most
innocuous snake is avoided with as much care as a viper.
Now the terror with which large animals regard this class
of reptiles is its protection ; and this terror is founded 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 tliirty-two only are poisonous.
4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions are pro-
vided not only for each element, but for each state of the
elements, that is, for every climate, and for every tempera-
ture ; and that part of the mischief complained of, arises
from animals — the human animal most especially — occupy-
ing situations upon the earth which do not belong to them,
nor were ever intended for their habitation. The folly and
wickedness of mankind, and necessities proceeding from these
causes, have driven multitudes of the species to seek a refuge
among burning sands, while countries blessed with hospit-
able 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 complaii* that we
are infested by their bites and stings. Some accounts oi
Africa place this observation in a strong point of view.
'• The deserts," says Adamson, " are entirely barren, except
where they are found to produce serpents ; and in such quan-
tities, that some extensive plains are almost entirely covered
with them." These are the natures appropriated to the sit-
30G NATURAL THEOLOaY.
uatioii. Let them enjoy their existence ; let them have theit
country. Surface enough will be left to man, though his
numbers were increased a hundred-fold, and left to him
where he might live exempt from these annoyances.
The SECOND CASE, namely, that of animals devouring
one another, furnishes a consideration of much larger extent.
To judge whether, as a general provision, this can be deem-
ed an evil, even so far as we understand its consequences,
which, probably, is a partial understanding, the following
reflections are fit to be attended to.
1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the question.
Without death there could be no generation, no sexes, no
parental relation, that is, as things are constituted, no ani-
mal happiness. The particular duration of life assigned to
different animals can form no part of the objection ; be-
cause, whatever that duration be, wdiile 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 century of years No account can be given of this ;
nor could any be given, whatever other proportion of life
had obtained among them.
The term then of life in different animals being the same
as it is, the question is, what mode of taking it away is the
best even for the animal itself?
Now, according to the established order of nature —
which we must suppose to prevail, or w^e 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 h'utes is not often
visited by acute distempers ; nor could it be deemed an im-
provement of their lot if they were. Let it be considered,
therefore, in what a condition of suff^ering and misery a brute
animal is placed which is left to perish by decay. In hu-
man sickness or infirmity, there is the assistance of man's
rational fellow-creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at least
to minister to his necessities, and to supply the pla^'-e of his
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 307
own activity. A brute, in his wild and natural state, does
every thing for himself. When his strength, therefore, Oi'
his speed, or his limbs, or his senses fail him, he is .ielivered
over either to absolute famine or to the protracted wretch-
edness of a hfe slowly wasted by the scarcity of food. Ts it
then to see the world filled with drooping, superannuated,
half-starved, helple««i '»x\d unhelped animals, that you would
alter the present system of pursuit and prey ?
2. Which system is also to them the spring of motion
and activity on both sides. The pursuit of its prey forms
the employment, and appears to constitute the pleasure of
a considerable part of the animal creation. The using of
the means of defence, or flight, or precaution, forms also th<»
business of another part. And even of this latter tribe, we
have no reason to suppose that their happiness 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
provide, 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, requires a degree of
reflection which, happily for themselves, they do not pos-
sess. A hare, notwithstanding the number of its dangers
and its enemies, is as playful an animal as any other. •
3. But, to do justice to the question, the system of ani-
mal destruction ought always to be considered in strict con-
nection with another property of animal nature, namely,
superfecundity . They are countervailing qualities. One
subsists by the correction of the other. In treating, there-
fore, of the subject under this view — which is, I believe, the
true one — our business will be, first, to point out the advan-
tages which are gained by the powers in nature of a super-
abundant multiplication ; and then to show that these ad-
vantages are so many reasons for appointing that system "of
national hostilities which we are endeavoring to account
for.
SOS NATURAL THEOLOaY.
In almost all cases, nature produces her supplies with
profusion. A single codfish 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 Mhich outruns
calculation, and to an immeasurable extent. The advan-
tages of such a constitution are two : first, that it tends to
keep the world always full ; while, secondly, it allows the
proportion between the several species of animals to be dif-
ferently modified, as different purposes require,* or as difier-
ent situations may afford for them room and food. Where
this vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to receive
the species, there it operates with its whole efiect — there it
pours in its numbers and replenishes the waste. We com-
plain of what we call the exorbitant multiplication of some
troublesome insects ; not reflecting that large portions of
nature might be left void without it. If the accounts of
travellers may be depended upon, immense tracts of forest
in North America would be nearly lost to sensitive existence,
if it were not for gnats. " In the thinly inhabited regions
of America, in which the waters stagnate and the climate
is warm, the whole air is filled with crowds of these in-
sect*." Thus it is, that where we looked for sohtude and
death-like silence, we meet with animation, activity, enjoy-
ment— with a busy, a happy, and a peopled world. Again,
hosts of 7nice are reckoned among the plagues of the north-
east part of Europe ; whereas vast plains in Siberia, as we
learn from good authority, would be lifeless without them.
The Caspian deserts are converted by their presence into
crowds of warrens. Between the Volga and the Yaik, and
in the country of Hyrcania, the ground, says Pallas, is in
many places covered with httle hills, raised by the earth
cast out in forming the burrows. Do we so envy these
blissful abodes, as to pronounce the fecundity by which they
are supplied with inhabitants to be an evil ; a subject of
GOODNESS OF THL DElir. 309
complaint, and not of praise ? Further, by virtue of this
Bime superfecundity, what wo term destruction becomes
almost instantly the parent of life. What we call blights
a.re oftentimes legions of animated beings, claiming their
])ortion in the bounty of nature. What corrupts the pro«
duce of the earth to us, prepares it for them. And it is by
means of their rapid multiplication that they take posses-
sion of their pasture ; a slow propagation would not meet
the opportunity.
But in conjunction with the occasional use of this fruit-
fulness, we observe, also, that it allows the proportion be-
tween the several species of animals to be differently modi-
fied, as diffx3rent 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
economy, it is possible that there may be the following ad-
vantages. When old countries are become exceedingly cor
rupt, simpler modes of life, purer morals, and better institu
tions, may rise up in new ones, while fresh soils reward the
cultivator with more plentiful returns. Thus the different
portions of the globe come into use in succession, as the res-
idence of man ; and, in liis absence, entertain other guests,
which, by their sudden multiplication, 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 wo
please, or as we can support. Nor do we complain of its
excels ; it being much more easy to regulate abundance
than to supply scarcity.
But then i\\\^nq-)erfecu7iditij^ though of great occasional
GIO NATUilAI THEOLOaY
use and importance, exceeds the ordinary capacity of uatUT<'
to receive or support its progeny. All superabundance sup-
poses destruction, or must destroy itself. Perhaps there is
no species of terrestrial animals 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 disturbance 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 cur-
tailed. In conjunction with other checks and limits, all
subservient to the same purpose, are the thiiuiings which
take place among animals by their action upon one another.
In some instances, we ourselves experience, very directly,
the use of these hostilities. One species of insect rids us of
another species, or reduces their ranks. A third species,
perhaps, keeps the second within bounds ; and birds or liz-
ards are a fence against the inordinate increase by which even
these last might infest us. In other, more numerous, and
possibly more important instances, this disposition of things,
although less necessary or useful to us, and of course less
observed by us, may be necessary and useful to certain other
species ; or even for the preventing of the loss of certain
species from the universe — a misfortune wliich seems to be
studiously guarded 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 provision which was originally made for continu-
ing the replenishment of the world, has proved itself to be
effectual through a long succession of ages.
What further shows that the system of destruction
among annuals holds an express relation to the system ol
fecundity, that they are parts indeed of one compensatory
scheme, is, that in each species the fecundity bears a pro-
portion to the smallness of the animal, to the weakness, to
the shortness of its natural term of life, and to thfi dangers
G-OOlJl^ESS OF THE DEITY. 313
and enemies by which it is surrounded. An elephant pro-
duces but one calf; a butterfly lays six hundred eggs. Birds
of prey seldom produce more than two eggs ; the sparrow
tribe and the duck tribe frequently sit upon a dozen. In
the rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows for one pike ,
in the sea, a million of henings for a single shark. Com-
pensation obtains throughout. Defencelessness and devasta-
tion are repaired by fecundity.
We have dwelt the longer on these considerations, be-
cause the subject to which they apply, namely, that of ani-
mals devouring one another, forms the chief, if not the
only instance, in the works of the Deity, of an economy,
stamped by marks of design, in which the character of util-
ity can be called in question. The case of venomous ani-
mals is of much inferior consequence to the case of prey,
and, in some degree, is also mcluded under it. To both
cases it is probable that many more reasons belong than
those of which we arc in possession.
Our FIRST PROPOSITION, and that which we have hith-
erto been defending, was, " that in a vast plurality of in-
stances, in which contrivance is perceived, the dcsig?i of the
contrivance is beneficial ^
Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, " that the Deity has added
"pleasure to animal sensations beyond what was necessary
for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as it was
necessary, might have been eflected by the operation of
pain."
This proposition may be thus explained. The capaci-
ties which, according to the established course of nature,
are necessary to the support or preservation of an animal,
however manifestly they may be the result of an organiza-
tion contrived for the purpose, can only be deemed an act
or a part of the same will' as that which decreed the exist-
ence 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
312 NATUilAL THEOLOaY.
all. Animal properties, therefore, whicli fall under this de-
scription, do not strictly prove the goodness of God : they
may prove the existence of the Deity ; they may prove a
high degree of povv^er 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 possible 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 intention expressly directed to hap-
piness— an intention 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 species 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 necessary
to Hfe, and ministering only to our pleasures, and the prop-
erties given to the necessaries of life themselves, by which
they contribute to pleasure as well as preservation, show a
further design than that of giving existence.^
A single instance will make all this clear. Assuming
the necessity^ of food for the support of animal life, it is requi-
site that the animal be provided with organs fitted for the
procuring, receiving, and digesting of its food. It may also
be necessary, that the animal be impelled by its sensations
to exert its organs. But the pain of hunger would do all
this. Why add pleasure to the act of eating ; sweetness
and relish to food ? Why a new and appropriate sense for
the perception of the pleasure ? Why should the juice of a
peach applied to the palate, affect the part so differently
* See tliis topic considered in Dr. Ealguy's Treatise upon the Di-
vine Benevolence. TMs excellent author first, I think, proposed it
Rnd nearly in the terms in which it is here stated. Some other obser
»^ations also under this head are taken from that treatise.
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 313
from what it docs when rubbed upon the palm of the hand ?
This is a constitution which, so far as appears to me, can be
resolved into nothing but the pure benevolence of the Crea-
tor. Eating is necessary, but the pleasure attending it if-
not necessary ; and that this pleasure depends not only up( n
our being in possession of the sense of taste, which is differ-
ent from every other, but upon a particular state of the
organ in which it resides, a felicitous adaptation of the organ
to the object, will be confessed by any one who may happen
to have experienced that vitiation of taste which frequently
occurs in fevers, when every taste is irregular, and every
one bad.
In mentioning the gratifications of the palate, it may be
said that we have made choice of a trifling example. I am
not of that opinion. They afford a share of enjoyment to
man ; but to brutes I believe that they are of very great
importance. A horse at liberty passes a great part of his
waking hours in eating. To the ox, the sheep, the deer, and
other ruminating animals, the pleasure is doubled. Their
whole time almost is divided between browsing upon their
pasture and chewing their cud. Whatever the pleasure be,
it is spread over a large portion of their existence. If there
be animals, such as the lupous fish, which swallow their
prey whole and at once, without any time, as it should seem,
for either drawing out or relishing the taste in the mouth,
is it an improbable conjecture, that the seat of taste with
them is in the stomach ; or at least, that a sense of pleasure,
whether it be taste or not, accompanies the dissohition 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 defect of palate. The feast laste
as long as the digestion.
In seeking for argument, we need not stay to insist upon
the comparative importance of our exam^ple ; for the ob-
servation holds equally of all, or of three at least of the
other senses. The necessary purposes of hearing might havo
Nat. T'acol. 14
314 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
been answered without harmony ; of smell, without fra-
grance ; of vision, without beauty. Now, " if the Deity had
been indifierent about our happiness or misery, Ave must im-
pute to our good fortune — as all des-ign by this supposition
is excluded — ^both the capacity of our senses to receive pleas-
ure, and the supply of external objects fitted to excite it."
I allege these as tivo felicities, for they are dilTerent things,
yet both necessary : the sense being fo-rmed, the objects
which were applied to it might not have suited it ; the ob-
jects being fixed, the sense might not have agreed with
them. A coincidence is here required which no accident
can account for. There are three possible suppositions upon
the subject, and no more. The first, that the sense, by its
original constitution, w^as made to suit the object; the sec-
ond, that the object, by its original constitution, was made
to suit the sense ; the third, that the sense is so constituted
as to be able, either universally or within certain limits, by
habit and familiarity, to render every object pleasant. Which-
ever of these suppositions we adopt, the efiect 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 between the sense and the prop-
erties perceived by it, we know by experience that the ad-
justment demanded, with respect to the qualities which were
conferred upon the objects that surround us, not only choice
and selection, out of a boundless variety of possible qualities
vith which these objects might have been endued, but a
'proiiortioning also of degree, because an excess or defect of
intensity spoils the perception as much almost as an error
in. the kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the degree
of dulness or acuteness in the sense itself is no arbitrary
:hing, but in order to preserve the congruity here spoken of,
requires to be in an exact or near correspondency with ths
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, experience great torment from theij
aOODNESS OF THE DEITY. J15
preternatural acuteness. An increased, no less than an im-
paired sensibility, induces a state of disease and suffering.
The doctrine of a specific congruity between animal
senses and their objects, is strongly favored by what is ob-
served of insects in the election of their food. Some of these
will feed upon one kind of plant or animal, and upon no
other ; some caterpillars upon the cabbage alone, some upon
the black currant alone. The species of caterpillar which
eacs the vine, will starve upon the alder ; nor will that
which we find upon fennel touch the rose-bush. Some in-
sects confine themselves to two or three kinds of plants or
animals. Some, again, show so strong a preference, as to
afford reason to believe, that though they may be driven by
hunger to others, they are led by the pleasure of taste to a
few particular plants alone ; and all this, as it should seem,
independently of habit or imitation.
But should we accept the third hypothesis, and even
carry it so far as to ascribe every thing which concerns the
question to habit — as in certain species, the human species
most particularly, there is reason to attribute something —
we have then before us an ^animal capacity, not less perhaps
to be admired than the native congruities which the othei
scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to result from anj
fixed necessity in nature, that what is frequently applied t(
the senses should of course become agreeable to them. It
is, so far as it subsists, a power of accommodation provided
in these senses by the Author of their structure, and forms
a part of their perfection.
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 probably
themselves far from being the only vehicles of enjoyment, or
the whole of our constitution 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 held that all secretion is
516 . NATURAL THEOLOGY.
pleasurable ; and that the complacency which in health,
without any external assignable object to excite it, we derive
from life itself, is the effect of our secretions going on well
within us. All this may be true ; but if true, what reason
can be assigned for it, except the will of the Creator ? It
may reasonably be asked, Why is any thing a pleasure ? and
I know no answer which can be returned to the question
but that which refers it to appointment.
We can give no account whatever of our pleasures in
the simple and original perception ; and even when physical
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 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 have passed some of the happiest hours
of a sufficiently happy life ; but to this moment T could
never trace out the source of the pleasure which it afford-
ed me.
The " quantum in rebus inane I" whether applied to oui
amusements or to our graver pursuits, to which, in truth, it
sometimes equally belongs, is always an unjust complaint
*f trifles engage, and if trifles make us happy, the true reflec
tion suggested by the experiment is upon the tendency ot
nature to gratification and enjoyment ; which is, in other
words, the goodness of its Author towards his sensitive cre-
ation.
national 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 pleas-
ure Df 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, beauti-
ful, or new. from imitation or from the liberal arts, are in
(xOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 317
some measure not only superadded, but unmixed guitifica-
tions, having no pains to balance them.*
I do not know whether our attachment to loro^perty be
not something more than the mere dictate of reason, or even
than the mere effect of association. Property communicates
a charm to whatever is the object of it. It is the first of
our abstract ideas ; it cleaves to us the closest and the lon-
gest. It endears to the child its plaything, to the peasant
his cottage, to the landholder his estate. It supplies the
place of prospect and scenery. Instead of coveting the beauty
of distant situations, it teaches every man to fmd it in his
own. It gives boldness and grandeur to plains and fens,
tinge and coloring to clays and fallows.
All these considerations come in aid of our seco7id propo-
sition. The reader will now bear in mind what our two
propositions were. They were, firstly, that in a vast plu-
rality of instances in which contrivance is perceived, the de-
sign of the contrivance is beneficial ; secondly, that the Deity
has added pleasure to animal sensations beyond what was
necessary for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far
as it was necessary, might have been eiTected by the opera,-
tion of pain.
While these propositions can be maintained, we are au-
thorized to ascribe to the Deity the character of benevolence ;
and what is benevolence at all, must in him be ijijinite be-
nevolence, by reason of the infinite, that is to say, the incal-
culably great number of objects upon which it is exercised.
Of the ORIGIN OF EVIL, no universal solution has been
discovered ; I mean, no solution which reaches to all cases
of complaint. The most comprehensive is that which arises
from the consideration o{ general rules. We may, I ihiuk,
without much difficulty, be brought to admit the four fol-
lowing points : first, that important advantages may accrue
to the universe froni the order of nature proceeding accord-
* Balgiiy on the Divine Benevolence.
3l8 NATURAL THEOLOai'.
ing to general laws ; secondly, that general laws, however
well set and constituted, often thwart and cross one another;
thirdly, that from these thwartings and crossings, frequent
particular inconveniences will arise ; and fourthly, that it
ao-rees with our observations to suppose that some degree of
these inconveniences takes place in the works of nature.
These points may be allowed ; and it may also be asserted,
that the general laws with which we are acquainted are
directed to beneficial ends. On the other hand, with many
of these laAVS we are not acquainted at all, or we are totally
unable to trace them in their branches and in their opera-
tion ; 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, consequently, when and
how far they may or may not be suspended, or their efiects
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, 1 l:an
to supply us with distinct answers to our difficulties. How-
ever, while we assent to the above-stated propositions as
principles, whatever uncertainty we may find in the appli-
cation, we lay a ground for believing that cases of apparent
evil, for which ive can suggest no particular reason, are gov-
erned 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 oi iiii'pcrfections, or, as it is called, of evils
of imperfection, furnishes an account, founded, like the for-
mer, in views of universal nature. The doctrine is briefly
this : it is probable that creation may be better replenished
aOODNESS OF THE UEITY. 319
by sensitive beings of differeut sorts, than by sensitive beings
all of one sort. It is likewise probable, that it may be bet-
ter replenished by diilerent orders of beings rising one above;
another in gradation, than by beings possessed of equal de-
grees 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 w^as appointed in nature ; for which appointment there
appear to be reasons of wisdom and goodness.
In like manner, finitencss, or what is resolvable into
finiteness, in inanimate subjects, can never be a just subject
of complaint ; because if it were ever so, it would be always
so : we mean, that we can never reasonably demand that
things should be larger tfr 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 reasons, as that w^e 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 difierence 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 tloinks himself authorized to murmur, simply because
the island is not larger than it is. Yet these are the same
griefs.
The above are the two metaphysical answers which have
been given to this great question. They are not the worse
for being metaphysical, provided they be founded — which I
think they are — in right reasoning ; but they are of a nature
too wide to be brought under our survey, and it is often dif
320 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
ficult to apply them in the detail. Our speculations, there-
fore, are perhaps better employed when they confine them-
selves within a narrower circle.
The observations Avhich follow are of this more limited,
but more determinate kind.
Of bodily paiii, the principal observation, no doubt, is
that w^hich we have already made and already dwelt upon,
namely, " that it is seldom the object of contrivance ; that
when it is so, the contrivance rests ultimately in good."
To which, however, may be added, that the annexing ol
pain to the means of destruction is a salutary provision ;
inasmuch as it teaches vigilance and caution : both gives
notice of danger, and excites those endeavors which may be
necessary to preservation. The evil consequence which
sometimes arises from the want of that timely intimation of
danger which pain gives, is known to the mhabitants of cold
countries by the example of frost-bitten limbs. I have con-
versed 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 time. Some I
have heard declare, that while they were about their em-
ployment, neither their situation nor the state of the air was
unpleasant. They felt no pain, they suspected no mischief,
till, by the application of warmth, they discovered, too late,
the fatal injury which some of their extremities had 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 disa-
greeable 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 alleviations. It may
be violent and frequent, but it is seldom both violent and
long-continued ; and its pauses and intermissions beccmo
positive pleasures. It has the power of shedding a satisfac-
tion over intervals of ease, which I believe few enjoyments
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 321
exceed. A man resting from a fit of the stone or gout is,
for the time, in possession of feelings which undisturbetl
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 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 interrup-
tion of bodily ease for a couple of hours out of the four and
tAventy. Two very common observations favor this opinion :
one is, that remissions of pain call forth, from those who
experience them, stronger expressions of satisfaction and of
gratitude towards both the author and the instruments of
their rehef, 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
appear 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 sensa-
tions in which disease has placed them.
In connection 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 neighbor-
hood, which states six years' experience as follows :
Admitted, . G,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 disordei
must have been felt, or the patients would not have applied
for a remedy ; yet we see how large a proportion of the mal-
adies which were brought forward, have either yielded to
proper treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of their
own accord. We owe these frequent recoveries, and, where
14*
322 NATURAL TIIEOLOaY.
recovery does not take place, this patience of the human
constitution under many of the distempers by which it is
visited, to two benefactions of our nature. One is, that she
works within certain limits, allows of a certain latitude
within which health may be preserved, and within the con-
fines of vv^hich it only sufiers a graduated diminution. Dif-
ferent quantities of food, diilerent degrees of exercise, differ-
ent portions of sleep, different states of the atmosphere, aro
compatible with the j)ossession of health. So likewise it is
with the secretions and excretions, with many internal func-
tions of the body, and with the state, probably, of most of its
internal organs. They may vary considerably, not only with-
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 endeavor to restore
itself, when disordered, to its regular course. The fluids of
the body appear to possess a power of separating and expel-
ling any noxious substance which may have mixed itself with
them. This they do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of despu-
mation, as Sydenham calls it, analogous in some measure to
the intestine action by which fermenting liquors work the
yeast 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 imped-
ment. They take an action as near to the true one as the
difficulty and the disorganization with which they have to
contend will allow of.
Of mortal diseases, the great use is to reconcile us to
death. The horror of death proves the value of life. But
it is in the power of disease to abate, or even extinguish this
horror ; which it does in a Avonderful manner, and often-
times by a mild and imperceptible gradation. Every man
who has been placed in a situation to observe it, is surprised
with the change which has been wrought in himself, when
he compares the view which he entertains of death upon a
sick-bed, with 1he heart-sinking dismay with which he should
GOODKESS OF THE DEITY. 323
some time ago have met it in health. There is no slinih-
tude 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 expe-
rience no shocks or sudden transitions.
Deatlb itself, as a mode of removal and of succession, ia
so connected with the whole order of our animal world, that
almost every thing in that world must be changed, to be
able to do without it. It may seem likewise impossible to
separate the fear of death from the enjoyment of life, or the
perception of that fear from rational natures. Brutes are in
a great measure delivered from all anxiety on this account
by the inferiority of their faculties ; or rather, they seem to
be armed with the apprehension of death just sufficiently to
put them upon the means of preservation, and no further.
But would a human being wish to purchase this immunity
at the expense of those mental poM^ers which enable him to
look forward to the future ?
Death implies separation; and the loss of those whom
we love must necessarily, so far as we can conceive, be ac-
com.panied with pain. To the brute creation, nature seems
to have stepped in with some secret provision for their relief,
under the rupture of their attachments. In their instincts
towards their ofispring, and of their offspring to them, I
have often been surprised to observe how ardently they love
and how soon they forget. The pertinacity of human 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, namely, that it is better that we
should possess aflections, the sources of so many virtues and
60 many joys, although they be exposed to the incidents of
life as well as the interruptions of mortality, than, by the
want of them, be reduced to a stale of selfishness apathy, and
quietism.
324 NATURAL THEOLOGi'.
Of otlier external evils — still confining ourselves 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 engagement. It is a most
just distinction, which the late Mr, Tucker has dwelt upon
so largely in his works, between pleasures in which we ai«?
passive and pleasures in which w^e are active. And I be
lieve every attentive observer of human life will assent to
his position, that however grateful the sensations may occa-
sionally 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 miscella-
neous enjoyments in which happiness, as distinguished from
voluptuousness, consists. Now for rational occupation, which
is, in other w^ords, the very material of contented existence,
there w^ould be no place left, if either the things wdth
which we had to do were absolutely impracticable to our
endeavors, or if they were too obedient to our uses. A world
furnished with advantages on one side, and beset with diffi-
culties, wants, and inconveniences on the other, is the propei
abode of free, rational, and active natures, being the fittest
to stimulate and exercise their faculties. The very refrac-
toriness of the objects they have to deal with, contributes to
this purpose. A w^orld in w^hich notliing depended upon
ourselves, however it might have suited an imaginary race
of beings, would not have suited mankind. Their skill, pru-
dence, industry — their various arts and their best attain-
ments, from the application of which they draw, if not their
highest, their most permanent gratifications, would be insig-
nificant, if things could be either moulded by our vol! Lions,
or, of Lheir own accord, conformed themselves to our views
and wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness that we discern
the seed and principle oi physical evil, as far as it arises from
that which is external to us.
Civil evils, or the evils of civil lue, arc much more easily
disposed of than physical evils ; because they are, in truth,
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 325
oi much less magnitude, and also because they result, by a
kind of necessity, not only from the constitution of our nature,
but from a part of that constitution which no one would
wish to see altered. The case is this : mankind will in
every country breed 2ip to a certain point of distress. That
point may be different in difierent countries or ages, accord-
ing to the established usages of life in each. It will also
shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a greater or less num-
ber of inhabitants, according as the quantity of provision,
v»'hich is either produced in the country, or supplied to it
from other countries, may happen to vary. But there must
always be such a pouit, and the species will always breed
up to it. The order of generation proceeds by something
like a geometrical progression. The increase of provision,
under circumstances even the most advantageous, can only
assume the form of an arithmetic series. Whence it follows
that the population will always overtake the provision, will
pass beyond the line of plenty, and will continue to increase
till checked by the difficulty of procuring subsistence.^ Such
difficulty, therefore, along with its attendant circumstances,
must be found in every old country ; and these circumstan-
ces constitute what we call pov'erty, which necessarily im-
poses labor, servitude, restramt.
It seems impossible to people a country with inhabitants
who shall be all easy in circumstances. For suppose the
tiling to be done, there would be such marrying and giving
in marriage among them, as would in a few years change
the face of aflairs entirely ; that is, as Avould increase the
consumption of those articles which supplied the natural or
habitual wants of the country to such a degree of scarcity,
as must leave the greatest part of the inhabitants unable to
procure them without toilsome endeavors ; or, out of the dif-
ferent kinds of these articles, to procure any kind except that
v-hich was most easily produced. And this, in fact, de-
* See a statement of this subject in a late treatise upon popula-
tion
326 NATTTRAL THEOLOaY.
scribes the condition of the mass of the community in all
countries : a condition unavoidably, as it should seem, result-
ing from the provision which is made in the human, in com-
mon with all animal constitutions, for the perpetuity and
multiplication of the species.
It need not however rlishearten any endeavors 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 eflects will
take place together. There may be Hmits fixed by nature
to both, but they are hmits not yet attained, nor even ap-
proached, in any country of the world.
And when we speak of limits at all, we have respect
only to provisions for animal wants. There are sources,
and means, and auxiliaries, and augmentations of human
happiness, communicable without restriction of numbers ;
as capable of being possessed by a thousand persons as by
one. Such are those which flow from a mild, contrasted
with a tyrannic government, Avhether civil or domestic ;
those which spring from religion ; those which grow out of
a sense of security ; those which depend upon habits of vir-
tue, sobriety, moderation, order; those, lastly, which are
found in the possession of well-directed tastes and desires,
compared with the dominion of tormenting, pernicious, con-
tradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable passions.
The clistiTictions of civil life are apt enough to be regard-
ed as evils by those who sit under them ; but, in my opin-
ion, with very little reason.
In the first place, the advantages which the higher con-
ditions of life are supposed to confer, bear no proportion in
value to the advantages which are bestowed by nature. The
gifts of nature always surpass the gifts of fortune. How
much, for example, is activity better than attendance ; beau-
ty than dress ; appetite, digestion, and tranrpiil bowels, than
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 327
all the studies of cookery, or than the most costly conipila-
lion of forced or far-fetched dainties I
Nature has a strong tendency to equalization. Habit,
the instrument of nature, is a great leveller ; the familiarity
which it induces taking off the edge both of our pleasures
and ou; sufferings. Indulgences whixjh are habitual, keep
us in ease, and cannot be carried much further. So that
with respect to the gratifications of which the senses are
capable, the difference is by no means proportionable to the
apparatus. Nay, so far as superfluity generates fastidious-
ness, the difference is on the wrong side.
It is not necessary to contend, that the advantages de-
rived from wealth are none — under due regulations they are
certainly considerable — but that they are not greater than
they ought to be. Money is the sweetener of human toil ;
the substitute for coercion ; the reconciler of labor with lib-
erty. It is, moreover, the stimulant of enterprise in all proj-
ects and undertakings, as well as of diligence in the most
beneficial arts and employments. Now, did alffuence, when
possessed, contribute nothing to happiness, or nothing be-
yond 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 life be put in peril by the want of a motive to attach
men to their private concerns ; but the satisfaction which
all men receive from success in their respective occupations,
which collectively constitutes the great mass of human com.-
tbrt, would be done away in its very principle.
With respect to statio72, as it is distinguished from riches,
whether it confer authority over others, or be invested with
honors which apply solely to sentiment and imagination, the
truth is, that wdiat is gained by rising through the ranks oi
life, is not more than sufficient to draw forth the exertions
of those who are engaged in the pursuits which lead to ad
vancement, and which, in general, are such as ought to be
328 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
encouraged. Distiiictioiis of this sort are subjects niucn
more of competition than of enjoyment ; and in that compe-
tition their use consists. It is not, as has been rightly ob-
served, by what the lord mayor feels in his coach, but by
what the apprentice feels who gazes at him, that the public
is served.
As we approach the summits of human greatness, the
comparison of good and evil, with respect to personal com-
fort, becomes still more problematical ; even allowing to am-
bition all its pleasures. The poet asks, " What is grandeur,
what is povv'er?" The philosopher answers, "Constraint
and plague : et in maxim qit que fortun minim m li-
cere.'' One very common error misleads the opinion of man-
kind on this head ; namely, that, universally, authority is
pleasant, submission painful. In the general course of hu-
man affairs, the very reverse of this is nearer the truth.
Command is anxiety, obedience ease.
Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real equality.
Whether they be hereditary, or be the homage paid to office,
or the respect attached by public opinion to particular pro-
fessions, they serve to confront that grand and unavoidable
distinction which arises from property, and which is most
overbearing where there is no other. It" is of the nature of
property, not only to be irregularly distributed, but to run
into large masses. Pubhc laws should be so constructed as
to favor its diffusion as much as they can. But all that can
be done by laws, consistently with that degree of government
of his property which ought to be left to the subject, will
not be sufficient to counteract this tendency. There must
always, therefore, be the difference between rich and poor ;
and this difference will be the more grinding when no pre-
tension is allowed to be set up against it.
So that the evils, if evils they must be called, which
spring either from the necessary subordinations of civil life,
or from the distinctions which have naturally, though not
necessarily, grown up in most societies, so long as they aro
aooDNi!:ss of the deity. 329
nnacconipanied by privileges injurious or oppressive to the
rest of the community, are such as may, even by the most
depressed ranks, be endured with very Uttle 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 rebelhons against just au-
thority ; 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 a/ree agent.
Free agency, in its very essence, contains liability to abuse.
Yet, if you deprive man of his free agency, you subvert his
nature. You may have order from him and regularity, as
you may from the tides or the trade-winds, but you put an
end to his moral character, to virtue, to merit, to accounta-
bleness, 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 this : human
passions are either necessary to human welfare, or capable of
being made, and, in a great majority of instances, in fact arc
made, conducive to its happiness. These passions are strong
and general ; and perhaps would not answer their purpose
unless they were so. But strength and generality, when it
is expedient that particular circumstances should be respeot
ed, become, if left to themselves, excess and misdirection :
from which excess and misdirection, the vices of mankind,
the causes, no doubt, of much misery, appear to spring.
This account, while it shows us the principle of vice, shows
us, at the same time, the province of reason and of self-gcv
eriiment ; the want also of every support which can be pro-
cured to either from the aids of religion ; and it shows tiiis,
without having recourse to any native, gratuitous malignity
in the human constitution. Mr. Hume, in his posthumous
dialogues, asserts, indeed, oi idleness, or aversion to labor—-
wliich he states to lie at the root of a considerable part of
330 NATUHAL THEOLOGY.
the evils which mankind suffer — tliat it is sniiply and mere
ly 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 social tranquillity ? It will be
found, I believe, to be true, that in every community there
is a large class of its members whose idleness is the best
quahty about them, being the corrective of other bad ones,
If it were possible, in every instance, to give a right deter-
mination to industry, we could never have too much of it.
But this is not possible, if men are to be free. And without
this, nothing would be so dangerous as an incessant, univer-
sal, indefatigable activity. In the civil world, as well as in
the material, it is the vis inertias which keeps things in
their places.
Natural Theology has ever been pressed with this ques-
tion : Why, under the regency of a supreme and benevolent
Will, should there be in the world so much as there is of the
appearance of chance ?
The question in its whole compass lies beyond our reach ;
but there are not wanting, as in the origin of evil, answers
which seem to have considerable weight in particular cases,
and also to embrace a considerable number of cases.
I. There must be chance in the midst of design ; by
which we mean, that events which are not designed, neces-
sarily arise from the pursuit of events which are designed.
One man travelling to York, meets another man travelling
to London. Their meeting is by chance, is accidental, and
so would be called and reckoned, though the journeys which
produced the meeting were, both of them, undertaken with
design and from deliberation. The meeting, though acci-
dental, was nevertheless hypothetical! y necessary — which is
the onlj' sort of necessity that is intelligible — for if the two
journeys were commenced at the time, pursued in the direc-
tion, and with the speed in which and with which they
were in fact begun and performed, the meeting could not l)e
GOODNESS OF 1 HE DEITY. 331
avoiutMl. There was not, therefore, the less necessity in it
for its being by chance. Again, the rencounter might bo
most unfortunate, though the errand upon which each party
Bet out upon his journey were the most innocent or the most
laudable. The by-eiiect may be unfavorable, without im-
peachment of the proper purpose, for the sake of which the
train, from the operation of which these consequences en-
sued, was put in motion. Although no cause acts without
a good purpose, accidental consequences, hke these, may be
either good or bad.
II. The appeara7ice of chance will always bear a pro-
portion to the ignorance of the observer. The cast of a die
as regularly follows the law& of motion, as the going of a
watch ; yet, because we can trace the operation of those
laws through the works and movements of the watch, and
cannot trace them in the shaking or throwing of the die —
though the laws be the same, and prevail equally in both
cases — we call the turning up of the number of the die
chance, the pointing of the index of the watch machinery,
order, or by some name which excludes chance. It is the
same in those events which depend upon the will of a free
and rational agent. The verdict of a jury, the sentence of
a judge, the resolution of an assembly, the issue of a contest-
ed election, will have more or less the appearance of chance,
might be more or less the subject of a wager, according as
we were less or more acquainted with the reasons which
influenced the deUberation. The difierence resides in the in-
formation of the observer, and not in the thing itself; which,
in all the cases proposed, proceeds from intelhgence, from
mind, from counsel, from design.
Now, when this one cause of iW appearance of chance,
namely, the ignorance of the observer, comes to be applied
to the operations of the Deity, it is easy to foresee how fruit-
ful it must prove of difficulties and of seeming confusion. It
is only to think of the Deity, to perceive what variety of
objects, what distance of time, what extent of space and ao
332 NATUE.AL THEOLOGY.
tion, his ccunsels may, or rather must, comprehend. 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 inadequateness of our information, will be
the quantity in the world of apparent chance.
III. In a great variety of cases, and of cases compre-
hending numerous subdivisions, it appears, for many reasons,
to be better that events rise up by chance, or, more properly
speaking. Math 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
precedency, ui a public meeting, may be determined by lot.
Work and labor may be allotted. Tasks and burdens may
be allotted :
Operumque laborem
Partibus osquabat justis, aut sorte trahebat.
Military service and station may be allotted. The distribu-
tion of provision may be made by lot, as it is in a sailor's
mess ; in some cases also, the distribution of favors may be
made by lot. In all these cases it seems to be acknow-
ledged, that there are advantages in permitting events to
chance, superior to those which would or could arise from
regulation. In all these cases also, though events rise up
in the way of chance, it is by appointment that they do
so.
In other events, and such as are independent of human
will, the reasons for this preference of uncertainty to rule
appear to be still stronger. For example, it seems to be
expedient that the period of human life should be unccr-
tahi. Did mortality foW^w 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 pris-
oner feels on the night before his execution. But, that
death be uncertain, the young must sometimes die as wel>
G-OODNESS OF THE DEITY. 333
tt? the old. Also, were deaths never sudden, they who are
in health would be too confident of life. The strong aud
the active, who want most to be warned and checked, would
live without apprehension or restraint. On the other hand,
were sudden deaths very frequent, the sense of constant
jeopardy would interfere too much with the degree of east?
and enjoyment intended for us ; and human life be too pre-
carious for the business and interests which belong to it.
There could not be dependence either upon our own lives,
or the lives of those with whom we were connected, suffi-
cient to carry on the regular offices of human society. The
manner, therefore, in which death is made to occur, con-
duces to the purposes of admonition, without overthrowing
the necessary stability of human aflairs.
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 scaso?is are a mixture of regularity and chance.
They are regular enough to authorize expectation, while
their being, in a considerable degree, irregular, induces, on
the part of the cultivators of the soil, a necessity for personal
'»ttendance, for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is this
necessity which creates farmers ; which divides the profit of
the soil between the owner and the occupier ; which by
requiring expedients, by increasing employment, and by re-
warding expenditure, promotes agricultural arts and agri-
cultural life — of all modes of life the best, being the most
conducive to health, to virtue, to enjoyment. I believe it
to be found in fact, that where the soil is the most fruitful,
and the seasons the most constant, there the condition of the
cultivators of the earth is the most depressed. Uncertainty,
therefore, has its use even to those who sometimes complain
of it the most. Seasons of scarcity themselves are not with-
out their advantages. They call forth new exertions ; they
set contrivance and ingenuity at work , they give birth to
331 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
improvements in agriculture and economy ; they promote
investigation ai:d management of public resources
Again, there are strong intelligible reasons why there
should exist in human society great disparity of icealth and
station ; not only as these things are acquired in different
degrees, but at the first setting out of life. In order, for
instance, to answer the various demands of civil life, there
ought to be among the members of every civil society a
diversity of education, which can only belong to an original
diversity of circumstances. As this sort of disparity, w hich
ought to take place from the beginning of life, must, ex hy-
pothesis be previous to the merit or demerit of the persons
upon whom 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 Avhich ap-
pertains to its distinctions. It may be the result of a bene-
ficial rule, that the fortunes or honors of the father devolve
upon the son ; and, as it should seem, of a still more neces-
sary rule, that the low or laborious condition of the parent
be communicated to his family ; but with respect to the
successor himself, it is the drawing of a ticket in a lottery.
Inequalities, therefore, of fortune, at least the greatest part
of them, namely, those which attend us from our birth and
depend upon our birth, may be left as they are left, to
chance, without any just cause for questioning the regency
of a supreme Disposer of events.
But not only the donation, when by the necessity of the
case they must be gifts, but eveA the acquirahility 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 removed from the evils of poverty ; without
perceiving, I suppose, the consequence, that all the poor
must be wicked. And how such a society could be kept in
subjection to government has not been shown ; for the poor,
that is, they who seek their subsistence }>y constant mai.ual
GOODNESS OF THE DEIT^. 33f»
labor, must still loirn the mass of the community ; other
wise the necessary labor of life could not be carried on — the
work could not be done which the wants of mankind in a
state of civilization, and still more in a state of refinement,
require to be done.
It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of social
life call not only for an original diversity of external circum-
stances, but for a mixture of different faculties, tastes, and
tempers. Activity and contemplation, restlessness and quiet,
courage and timidity, ambition and contentedness, not to
?ay 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 different original talents, different
dispositions, perhaps also different bodily constitutions ; and
since, likewise, it is apparently expedient that they be pro-
miscuously scattered among the different classes of society ;
can the distribution of talents, dispositions, and the consti-
tutions upon which they depend, be better made than by
chance ?
The opi^osites of apparent chance are constancy and sen-
sible interposition ; every degree oi secret direction being con-
sistent with it. Now, of constancy, or of fixed and known
rules, we have seen in some cases the inapplicability ; and
inconveniences which we do not see, might attend their ap-
plication in other cases.
Of sensible interposition we may be permitted to remark,
that a providence, always and certainly distinguishable,
would be neither more nor less than miracles rendered fre-
quent 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
336 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
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 questi-on with which we are now concerned is, how far
it would be consistent wdth our condition, supposmg it in
other respects to remain as it is ? And in this question
there seem to be reasons of great moment on the negative
side. For instance, so long as bodily labor continues on so
many accounts to be necessary for the bulk of mankind,
any dependency upon supernatural aid, by unfixing those
motives which promote exertion, or by relaxing those habits
which engender patient industry, might introduce negli-
gence, inactivity, and disorder, into the most useful occupa-
tions of human life ; and thereby deteriorate the condition
of human life itself.
As moral agents, we should experience a still greater
alt(iration ; of which more will be said under the next
article.
Although, therefore, the Deity, who possesses the power
of winding and turning, as he pleases, the course of causes
which issue from himself, do in fact interpose to alter or
intercept efiects w^iich, without such interposition, 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 in-
terference, a part of the very plan Avhich he has appointed
for our terrestrial existence, and a part conformable with,
or in some sort required by, other parts of the same plan.
It is at any rate evident, that a large and ample province
/emains for the exercise of providence without its being
iiaturally perceptible by us ; because obscurity, when appUed
to the interruption of laws, bears a necessary proportion to
ihe imperfection of our knowledge when applied to the laws
themselves, or rather to the efiects which these laws, under
their various and incalculable combinations, would of their
own accord produce. And if it be said that the doctriive of
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 537
divine Providence; by reason of the ambiguity under which
its exertions present themselves, can be atte'^ded with no
practical influence upon our conduct — that, although we
oclieve ever so firmly that there is a Providence, we must
prepare and provide and act as if there were none, I an-
iwei that this is admitted ; and that we further allege, that
^0 to prepare, and so to provide, is consistent with the mcst.
perfect assurance of the reality of a Providence ; and no''
only so, but that it is probably one advantage of the pres
ent state of our information, that our provisions and prepa-
rations are not disturbed by it. Or if it be still asked, Oi
what use at all, then, is the doctrine, if it neither alter our
measures nor regulate our conduct ? I answer again, that
it is of the greatest use, but that it is a doctrine of senti-
ment and piety, not — immediately at least — of action or
conduct ; that it applies to the consolation of men's minds,
to their devotions, to the excitement of gratitude, the sup-
port of patience, the keeping alive and the strengthening of
every motive for endeavoring to please our Maker ; and that
these are great uses.
Of ALL VIEWS under which human life has ever been
considered, the most reasonable, in my judgment, is that
which regards it as a state of iirohatmn. If the course of
the world was separated from the contrivances of nature, I
do not know that it would be necessary to look for any other
account of it than what, if it may be called an account, is
contained in the answer, that events rise up by chance.
But since the contrivances of nature decidedly evince in-
tention; and since the course of the world and the contriv-
ances of nature have the same author, we are, by the force
)f this connection, led to believe that the appearance under
.vliich events take place is reconcilable v/ith the supposition
of design on the part of the Deity, it is enough that they
be reconcilable with this supposition ; and it is undoubtedly
true that they may be reconcilable, though we cannot rec-
oncile them. The mind, however, which contemplates the
Nat. Theol. 15
338 ^ATUKAL THEOLOGY.
works of nature, and in those works sees so mucli 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 oi
thought which these observations excite, can hardly turn its
view to the condition of our own species without endeavor-
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 supposi-
tion to be, that it is a state of moral probation ; and that
many things in it suit with this hypothesis which suit no
other. It is not a state of unmixed happiness, or of happi-
ness simply ; it is not a state of designed misery, or of mis-
ery simply ; it is not a state of retribution ; it is not a state
of punishment. It suits with none of these suppositions. It
accords much better with the idea of its being a condition
calculated for the production, exercise, and improvement of
moral qualities, with a view to a future state, in which these
qualities, after being so produced, exercised, and improved,
may, by a new and more favorable constitution of things,
receive their reward, or become their own. If it be said,
that this is to enter upon a religious rather than a philo-
sophical consideration, I answer, that the name of rehgion
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 degree of beneficence, of benevolent in-
tention, and of power; exercised in the construction of sensi-
tive beings, goes strongly in favor, not only of a creative
but of a continuing care, that is, of a ruling Providence.
I'he degree of chance which appears to prevail in the world
rfMjujres 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. Foi
although more of this apparent chance may perhaps, upon
aoODNESS OF THE DEITY. SS9
other principles, be accounted for tlian 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 lyrciiaratory state, or that in some re-
spects it promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypothe-
sis may be accepted, the ground of the difficulty is done
away.
In the wide scale of human condition, there is not per*
haps one of its manifold diversities which does not bear
upon the design here suggested. Virtue is infinitely various.
There is no situation in which a rational being is placed,
from that of the best-instructed Christian down to the con-
dition 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,
enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty, knowledge and
ignorance, power and subjection, liberty and bondage, civil-
ization and barbarity, have all their offices and duties, all
serve for \hQ 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 gen-
erated also and formed by circumstances. The best dispo-
sitions may subsist under the most depressed, the most afflict-
ed fortunes. A West Indian slave, who, amid his wrongs,
retains his benevolence, I for my part look upon as among
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 authority, postpones in any degree
his own interest to his slave's comfort, is likewise a merito-
rious character ; but still he is inferior to his slave. All,
however, which I contend for, is, that these destinies, oppo-
gite as they may be in every other view, are both trials, and
equally such. The observation may be applied to every
other condition ; to the Avhole range of the scale, not except-
ing even its lowest extremity. Savages appear to us all
alike ; but it is owinjr to the distance at which we view
S40 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
savage life, that we perceive in it no discrimination of char-
acter, I make no doubt but that moral qualities both good
and bad are called into action as much, and that they subsist
m as great variety in these inartificial 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 voluntary conduct of those about him,
than it does, or ought to do, under regular civil institutions
and the coercion of j)ublic laws. So again, to turn our eyes
to the other end of the scale, namely, that part of it which
Ls occupied by mankind enjoying the benefits of learning,
together with the lights of revelation, there also the advan
tage is all along probationary. Christianity itself — I mean,
the revelation of Christianity — is not only a blessing but a
trial. It is one of the diversified means by which the char-
acter is exercised ; and they Avho require of Christianity,
that the revelation cf 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 nar-
rovv'ing of that variety which the wisdom of the Deity has
appointed to this part of his moral economy.^
NoAV, 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 behavior in it, then is it a much more
fit subject of chance than we usually allow or apprehend it
to be, in what manner the variety of external circumstances
which subsist in the human world is distributed among the
individuals of the species. "This life being a state of pro-
■* The reader will observe that I speak of the revelation of Clij-is-
tiauity as distinct rrom Christianity itself. The dispensation may
already be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of
ChPvISt's name, may nevertheless be redeemed; that is, be placed in a
better condition, with respect to their future state, by his intervention ;
may be the objects of his benignity and intercession, as well as of the
piopitiatory virtue of his passion. But this is not "natural theo^-c;.,' '
therefore I will not dwell longer upon i*^.
aOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 34\
batioii, 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, while in truth it is the same :
for though, in many respects, there be great disparity be-
tween the conditions assigned, in one main article there may
be none, namely, in that they are alike trials — have both
their duties and temptations, not less arduous or less dan-
gerous in one case than the other ; so that if the final award
follow the character, the original distribution of the circum-
stances under which that character is formed, may be de-
fended upon principles not only of justice, but of equality.
What hinders, therefore, but that mankind may draw lots
for their condition ? 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
depends upon themselves — the application of what they have
received. In dividing the talents, no rule was observed —
none was necessary ; in rewarding the use of them, that of
the most correct justice. The chief diilerence at last appears
to be, that the right use of more talents, that is, of a greater
trust, will be more highly rewarded than the right use of
fewer talents, that is, of a less trust. And since, for other
purposes, it is expedient that there be an inequality of con-
credited talents here, as well probably as an inequality of
conditions hereafter, though all remuneratory ; can any rule
adapted to that inequality be more agreeable, even to oiu
apprehensions of distributive justice, than this is?
We have said that the appearance of casuahy wliich
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.
Passu'e virtues — of all virtues the severest and the most
342 NATURAL THEOLOar.
sublime, and of all, perhaps, the most acceptable to the
Deity — would, it is evident, be excluded from a constitution
in which happiness and misery regularly followed virtue and
vice. Patience and composure under distress, affliction, and
pain ; a steadfast keeping up of our confidence in God, and
of our reliance upon his final goodness, at the time when
every thing present is adverse and discouraging, and — what
is no less difficult to retain — a cordial desire for the happi-
ness of others, even when we are deprived of our own — these,
dispositions, which constitute perhaps the perfection of oui
moral nature, would not have found their proper office and
object in a state of avovred retribution ; and in which, con-
sequently, endurance of evil would be only submission to
punishment.
Again, one man's sufferings may be another man's trial.
The family of a sick parent is a school of fihal piety. The
dharities 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 endeavors to relieve, must be really or apparently
casual. It is upon such sufferings alone that benevolence
can operate. For were there no evils in the world but what
were punishments properly and intelligibly such, benevolence
would only stand in the way of justice. Such evils, consist-
ently with the administration of moral government, could
not be prevented or alleviated ; that is to say, could not be
remitted in whole or in part, except by the au-thority which
inflicted them, or by an appellate or superior authority.
This consideration which is founded in our most acknow-
ledged apprehensions of the nature of penal justice, maypos-
sess its weight in the divine counsels. Virtue perhaps is
the greatest of all ends. In human beings, relative virtues
form a large part of the whole. Now, relative virtue pre-
supposes not only the existence of evil, without which it
could have no object, no material to work upon, but that
^vils be apparently, at least, misfortunes ; that is, the effectg
GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 343
of ajjpareiit chance. It may be in pursuance, thereibre, and
in furtherance of the same scheme of probation, that the
evils of life are made so to present themselves.
I have already observed, that when we let in religious
considerations, we often let in light upon the difficulties of
nature. So, in the fact now to be accounted for, the degree
of happiness which we usually enjoy in this life may be bet-
ter suited to a state of trial and probation than a greater
degree would be. The truth is, we are rather too much de-
lighted with the world than too little. Imperfect, broken,
and precarious as our pleasures are, they are more than
sufficient to attach us to the eager pursuit of them. A re-
gard to a future state can hardly keep its place as it is. If
we were designed therefore to be influenced by that regard,
might not a more indulgent system, a higher or more unin-
terrupted state of gratification, have interfered v/ith the de-
sign ? At least, it seems expedient that mankind should be
susceptible of this influence, when presented to them ; that
the condition of the w^orld 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.
344 NATUEAL THEOLOGY.
CHAPTER XXVIl.
CONCLUSION.
In all cases wherein the miud feels itself in danger of
being confounded by variety, it is sure to rest upon a ftw
strong points, or perhaps upon a single instance. Among a
multitude of proofs, it is one that does the business. If we
observe in any argument that hardly two minds fix upon
the same instance, the diversity of choice shows the strength
of the argument, because it shows the rmmber and competi-
tion of the examples. There is no subject in which the
tendency to dwell upon select or single topics is so usual,
because there is no subject of which, in its full extent, the
latitude is so great, as that of natural history applied to the
proof of an 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 ligaments within the socket of the hip-joint, the pulley
or trochlear muscles of the eye, the epiglottis, the bandages
which tie down the tendons of the wrist and instep, the slit
or perforated muscles at the hands and feet, the knitti.;g of
the intestines to the mesentery, the course of the chyle into
the blood, and the constitution of the sexes as extended
throughout the whole of the animal creation. To these in-
stances the reader's memory will go back, as they are sever
ally 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.
But of the greatest part of those who, either in this book
or any other, read arguments to prove the existence of a
God, it will be said, that they leave off only where thev
CONCLUSION. 345
oegan ; that they were never ignorant of this great truth,
never Joubted of it ; that it does not therefore appear what
is gained by researches from which no new opinion is learned,
and upon the subject of which no proofs were wanted. Now,
I answer, that by inves,ti gallon, the following points are
always gained in favor of doctrines even the most generally
acknowledged, supposing them to be true, namely, stability
and impression. Occasions will arise to try the firmness of
our most habitual opinions. And upon these occasions it is
a matter of incalculable use to feel our foundation, to find a
support in argument for what we had taken up upon au-
thority. 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 thno
that they acquire nev/ strength and lustre from the dis-
coveries of the learned." If they had been altogether ab-
struse and recondite, they would not have found their way
to the understandings of the mass of mankind ; if they had
been merely popular, they might have wanted solidity.
But, secondly, what is gained by research in the stabil-
ity of our conclusion, is also gained from it in iiwpression.
Physicians tell us, that there is a great deal of difference
between taking a medicine, and the medicine getting into
the constitution ; a difierence 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 proposition of this sort ; another, and a very
different thing, to have properly imbibed its influence. I
take the case to be this : perhaps almost every man living
has a particular train of thought, into which his mind glides
and falls, w^hen at leisure from the impressions and ideas that
occasionally excite it : perhaps, also, the train of thought
here spoken of, more than any other thing, determines the
character. It is of the utmost consequence, therefore, that
tins property of our constitution be w^ell regulated. Now it
1.5*
346 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
is by frequent or continued meditation upon a subject, by
placing a subject in different points of view, by induction oi
particulars, by variety of examples, by applying principles to
the solution of phenomena, by dwelling upon proofs and con-
sequences, that mental exercise is drawn into any particular
channel. It is by these means, at least, that we have any
power over it. The train of spontaneous thought, and the
choice of that train, may be directed to different ends, and
may appear to be more or less judiciously fixed, according to
the purpose in respect of .which we consider it ; but, in a
moral vieiv, I shall not, I believe, be contradicted when I
say, that if one train of thinking be more desirable than
another, it is that which regards the phenomena of nature
with a constant reference to a supreme intelligent Author,
To have made this the ruling, the habitual sentiment of our
minds, is to have laid the foundation of every thing which
is religious. The world thenceforth becomes a temple, and
life itself one continued act of adoration. The change is no
less than this : that whereas formerly God was seldom in
our thoughts, w^e can now scarcely look upon any thing with-
out perceiving its relation to him. Every organized natural
body, in the provisions vvliich it contains for its sustentation
and propagation, testifies a care, on the part of the Creator,
expressly directed to these purposes. We are on all sides
surrounded by such bodies : examined in their parts, won-
derfully curious : compared with one another, no less won-
derfully diversified. So that the mind, as well as the eye,
may either expatiate in variety and multitude, or fix itself
down to the investigation of particular divisions of the
science. And in either case it will rise up from its occupa-
tion, possessed by the subject in a very different manner,
and with a very different degree of influence, from what a
mere assent to any verbal proposition which can be formed
concerning the existence of the Deity — at least that merely
complying assent with which those about us are satisfied,
and with which we are too apt to satisfy ourselves — will o;
CONCLUSION. 347
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 represented
to the understanding by its own remarks, its own reflections,
and its own reasonings, compared Avith 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 inteUigent
Power arranging planetary systems, fixing, for instance, the
trajectory of Saturn, or constructing a ring of two hundred
thousand miles diameter, to surround his body, and be sus-
pended like a magnificent arch over the heads of his inhabi-
tants ; and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, 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 inteUigent agent, but of their proceeding
from the same agent : for, in the first place, we can trace
an identity of plan, a connection of system, from Saturn to
cur own globe ; and when arrived upon our globe, we can,
in the second place, pursue the connection through all the
organized, especially the animated bodies which it supports.
We can observe marks of a common relation, as well to one
another as to the elements of which their habitation is com-
posed. Therefore one mind has planned, or at least has
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 hand. 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 bestowed upon even the minutest
parts. The hinges in the wings of an carivig, and the joints
of Its antennae, are as highly wrought a? if the Creator had
348 NATURAL THEOLOGY.
had nothing else to finish.' We see no signs of diminution
of care by multiplicity of objects, or of distraction of thought
by variety. We have no reason to fear, therefore, our being
forgotten, or overlooked, or neglected.
The existence and character of the Deity is, in every
view, the most interesting of all human speculations. In
none, however, is it more so, than as it facilitates the belief
of the fundamental articles of revelation. It is a step to
have it proved, that there must be something in the world
more than what we see. It is a further step to know, that
among the invisible things of nature, there must be an
intelligent mind concerned in its production, order, and sup-
port. These points being assured to us by natural theology,
we may well leave to revelation the disclosure of many
particulars which our researches 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 so, but the more full confirmation of other par-
ticulars, of which, though they do not lie altogether beyond
our reasonings and our probabilities, the certainty is by no
means equal to the importance. The true theist will be the
first to listen to any credible communication of divine know-
ledge Nothing which he has learnt from natural theology
will diminish his desire of further 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 seri-
ousness, 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 reasonable proof of having proceeded
from him.
But, above every other article of revealed religion, does
the anterior belief of a Deity bear Avith the strongest forco
upon that grand point Avhich 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 n\
CONCLUSION. 349
work adequate to the effect, a power under the guidance of
an intelligent will, and a power penetrating the inmost re-
cesses of all substance. I am far from justifying the opinion
of those who "thought it a thing incredible that God should
raise the dead ;" but I admit that it is first necessary to be
persuaded that there is a God to do so. This being thor-
oughly settled in our minds, there seems to be nothing in this
process — concealed as \ve confess it to be — which need to shock
our belief They who have taken up the opinion that the
acts of the human mind depend upon organizatw?i, that the
mind itself indeed consists in organization, are supposed to
find a greater difhculty than others do in admitting a tran-
sition by death to a new state of sentient existence, because
the old organization is apparently, dissolved But I do not
see that any impracticability need be apprehended 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 an-
other, a particle, in many cases minuter than all assignable,
all conceivable dimension — an aura, an effluvium, an infin-
itesimal— determines the organization of a future body ; does
no less than fix whether that which is about to be pro
duced shall be a vegetable, a merely sentient, or a rationa'
being — an oak, a frog, or a philosopher ; makes all these
diflerences; gives to the future body its qualities, and nature,
and species. And this particle, from M'hich springs and by
which is determined a whole future nature, itself proceeds
from and owes its constitution to a prior body ; neverthe-
less, which is seen in plants most decisively, the incepted
organization, though formed within and through and by s
preceding organization, is not corrupted by its corruption, oi
destroyed by its dissolution ; but, on the contrary, is some-
times extricated and developed by those very causes — sur-
vives and comes into action, when the purpose for which i\
was prepared requires its use. Now an economy which na-
350 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
ture has adopted, when the purpose was to transfer an organ-
ization from one individual to another, may have something
analogous to it when the purpose is to transmit an organiza-
tion from one state of being to another state : and they who
found thought in organization may see something in this
analogy applicable to their difficulties ; for, whatever can
transmit a similarity of organization will answer their pur-
pose, because, according even to their own theory, it may
be the vehicle of consciousness, and because consciousne.'ss
carries identity and individuality along with it through all
changes of form or of visible qualities. In the most general
case, that, as we have said, of the derivation of plants and
animals from one another, the latent organization is either
itself similar to the old organization, or has the power of
communicating to new matter the old organic form. But it
is not restricted to this rule. There are other cases, espe*
cially in the progress of insect life, in which the dormant
organization does not much resemble that which incloses it,
and still less suits with the situation in which the inclosing
body is placed, but suits with a different situation to which
it is destined. In the larva of the libellula, which lives con-
stantly, and has still long to live, under water, are descried
the wings of a fly, which two years afterAvards is to mount
into the air. Is there nothing in this analogy ? It serves
at least to show, that even in the observable course of nature,
organizations are formed one beneath another ; and, among
a thousand other instances, it shows completely that the
Deity can mould and fashion the parts of material nature so
as to fullil 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 cer-
tainly these operations, though aflected 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 philosophy ; and by these the considerations
CONCLUSION. 351
above suggested are not wanted, at least in the same degree
But to such as fnid, which some persons do find, an insuper-
able difficulty in shaking off an adherence to those analogies
which the corporeal world is continually suggesting to their
thoughts — to such, I say, every consideration will be a reliel
which manifests the extent of that intelligent power which
is acting in nature, the fruitfulness of its resources, the va-
riety and aptness and success of its means ; most especially,
every consideration which tends to show that, in the trans-
lation 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 nature as are accessible to our obser-
vation.
Again, if there be those who think that the contracted-
ness and debility of the human faculties in our present state
seem ill to accord with the high destinies which the expec-
tations of rehgion 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 flux-
ions ;^^ or who then shall say, what further amplification of
intellectual powers, what accession of knowledge, what ad-
vance and improvement, the rational faculty, be its constitu-
tion what it will, may not admit of when placed amidst new
objects, and endov/ed with a sensorium adapted, as it un-
doubtedly will be, and as our present senses are, to the per-
ception of those substances, and of those properties of thingS;
with which our concern may lie.
Upon the whole, in every thing which respects txiis
awful, but, as we trust, glorious change, we have a wise
and powerful Being — the author in nature of infinitely vari-
ous 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
* See Search's Light of Nature, jidssitn.
352 NATURAL THEOLOaY.
terrestrial creation- That great office rests with Jmn: be
it ours to hope and to prepare, under a firm and settled per-
suasion, that, living and dyinsr, we are his ; that life is passed
in his constant presence, and that death resigns us to \\ii
merciful disposal.
EOUM paulinj:^
THE TRUTH OF THE SCRIPTURE HISTORl
ST. PAUL EVINCED,^
A COMPARISON OF THE EPISTLES WEIGH BEAR HJ&
NAME WITH THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES,
AND WITH ONE ANOTHER.
BY WILLIAM PALEY, D.D
PUBLISHED BY THE
/VMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY,
150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK.
4 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Epistle to Tims, 189
CHAPTER XIV.
The Epistle to Philemon, ■ 195
CHAPTER XV.
The Subscriptions of the Epistles, 200
CHAPTER XVI.
The Concluflion • ,...., ij04
HORiE PAULINyEo
CHAPTER I.
EXPOSITION OF THE ARGUMENT.
The volume of Christian Scriptures contains thirteen
letters purporting to be written by Saint Paul ; it contains
also a book which, among other things, professes to deliver
the history, or rather memoirs of the history of this same
person. By assuming the genuineness of the letters, w^
may prove the substantial truth of the history ; or, by as
Buming the truth of the history, we may argue strongly in
support of the genuineness of the letters. But I assume,
neither one nor the other. The reader is at liberty to sup-
pose these writings to have been lately discovered in the
library of the Escurial, and to come to our hands destitute
of any extrinsic or collateral evidence whatever ; and the
argument I am about to offer is calculated to show, that a
comparison of the different writings would, even under these
circumstances, aflbrd good reason to believe the persons and
transactions to have been real, the letters authentic, and the
narration in the main to be true.
Agreement or conformity between letters bearing the
name of an ancient author, and a received history of that
author's life, does not necessarily establish the credit of
either ; because,
1. The history may, like Middleton's Life of Cicero, or
Jortin's Life of Erasmus, have been wholly, or in part, com
piled froni the letters ; in which case it is manifest that th^
U KOR^ PAULINiE.
history adds nothing to the evidence already afforded by the
letters : or,
2. The letters may have been fabricated out of the his-
tory ; a species of imposture which is certainly practicable,
and which, without any accession of proof or authority,
would necessarily produce the appearance of consistency and
agreement : or,
3. The history and letters may have been founded upon
some authority common to both ; as upon reports and tradi-
tions which prevailed in the age in which they were com-
posed, or upon some ancient record now lost, which both
writers consulted : in v/hich case also, the letters, without
being genuine, may exliibit marks of conformity with the
history ; and the history, without being true, may agree
with the letters.
AgTcement, therefore, or conformity, is only to be relied
upon so far as we can exclude these several suppositions.
Now the point to be noticed is, that in the three cases
above enumerated, conformity must be the effect of clesig7i.
Where the history is compiled from the letters, which is the
first case, the design and composition of the work are in
general so confessed, or made so evident by comparison, as
to leave us in no danger of confounding the production with
original history, or of mistaking it for an independent au-
thority. The agreement, it is probable, will be close and
uniform, and will easily be perceived to result from the
intention of the author, and from the plan and conluct oi
his work. Where the letters are fabricated from the history.,
which is the second case, it is always for the purpose of im-
posing a forgery upon the public ; and in order to give color
and probability to the fraud, names, places, and circum-
stances, found in the history, may be studiously introduced
into the letters, as well as a general consistency be endeav-
ored to be maintained. But here it is manifest, that what-
ever congruity appears is the consequence of meditation,
artifice, and design. The third case is that wherein tho
EXPOSITION OF THE ARGUMENT. 7
history and the letters, without any direct privity or com
munication with each other, derive their materials from the
same source ; and, by reason of their common original, fur-
nish instances of accordance and correspondency. This is a
situation in which we must allow it to be possible for an-
cient writings to be placed ; and it is a situation in which
it is more difficult to distinguish spurious from genuine writ-
ings, than in either of the cases described in the preceding
suppositions ; inasmuch as the congruities observable are so
far accidental, as that they are not produced by the imme-
diate transplanting of names and circumstances out of one
writing into the other. But although, with respect to each
other, the agreement in these writings be mediate and sec-
ondary, yet is it not properly or absolutely undesigned ; be-
cause with respect to the common original from which the
information of the writer proceeds, it is studied and facti-
tious. The case of which we treat must, as to the letters,
be a case of forgery : and when the writer who is personat-
ing another sits down to his composition — whether we have
the history with which we now compare the letters, or some
other record before him, or whether we have only loose tra-
dition and reports to go by — he must adapt his imposture,
as well as he can, to what he finds in these accounts ; and
his adaptations will be the result of counsel, scheme, and
industry : art mjist be employed ; and vestiges will appear
of management and design. Add to this, that, in most of
the following examples, the circumstances in which the co-
incidence is remarked are of too particular and domestic a
nature to have floated down upon the stream of general
tradition.
Of the three cases which we have stated, the diflerence
between the first and the two others is, that in the first the
design may be fair and honest; in the others it must be ac
companied with the consciousness of fraud ; but in all there
is design. In examining, therefore, the agreement between
ancient writings, the character of truth and originality is
8 K0R2E PAULINA.
undesignedness : and this test applies to every supposition ;
for whether we suppose the history to be true, but the letters
spurious ; or. the letters to be genuine, but the history false ;
or, lastly, falsehood to belong to both — the history to be a
fable, and the letters fictitious — the same inference will re-
sul t : that either there will be no agreement between them,
or the agreement will be the effect of design. Nor will it
elude the principle of this rule, to suppose the same person
to have been the author of all the letters, or even the author
both of the letters and the history ; for no less design is nee
essary to produce coincidence between different parts of a
man's own writings, especially when they are made to take
the different forms of a history and of original letters, than
to adjust them to the circumstances found in any other
writing.
With respect to those writings of the New Testament
which are to be the subject of our present consideration, ]
think that, as to the authenticity of the epistles, this argu
ment, where it is sufficiently sustained by instances, is near-
ly conclusive ; for I cannot assign a supposition of forgery,
in which coincidences of the kind we inquire after are likely
to appear. As to the history, it extends to these points : it
proves the general reality of the circumstances ; it proves
the historian's knowledge of these circumstances. In the
present instance, it confirms his pretensions of having been
a contemporary, and in the latter part of his history a com-
panion of St. Paul. In a word, it establishes the substantial
truth of the narration ; and substantial truth is that which,
in every historical inquiry, ought to be the first thing sought
after and ascertained : it must be the groundwork of every
other observation.
The reader then will please to remember Uiis word U7i-
desig7iedness, as denoting that upon which the construction
and validity of our argument chiefly depend.
As to the proofs of undesignedness, I shall in this place
say httle ; for I had rather the reader's persuasion shouli
ExroyiTiON OF the argument. 9
arise from the instances themselves, and the separate re-
marks with which they may be accompanied, than from any
previous formulary or description of argument. In a great
plurality of examples, I trust he will be perfectly convinced
that no design or contrivance whatever has been exercised ;
and if some of the coincidences alleged appear to be minute,
circuitous, or oblique, let him reflect that this very indirect-
ness and subtilty is that which gives force and propriety to
the example. Broad, obvious, and exphcit agreements prove
little, because it may be suggested that the insertion of such
is the ordinary expedient of every forgery ; and though they
may occur, and probably will occur in genuine writings, yet
;t cannot be proved that they are peculiar to these. Thus
A^hat St. Paul declares in chapter eleven of first Corinthians,
concerning the institution of the Lord's supper, " For I have
received of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you.
That the Lord Jesus, the same night in which he was be-
trayed, took bread ; and when he had given thanks, he
brake it, and said. Take, eat ; this is my body, which is
broken for you : this do in remembrance of me;" though it
be in close and verbal conformity with the account of the
same transaction preserved by St. Luke, is yet a conformity
of which no us.e can be made in our argument ; for if it
should be objected that this was a mere recital from the
gospel, borrowed by the author of the epistle, for the pur-
pose of setting off his composition by an appearance of agree-
ment with the received account of the Lord's supper, I
should not know how to repel the insinuation. In like man-
ner, the description which St. Paul gives of himself in his
epistle to the Philippians, 3:5, " Circumcised the eighth
day a£ the stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a lie
brew of the Hebrews; as touching the law, a Pharisee;
concerning zeal, persecuting the church ; touching the right-
eousness which is in the law, blameless" — is made up of
particulars so plainly delivered concerning him in the Acta
of the Apostles, the epistle to the Romans, and the epistle
o
10 HOfLiE PAULINA.
to the Galatians, that I cannot deny but that it would h*
easy for an impostor who was fabricating a letter in the
name of St. Paul, to collect these articles into one view.
This, therefore, is a conformity which we do not adduce.
"^But when I read in the Acts of the Apostles, that when
" Paul came to Derbe and Lystra, behold, a certain disciple
was there, named Timotheus, the son of a certain woman
which ivas a Jcicess f and when, in an epistle addressed to
Timothy, I find him reminded of his " having known the
holy Scriptures /ro??^ a child,''' which implies that he must,
on one side or both, have been brought up by Jewish par-
ents ; I conceive that I remark a coincidence which shows,
by its very obliquity, that scheme was not employed in its
formation. In like manner, if a coincidence depend upon a
«*^omparison of dates, or rather of circumstances from which
the dates are gathered, the more intricate that comparison
shall be, the more numerous the intermediate steps through
which the conclusion is deduced, in a word, the more cir-
cuitous the investigation is, the better ; because the agree-
ment Vv'hich finally results is thereby further removed from
the suspicion of contrivance, affectation, or design. And it
should be remembered, concerning these coincidences, tliat
it is one thing to be minute, and another to be precarious ;
one tiling to be unobserved, and another to be obscure ; one
thing to be circuitous or oblique, and another to be forced,
dubious, or fanciful. And this distinction ought always to
be retained in our thoughts.
The very particularity of St. Paul's epistles ; the perpet
ual recurrence of names of persons and places ; the frequent
allusions to the incidents of his private life, and the circum-
stances of his condition and history ; and the connection and
parallelism of these with the same circumstances in the Acts
of the Apostles, so as to enable us, for the most part, to con-
front them one with another ; as well as the relation which
subsists between the circumstances, as mentioned or referred
to in the different epistles, afford no inconsiderable proof oi
EXPOSITION OF THE ARGUMENT. II
the genuineness of the writings, and the reality of the trana-
actions. For as no advertency is sufficient to guard against
slips and contradictions, when circumstances arc multipHed,
and when they are hable to be detected by contemporary
accounts equally circumstantial, an impostor, I should ex-
pect, would either have avoided particulars entirely, content-
*ng himself with doctrinal discussions, moral precepts, and
general reflections ;^ or if, for the sake of imitating St. Paul's
style, he should have thought it necessary to intersperse his
composition with names and circumstances, he would have
placed them out of the reach of comparison with the history.
And I am confirmed in this opinion by the inspection of two
attempts to counterfeit St. Paul's epistles, which have come
down to us; and the only attempts, of which we have any
knowledge, that are at all deserving of regard. One of these
is an epistle to the Laodiceans, extant in Latin, and preserv-
ed by Fabricius in his collection of apocryphal scriptures.
The other purports to be an epistle of St. Paul to the Corin-
thians, in answer to an epistle from the Corinthians to him.
This was translated by Scroderus from a copy in the Arme-
nian language, which had been sent to W. Whiston, and
was afterwards, from a more perfect copy procured at Aleppo,
published by his sons, as an appendix to their edition oi
Moses Chorenensis. No Greek copy exists of either : they
are not only not supported by ancient testimony, but they
* This, however, must not be misunderstood. A person writing
to his friends, and upon a subject in which tlie transactions of his own
life were concerned, would probably be led in the course of his letter,
especially if it were a long one, to refer to passages found in his his-
tory. A person addressing an epistle to the public at large, or under
the form of an epistle delivering a discourse upon some speculative
argument, would not, it is probable, meet with an occasion of allud-
ing to the circumstances of his life at all: he might, or he might notj
th5 chance on either side is nearly equal. This is the situation of the
catholic epistles. Although, therefore, the presence of these allusions
and agreements be a valuable accession to the arguments by which
the authenticity of a letter is maintamed, yet the want of them cer
tairJy foiins no positive objection.
lii HORiE PAULINA.
are negatived and excluded, as they have never found ad-
mission into any catalogue of apostolical writings acknow-
ledged by, or known to the early ages of Christianity. In
the first of these I found, as I expected, a total evitation of
circumstances. It is simply a collection of sentences from
the canonical epistles, strung together with very little skill.
The second, which is a more versute and specious forgery,
is introduced with a list of names of persons who WTote to
St. Paul from Corinth ; and is preceded by an account suffi-
ciently particular of the manner in which the epistle was
sent from Corinth to St. Paul, and the answer returned.
But they are names which no one ever heard of; and the
account it is impossible to combine with any thing found in
the Acts, or in the other epistles. It is not necessar}^ for me
to point out the internal marks of spuriousness and impos-
ture which these compositions betray ; but it was necessary
to observe, that they do not afford those coincidences which
w^e propose as proofs of authenticity in the epistles which we
defend.
Having explained the general scheme and formation oi
the argument, I may be permitted to subjoin a brief account
of the manner of conducting it.
I have disposed the several instances of agreement under
separate numbers ; as well to mark more sensibly the divis-
ions of the subject, as for another purpose, namely, that the
reader may thereby be reminded that the instances are in
dependent of one another. I have advanced nothing which
[ did not think probable ; but the degree of probability by
which different instances are supported, is undoubtedly very
different. If the reader, therefore, meets wdth a number
which contains an instance that appears to him unsatisfac-
tory, or founded in mistake, he will dismiss that numbei
from the argument, but without prejudice to any other. He
will have occasion also to observe, that the coincidences dis-
coverable in some epistles are much fewer and weaker than
what are supplied by others. But he will add to his obser-
EXPOSITION OF THE ARGUMENT. 13
vat ion this important circumstance, that whatever ascer-
tains the original of one epistle, in some measure establisheg
the authority of the rest. For, whether these epistles be
genuine or spurious, every thing about them indicates that
they come from the same hand. The diction, which it is
extremely difficult to imitate, preserves its resemblance and
peculiarity throughout all the epistles. Numerous expres-
sions and singularities of style, foun^d in no other part of the
New Testament, are repeated in different epistles ; and oc-
cur in their respective places, without the smallest appear-
ance of force or art. An involved argumentation, frequent
obscurities, especially in the order and transition of thought,
piety, vehemence, aflection, bursts of rapture, and of unpar-
alleled sublimity, are properties, all or most of them, dis-
cernible in every letter of the collection. But although
these epistles bear strong marks of proceeding from the same
hand, I think it is still more certain that they were originally
separate publications. They form no continued story ; they
compose no regular correspondence ; they comprise not the
transactions of any particular period ; they carry on no con-
nection of argument ; they depend not upon one another ;
except in one or two instances, they refer not to one another.
I will further undertake to say, that no study or care has
been employed to produce or preserve an appearance of con-
sistency among them. All which observations show that
they were not intended by the person, whoever he was, that
wrote them, to come forth or be read together — that they
appeared at first separa*;^ly, and have been collected since.
The proper purpose of the following work is to bring
together, from the Acts of the Apostles, and from the differ-
ent epistles, such passages as furnish examples of undesigned
coincidence ; but I have so far enlarged upon this phiu, as
to take into it some circumst£\nces found in the epictlcs,
which contributed strength t<* the CD.icluslou, though not
strictly objects of comparison.
It appeared also a part of ths sanrie plan Iq nx^v^n^ ♦he
14 HOR^ PAULINiE.
difficMillios which presented themselves in the course of oui
inquiry.
I do not know that the subject has been proposed or con-
sidered in this view before. Ludovicus Capellus, bishop
Pearson, Dr. Benson, and Dr. Lardner, have each given a
continued history of St. Paul's life, made up from the Acts
of the Apostles and the epistles joined together. But this,
it is manifest, is a different undertaking from the present,
and directed to a different purpose.
If what is here offered shall add one thread to that com-
plication of probabilities by which the Christian history is
attested, the reader's attention wdll be repaid by the supremo
importance of the subject, and my design will be fully an*
Bwered.
KPrST^.E TO THE ROMANS \t
CHAPTER 11
THE EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS.
1. The first passage 1 shall produce from this epistle,
and upon which a good deal of observation will be founded,
is the following :
" But now I go unto Jerusalem to minister unto the
saints. For it hath pleased them of Macedonia and Achaia
to make a certain contribution for the poor saints which are
at Jerusalem." Rom. 15 : 25, 26.
In this quotation three distinct circumstances are stated :
a contribution in Macedonia for the relief of the Christians
of Jerusalem, a contribution in Achaia for the same purpose,
and an intended journey of St. Paul to Jerusalem. These
circumstances are stated as taking place at the same time,
and that to be the time v/hen the epistle Avas written. Now
let us inquire whether we can find these circumstances else-
where ; and whether, if we do find them, they meet together
in respect of date. Turn to the Acts of the Apostles, chap.
20, ver. 2, 3, and you read the following account : "When
he had gone over those parts," namely, Macedonia, "and
had given them much exhortation, he came into Greece,
and there abode three months. And when the Jews laid
wait for him, as he ivas about to sail into Syria, he pro-
posed to return through Macedonia." From this passage,
compared with the account of St. Paul's travels given before,
and from the sequel of the chapter, it appears that upon St.
Paul's second visit to the peninsula of Greece, his intention
was, when he should leave the country, to proceed from
Achaia directly by sea to Syria ; but that to avoid the Jews,
who were lying in wait to intercept him in his route, he so
far changed his purpose as to go back through Macedonia,
embark at Philippi, and pursue his voyage from thence tow-
ards Jerusalem. Here therefore is a journey to Jerusalem,
16 HOR^ PAULIN.^.
but not a syllable of any contribution. And as St. Paul had
taken several journeys to Jerusalem before, and one also im-
mediately after his first visit into the peninsula of Greece,
Acts 18 : 21, it cannot from hence be collected in Avhich oi
these visits the epistle was written, or with certainty that
it was written in either. The silence of the historian who
professes to have been with St. Paul at the time, chap. 20,
ver, 6, concerning any contribution, might lead us to look
out for some different journey, or might induce us perhaps
to question the consistency of the two records, did not a very
accidental reference in another part of the same history
afford us sufficient ground to believe that this silence was
omission. When St. Paul made his reply before Felix to
the accusations of TertuUus, he alleged, as was natural, that
neither the errand which brought him to Jerusalem, nor his
conduct while he remained there, merited the calumnies
with which the Jews had aspersed him : " Now after many
years," that is, of absence, " I came to bring alms to my
nation, and offerings. Whereupon certain Jews from Asia
found me purified in the temple, neither with multitude, nor
with tumult ; who ought to have been here before thee, and
object, if they had aught against me." Acts 24 : 17-19.
This mention of alms and offerings certainly brings the nar-
rative in the Acts nearer to an accordancy with the epistle ;
yet no one, I am persuaded, vdll suspect that this clause
was put into St, Paul's defence, either to supply the omission*
in the preceding narrative, or with any view to such ac
cordancy.
After all, nothing is yet said or hinted concerning the
place of the contribution — nothing concerning Macedonia
and Achaia, Turn therefore to the first epistle to the Corin-
thians, chap, 16, ver. 1-4, and you have St. Paul deliver-
ing the following directions : " Concerning the collection for
the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia,
even so do ye. Upon the first day of the week let every
one of you lay by him in store, as God h«ith prospered him.
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 17
that iKere be no gatherings when I come. And when 1
come, whomsoever you shall approve by your letters, them
will I send to bring your liberality unto Jerusalem. And
if it be meet that I go also, they shall go with me." In
this passage we find a contribution carrying on at Corinth,
the capital of Achaia, for the Christians of Jerusalem ; we
find also a hint given of the possibility of St. Paul going up
to Jerusalem himself, after he had paid his visit into Achaia ;
but this is spoken of rather as a possibility than as any set-
tled intention ; for his first thought was, "Whomsoever you
shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your
liberality unto Jerusalem ;" and in the sixth verse he adds,
" That ye may bring me on my journey ivliitliersoever I go."
This epistle purports to be written after St. Paul had been
at Corinth ; for it refers throughout to what he had done
and said among them while he was there. The expression,
therefore, "when I come," must relate to a second visit,
against which visit the contribution spoken of was desired
to be in readiness.
But though the contribution in Achaia be expressly men-
tioned, nothing is here said concerning any contribution in
Macedonia. Turn therefore, in the third place, to the second
epistle to the Corinthians, chap. 8, ver. 1-4, and you will
discover the particular which remains to be sought for :
" Moreover, brethren, we do you to wit of the grace of God
bestowed on the churches of Maccdojiia ; how that in a
great trial of affliction, the abundance of their joy and their
deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality.
For to their power 1 bear record, yea, and beyond theii
power, they were willing of themselves ; praying us with
much entreaty, that we would receive the gift, and take
upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints."
To which add, chap. 9, ver. 2, "I know the forwardness ol
your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Macedonia,
that Achaia was ready a year ago." In this epistle we find
St. Paul advanced as far as Macedonia, upon that scco/ul
1 r.*
18 HOR^ PAULINiE.
visit to Corinth which he promised in his former 2pistle ,'
we find also, in the passages now quoted from it, that a
contribution was going on in Macedonia at the same time
with, or soon however following, the contribution which was
made in Achaia ; but for whom the contribution was made
does not appear in this epistle at all : that information must
be supplied from the first epistle.
Here therefore, at length, but fetched from three different
writings, we have obtained the several circumstances we
inquired after, and which the epistle to the E-omans brings
together, namely, a contribution in Achaia for the Christians
of Jerusalem, a contribution in Macedonia for the same, and
an approaching journey of St. Paul to Jerusalem. We have
these circumstances — each by some hint in the passage in
which it is mentioned, or by the date of the writing in which
the passage occurs — fixed to a particular time ; and we have
that time turning out, upon examination, to be in all the
sa??ie, namely, towards the close of St. Paul's second visit
to the peninsula of G reece. This is an instance of conform-
ity beyond the possibility, I will venture to say, of random
\^Titing to produce ; I also assert, that it is in the highest
degree improbable that it should have been the effect of
contrivance and design. The imputation of desigoi amounts
to this : that the forger of the epistle to the Uomans inserted
in it the passage upon which our observations are founded,
for the purpose of giving color to his forgery by the appear-
ance of conformity with other writings which v/ere then
extant. I reply, in the first place, that if he did this to
countenance his forgery, he did it for the purpose of an argu-
ment which would not strike one reader in ten thousand.
Coincidences so circuitous as this answer not the ends of
forgery ; are seldom, I believe, attempted by it. In the
second place, I observe that he must have had the Acts of
the Apostles and the two epistles to the Corinthians before
him at the time. In the Acts of the Apostles — I mean that
part of the Acts which relates to this period — he would have
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 19
found the journey to Jerusalem but nothing about the con-
tribution. In the first epistle to the Corinthians, he Mould
hive found a contribution going on in Achaia for the Chris-
tians of Jerusalem, and a distant hint of the possibility of
the journey, but nothing concerning a contribution m Mace
donia. In the second epistle to the Corinthians, he would
have found a contribution in Macedonia accompanying that
in Achaia, but no intimation for whom either was intended
and not a word about the journey. It was only by a closf
and attentive collation of the three writings, that he could
have picked out the circumstances which he has united in
his epistle, and by a still more nice examination, that ho
could have determined them to belong to the same period
In the third place, I remark, what diminishes very much tlie
suspicion of fraud, how aptly and connectedly the mention
of the circumstances in question, namely, the journey to
Jerusalem and the occasion of that journey, arises from the
context: "Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, 1 will
come to you ; for I trust to see you in my journey and
to be brought on my way thitherward by you, if first 1 be
somewhat filled with your company. But noiu I go unto
Jerusalem to minister unto the saints. For it Jiath pleased
them of Macedonia and AcJmia to make a certain contri
hutioQifor the iioor saints luhich are at Jerusalem It hath
pleased them verily, and their debtors they are ; for if the
Gentiles have been made partakers of their spiritual things,
their duty is also to minister unto them in carnal things
When therefore I have performed this, and have sealed to
them this fruit, I will come by you into Spain " Is the
passage in italics like a passage foisted in for an extraneous
purpose? Does it not arise from what goes before, by a
junction as easy as any example of writing upon real busi
ncss can furnish ? Could any thing be more natural than
that St. Paul, in writing to the Romans, should speak of the
time when, he hoped to visit them; should mention tha
business which then detained him ; and that he purposed
5-/0 HORiE PAULJxN^ifi.
to set forward upon nis journey to them when that business
was completed ?
II. By means of the quotation which formed the subject
of the preceding number, we collect that the epistle to the
Romans w^as written at the conclusion of St. Paul's second
visit to the peninsula of Greece ; but this we collect, not
from the epistle itself, nor from any thing declared concern-
ing the time and place in any part of the epistle, but from a
comparison of circumstances referred to in the epistle, wdth
the order of events recorded in the Acts, and wdth references
to the same circumstances, though for quite different pur-
poses, in the two epistles to the Corinthians. Now, w^ould
the author of a forgery who sought to gain credit to a spuri-
ous letter by congruities depending upon the time and place
in which the letter was supposed to be WTitten, have left
that time and place to be made out in a manner so obscure
and indirect as this is ? If, therefore, coincidences of circum-
stances can be pointed out in this epistle depending upon its
date, or the place where it was written, wdiile that date and
place are only ascertained by other circumstances, such coin-
cidences may fairly be stated as iindedgned. Under this
head I adduce.
Chap. 16 : 21-23 : " Timotheus my workfellow', and Lu-
cms, and Jason, and Sosipater, my kinsmen, salute you. ]
Tertius, who wrote this epistle, salute you in the Lord
Gaius mine host, and of the whole church, saluteth you
and Gluartus, a brother." With this passage I compare Acts
20 : 4 : "And there accompanied him into Asia, Sopater of
Berea ; and of the Thessalonians, Aristarchus and Secundus ;
and Gaius of Derbe, and Timotheus; and of Asia, Tychicus
ind Trophimus." The epistle to the Romans, w^e have
seen, was written just before St. Paul's departure from
Greece, after his second visit to that peninsula ; the persons
rnsntioned in the quotation from the Acts are those who
accompanied him in that departure. Of seven whoso names
are joined in the salutation of the churcb of Rome, tliree
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS 21
naiiiv^ly, Sosijjater, Gains, and Timothy, are proved by this
passage in the Acts to have been with St. Panl at the time
And th-3 is perhaps as much coincidence as could be expect-
ed from reahty, though less, I am apt to think, than would
have been produced by design. Four are mentioned in the
Acts who are not joined in the salutation ; and it is in the
nature of the case probable that there should be many at-
tending St. Paul in Greece who knew nothing of the con-
verts at Rome, nor were known by them. In like manner,
several are joined in the salutation who are not mentioned
in the passage referred to in the Acts. This also was to be
expected. The occasion of mentioning them in the Acts
was their proceeding with St. Paul upon his journey. Bnt
we may be sure that there were many eminent Christians
with St. Paul in Greece, besides those who accompanied
him into Asia.*
But if any one shall still contend that a forger of the
epistle, with the Acts of the Apostles before him, and hav-
ing settled this scheme of writing a letter as from St. Paul
* Of these, Jason is one, whose presence upon this occasion is very
naturally accounted for. Jason was an inhabitant of Thessalonica, in
Macedonia, and entertained St. Paul in his house upon his first visit
to that country. Acts 17 : 7. St. Paul, upon this his second visit,
passed through M-acedonia, on his way to Greece, and from the situa-
uon of Thessalonica, most likely through, that city. It appears, from
various instances in the Acts, to have been the practice of many con-
verts to attend St. Paul from place to place. It is therefore highly
probable — I mean, that it is highly consistent with the account in the
history — that Jason, according to that account a zealous disciple, the
inhabitant of a city at no great distance from Greece, and through
which, as it should seem, St. Paul had lately passed, should have a^^-
companied St. Paul into Greece, and have been with him there at this
tin.e. Lucius is another name in the epistle. A very slight altera-
tion would convert Aovkloc into AovKug, Lucius into Luke, which would
produce an additional coincidence ; for if Luke was the author of the
history, he was with St. Paul at the time; inasmuch as, describing
the voyage whivih took place soon after the wi'iting of this epistle, the
historian uses the first person, " We sailed away from Pliilippi." Act?
20-6.
^2 KORM PAULINtE.
upon his second visit into Greece, would easily think of tlie
expedient of putting in the names of those persons who ap-
peared to be with St. Paul, at the time as an obvious recom-
mendation of the imposture, I then repeat my observations,
first, that he would have made the catalogue more complete ;
and secondly, that with this contrivance in his thoughts, it
was certainly his business, in order to avail himself of the
artifice, to have stated in the body of the epistle that Paul
was in Greece when he wrote it, and that he was there upon
his second visit ; neither of which he has done, either directly,
or even so as to be discoverable by any circumstance found
in the narrative delivered in the Acts.
Under the same head, namely, of coincidences depend-
ing upon date, I cite from the epistle, chap. 16 : 3, the fol-
lowing salutation : " Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my helpers
in Christ Jesus ; who have for my life laid down their own
necks : unto whom not only I give thanks, but also all the
churches of the Gentiles." It appears from the Acts of the
Apostles, that Priscilla and Aquila had originally been in-
habitants of E-ome; for we read. Acts 18 : 2, that Paul
" found a certain Jew, named Aquila, born in Pontus, lately
come from Italy, with his wife Priscilla, (because that
Claudius had commanded all Jews to depart from Rome.'')
They were connected, therefore, with the place to which
the salutations are sent. That is one coincidence ; another
is the following : St. Paul became acquainted with these
persons at Corinth, during his first visit into Greece. They
accompanied him. upon his return into Asia ; Avere settled
for some time at Ephesus, Acts 18 : 19-26 ; and appear to
have been with St. Paul when he wrote from that place his
first epistle to the Corinthians, 1 Cor. 16 : 19; not long
after the writing of which epistle St. Paul went from Eph-
esus into Macedonia, and, " after he had gone over those
parts," proceeded from thence upon his second visit into
Greece ; during which visit, or rather at the conclusion of it,
the epistle to the Horaans, as has been shown, was written
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS 23
We have therefore the time of St. Paul's residence at Eph*
esus after he had written to the Corinthians, the time taken
up hy his progress through Macedonia — which is indefinite,
and was probably considerable — and his three months' abode
in Greece ; we have the sum of those three periods allowed
for Aquila and Priscilla going back to Rome, so as to bt
there when the epistle before us was written. Now, what
this quotation leads us to observe is, the danger of scatter-
ing names and circumstances in writings like the present,
how implicated they often are with dates and places, and
that nothing but truth can preserve consistency. Had the
notes of time in the epistle to the Romans fixed the writing
of it to any date prior to St. Paul's first residence at Cor-
inth, the salutation of Aquila and Priscilla would have con-
tiiadicted the history, because it would have been prior to
his acquaintance with these persons. If the notes of time
had fixed it to any period during that residence at Corinth,
during his journey to Jerusalem when he first returned out
of Greece, during his stay at Antioch, whither he went down
to Jerusalem, or during his second progress through the
lesser Asia, upon which he proceeded from Antioch, an
equal contradiction would have been incurred ; because,
from Acts 18 : 2—18, 19-2G, it appears that during all this
time Aquila and Priscilla were either along with St. Paul,
or were abiding at Ephesus. Lastly, had the notes of time
iw this epistle, which we have seen to be perfectly incidental,
compared with the notes of time in the first epistle to the
Corinthians, which are equally incidental, fixed this epistle
to be either contemporary with that or prior to it, a similar
contradiction would have ensued ; because, first, when the
epistle to the Corinthians was written, Aquila and Priscilla
were along with St. Paul, as they joined in the salutation
of that church, 1 Cor. 16 : 19 ; and because, secondly, the
history does not allow us to suppose that between the time
of their becoming acquainted with St. Paul and the time of
St. Paul's writing to the Corinthians, Aquila and Priscilla
24 nOR^ PAULINiE.
could have gone to Rome, so as to have been saluted in an
epistle to that city ; and then come back to St. Paul at
Ephesus, so as to be joined with him in saluting the church
of Corinth. As it is, all things are consistent. The epistle
to the Eomans is posterior even to the second epistle to the
Corinthians ; because it speaks of a contribution in Achaia
being completed, which the second epistle to the Corinthi-
ans, chap. 8, is only sr'liciting. It is sufficiently, therefore,
posterior to the first epistle to the Corinthians to allow time
in the interval for Aquila and Priscilla's return from Ephe-
sus to Rome.
Before we dismiss these tv/o persons, we may take notice
of the terms of commendation in w^hich St. Paul describes
them, and of the agreement of that encomium with the
history. " My helpers in Christ Jesus ; who have for my
life laid down their own necks : unto whom not only I give
thanks, but also all the churches of the Gentiles." In the
eighteenth chapter of the Acts, we are informed that Aquila
and Priscilla were Jews ; that St. Paul first met with them
at Corinth ; that for some time he abode in the same house
with them ; that St. Paul's contention at Corinth was with
the unbelieving Jews, who at first " opposed and blasphem-
ed," and afterwards " with one accord raised an insurrec-
tion" against him; that Aquila and Priscilla adhered, we
may conclude, to St. Paul throughout this whole contest ;
for, when he left the city, they went with him. Acts 18:18.
Under these circumstances, it is highly probable that they
should be involved in the dangers and persecutions which
St. Paul underwent from the Jews, being themselves Jews ;
and, by adhering to St. Paul in this dispute, deserters, aa
they would be accounted, of the Jewish cause. Further, as
they, though Jews, were assisting to St. Paul in preaching
to the Gentiles at Corinth, they had taken a decided part
ni the great controversy of that day, the admission of the
Gentiles to a parity of religious situation with the Jews. Foi
this conduct alone, if there was no other reason .ney may
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 25
seem to have bjen entitled to " thanks from the churches ol
the (Tciitiles." They were Jews taking pan with Gentiles
Yet is all this so indirectly intimated, or rather so much ci
it left to inference, in the account given in the Acts, that I
do not think it probable that a forger either could or would
have drawn his representation from thence ; and still les?
probable do I think it, that without having seen the Acts,
he could, by mere accident, and without truth for his guide,
have delivered a representation so conformable to the cir-
cumstances there recorded.
The two congruities last adduced depended upon tht
time ; the two following regard the place of the epistle.
1, Chap. IC : 23 : " Erastus the chamberlain of the
city salutoth you." Of what city ? We have seen, that is,
we have mferred from circumstances found in the epistle,
compared with circumstances found in the Acts of the Apos-
tles, and m the two epistles to the Corinthians, that our
epistle was WTittcn during St. Paul's second visit to the
peninsula of Greece. Again, as St. Paul, in his epistle to
the church of Corinth, 1 Cor. 16 : 3, speaks of a collection
going on in that city, and of his desire that it might be ready
against he came thither ; and as in this epistle he speaks of
that collection being ready, it follows that the epistle was
written either while he was at Corinth, or after he had been
there. Thirdly, since St. Paul speaks in this epistle of his
journey to Jerusalem, as about instantly to take place ; and
as we learn, Acts 20 : 3, that his design and attempt was
to sail upon that journey immediately from Greece, properly
so called, that is, as distinguished from Macedonia, it is prob-
able that he was in this country when he wrote the epistle,
in which he speaks of himself as upon the eve of setting out.
If in Greece, he was most likely at Corinth ; for the two
epistles to the Corinthians show that the principal end of
liis coming into Greece was to visit that city, where he had
founded a church. Certainly w^e know no place in Greece
in which his presence was so probable ; at least, the placing
2
26 IlOEiE PAULINiE.
of him at Corinth satisfies every circumstance. Now, that
Erastus was an inhabitant of Corinth, or had some connec-
tion with Corinth, is rendered a fair subject of presumption,
by that which is accidentally said of him in the second epis-
tle to Timothy, cha]3. 4 : 20 : " Erastus abode at Corinth'''
St, Paul complains of his solitude, and is telling Timothy
what was become of his companions. " Erastus abode at
Corinth ; but Trophimus have I left at Miletus sick." Eras-
tus was one of those who had attended St. Paul in his trav-
els, Acts 19 : 22 ; and when those travels had upon some
occasion brought our apostle and his train to Corinth, Eras-
tus stayed there, for no reason so probable as that it was his
home. I allow that this coincidence is not so precise as
some others, yet I think it too clear to be produced by acci-
dent ; for of the many places which this same epistle has
assigned to different persons, and the innumerable others
which it might have mentioned, how came it to fix upon
Corinth for Erastus ? And as far as it is a coincidence, it is
certainly undesigned on the part of the author of the epistle
to the Romans : because he has not told us of what city
Erastus was the chamberlain ; or, which is the same thing,
from what city the epistle was written, the setting forth of
which was absolutely necessary to the display of the coinci-
dence, if any such display had been thought of: nor could
the author of the epistle to Timothy leave Erastus at Cor-
inth, from any thing he might have read in the epistle to the
Romans, because Corinth is nowhere in that epistle men-
tioned either by name or description.
2. Chap. 16 : 1—3 : "I com.mend unto you Phebe our
sister, which, is a servant of the church which is at Cen-
chrea : that ye receive her in the Lord, as becometh saints,
and that ye assist her in whatsoever business she hath need
of you ; for she hath been a succorer of many, and of my-
self also." Cenchrea adjoined to Corinth ; St. Paul, there-
fore, at the time of writing the letter, was in the neighbor-
hood of the woman whom, he thus rocomm.ends. But fur-
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 27
ther, that St. Paul had before this been at Cenchrea itself,
appears from the eighteenth chapter of the Acts ; and ap-
pears by a circumstance as incidental and as unlike design
as any that can be imagined. " Paul after this tarried there,"
namely, at Corinth, "yet a good while, and then took his
leave of his brethren, and sailed thence into Syria, and with
him Priscilla and Aquila, having shorn his head hi Cen-
chrea': for he had a vow.*' Acts 18 : 18. The shaving of
the head denoted the expiration of the Nazaritic vow. The
historian, therefore, by the mention of this circumstance, vir-
tually tells us that St. Paul's vow was expired before he set
forward upon his voyage, havijig deferred probably his de-
parture until he should be released from the restrictions
under which his vow laid him. Shall we say that the
author of the Acts of the Apostles feigned this anecdote of
St. Paul at Cenchrea, because he had read in the epistle to
the Romans that ** Phebe, a servant of the church of Cen-
chrea, had been a succorer of many, and of him also ?" Or
shall we say that the author of the epistle to the Romans,
out of his own imagination, created Phebe " a servant oj
the church of Ce7ich7'ea" hecsiuse he read in the Acts of the
Apostles that Paul had " shorn his head" in that place ?
III. Chap. 1 : 13 : "Now I would not have you igno-
rant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you,
(but was let hitherto,) that I might have some fruit among
you also, even as among other Gentiles." Again, 15 : 23-28,
" But now having no more place in these parts, and having
a great desire these many years," TroAAa oftentimes, "to come
unto you ; w^hensoever I take my journey into Spain I will
come to you : for I trust to see you in my journey, and to
be brought on my way thitherward by you. But now I go
up unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints. When,
therefore, I have performed this, and have sealed to them
this fruit, I will come by you into Spain."
With these passages compare Acts 19:21: " After these
things were ended," namely, at Ephesus, " Paul purposed
^8 HOR^ PAULlNiE.
in the spirit, when he had passed through Macedonia and
A.chaia, to go to Jerusalem, saying. After I have been there.
I must also see Rome."
Let it be observed, that our epistle purports to have been
written at the conclusion of St. Paul's second journey into
Greece ; that the quotation from the Acts contains words
said to have been spoken by St. Paul at Ephesus, some time
before he set forward upon that journey. Now I contend
that it is impossible that two independent fictions should
have attributed to St. Paul the same purpose ; especially a
purpose so specific and particular as this, which was not
merely a general design of visiting Rome after he had passed
through Macedonia and Achaia, and after he had performed
a voyage from those countries to Jerusalem. The conform-
ity between the history and the epistle is perfect. In the
first quotation from the epistle, we find that a design of vis-
iting Rome had long dwelt in the apostle's mind : in the
quotation from the Acts, we find that design expressed a
considerable time before the epistle was written. In the
history we find that the plan which St. Paul had formed
was, to pass through Macedonia and Achaia, after that to
go to Jerusalem, and when he had finished his visit there
to sail for Rome. "When the epistle was written he had
executed so much of his plan as to have passed through
Macedonia and Achaia, and was preparing to pursue the
remainder of it, by speedily setting out towards Jerusalem ;
and in this point of his travels he tells his friends at Rome,
that when he had completed the business Vv^hich carried
him to Jerusalem, he would come to them. Secondly, I say
that the very inspection of the passages will satisfy us that
they were not made up from one another.
" Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, I \vil come
to you ; for I trust to see you in my journey, and to be
brought on my way thHherward by you. But now I go up
unto Jerusalem, to minister unto the saints. When, there-
fore, I have performed this, and have sealed to them thi#
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 2J
fruit; 1 will come by you into Spain." Tliis fiom the
epistle.
''Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had passed through
Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusalem, saying. After 1
have been there, I must also see Rome." This from the
Acts.
If the passage in the epistle was taken from that in the
Acts, why was Spain put in ? If the passage in the Acts
was taken from that in the epistle, why was Spain left out ?
If the two passages were unknown to each other, nothing
can account for their conformity but truth. Whether we
suppose the history and the epistle to be alike fictitious, oi
the history to be true but the letter spurious, or the letter
to be genuine but the history a fable, the meeting with thi?
circumstance in both, if neither borrowed it from the other,
is, upon all these suppositions, equally inexplicable.
IV. The following quotation I offer for the purpose oi
pointing out a geographical comcidence, of so much impor-
tance, that Dr. Lardner considered it as a confirmation oi
the whole history of St. Paul's travels :
Chap. 15:19: "So that from Jerusalem, and round
about unto Illyricum, I have fully preached the go.spel oi
Christ."
I do not think that these words necessarily import that
St. Paul had penetrated into Illyricum, or preached the gos-
pel in that province ; but rather that he had come to the
confines of Illyricum, {iJi£xpi rov WivpLKov^) and that these con-
fines were the external boundary of his travels. St. Paul
considers Jerusalem as the centre, and is here viewing the
jircumference to which his travels extended. The ibnn of
expression in the original conveys this idea : a-Ko 'lepovaa?.^fi
xal Kv.'i^o) fiExpi Tov 'WjvpLKov. Illyricum was the part of this
circle which he mentions in an epistle to the Romans, be-
cause it lay in a direction from Jerusalem towards that city,
md poL-ited out to the Roman readers the nearest place to
them to which his travels from Jerusalem had brought hirn
30 HOEJE PAULINiE.
The name of Illyncum nowhere occurs in the Av.ts of tho
Apostles ; no suspicion, therefore, can be received, that the
mention of it was borrowed from thence. Yet I think it
appears from these same Acts, that St. Paul, before the
time when he wrote his epistle to the Romans, had reached
the confines of Illyricum ; or, however, that he might have
done so, in perfect consistency with the account there deliv
ered. Illyricum adjoins upon Macedonia ; measuring from
Jerusalem towards Home, it lies close behind it. If, there-
fore, St. Paul traversed the whole country of Macedonia, the
route would necessarily bring him to the confines of Illyri-
cum, and these confines would be described as the extremity
of his journey. Now the account of St. Paul's second visit
to the peninsula of Greece is contained in these words : "He
departed for to go into Macedonia. And when he had gone
over those parts, and had given them much exhortation, he
came into Greece." Acts 20 : 2. This account allows, or
rather leads us to suppose, that St. Paul, in going over Mac-
edonia {6ieMuv Tu idpn EKEiva,) had passed so far to the west
as to come into those parts of the country which v>^ere con-
tiguous to Illyricum, if he did not enter into Illyricum itself
The history, therefore, and the epistles so far agree, and the
agreement is much strengthened by a coincidence of ti??ic.
At the time the epistle was written, St. Paul might say, in
conformity with the history, that he had " come into Illyri-
cum :" much before that time, he could not have said so ;
for, upon his former journey to Macedonia, his route is laid
down from the time of his landing at Philippi to his sailing
from Corinth. "We trace him from Philippi to Amphipohs
and Apollonia ; from thence to Thessalonica ; from Thessa-
Lonica to Berea ; from Berea to Athens ; and from Athens
to Corinth : which track confines him to the eastern side of
the peninsula, and therefore keeps him all the while at a
considerable distance from Illyricum. Upon his second visit
to Macedonia, the history, we have seen, leave? him at lib
erty. It must have been, therefore, upon that second visiU
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 31
if at all, that he approached Illyricum; and this visit, we
hnow, almost immediately preceded the writing of the epis-
tle. It was natural that the apostle should refer to a jour-
ney which was fresh in his thoughts.
V. Chap. 15: 30: "Now I beseech you, brethren, foi
the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of tha Spirit,
that ye strive together with me in your prayers to God for
ine, that I may be delivered from them that do not believe
in Judea." With this compare Acts 20 : 22, 23 :
" And now, behold, I go bound in the spirit unto Jeru-
jialem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there,
save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city, saying,
that bonds and afflictions abide me."
Let it be remarked, that it is the same journey to Jeru-
salem which is spoken of in these two passages ; that the
epistle was written immediately before St. Paul set forward
upon this journey from Achaia ; that the words in the Acts
were uttered by him when he had proceeded in that journey
as far as Miletus, in Lesser Asia. This being remembered,
1 observe that the two passages, without any resemblance
between them that could induce as to suspect that they were
borrowed from one another, rej^resent the state of St. Paul's
mind, with respect to the event of the journey, in terms of
substantial agreement. They both express his sense of dan-
ger in the approaching visit to Jerusalem ; they both express
the doubt which dwelt upon his thoughts concerning what
might there befall him. AVhen, in his epistle, he entreats
the Roman Christians, " for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake,
and for the love of the Spirit," to strive together with him
in their prayers to God for him, that he might " be delivered
from them that do not believe in Judea," he sutficiently
confesses his fears. In the Acts of the Apostles, we see in
him the same apprehensions, and the same uncertLun*:y : " I
go bound ni the spirit unto Jerusalem, ?iot knowing the
things that shall befall me there." The only diflerence is
that in the histoiy his thoughts are more inclined to despond
32 HOR^ PADLINtE.
ency than in the epistle. In the epistle, he retains his hopo
*' that he should come unto them with joy by the will of
God :" in the history^ his mind yields to the reflection, "that
the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city that bonds and
afflictions awaited him." Now, that his fears should be
greater, and his hopes less., in this stage of his journey than
when he wrote his epistle, that is, when he first set out upon
it, is no other alteration than might well be expected ; since
those prophetic intimations to which he refers, when he says,
" the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city," had probably
been received by him in the course of his journey, and were
probably similar to what we know he received in the re
maining part of it at Tyre, chap. 21:4; and afterwards
from Agabus at Cesarea. Chap. 21 : 11.
VI. There is another strong remark arising from the same
passage in the epistle ; to make which understood, it will be
necessary to state the passage over again, and somewhat
more at length :
"I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's
sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive togethei
with ine in your prayers to God for me, that I may be de-
livered from them that do not believe in Judea — that I may
come unto you with joy by the will of God, and may with
you be refreshed."
I desire the reader to call to mind that part of St. Paul's
history which took place after his arrival at Jerusalem, and
which employs the last seven chapters of the Acts ; and I
build upon it this observation — that supposing the epistle to
the Romans to have been a forgery, and the author of the
forgery to have had the Acts of the Apostles before him, and
to have there seen that St, Paul, in fact, Avas not delivered
from the unbelieving Jews, but on the contrary, that he was
taken into custody at Jerusalem, and brought to Rome a
prisoner — it is next to impossible that he should have made
St. Paul express expectations so contrary to what he saw had
been the event ; and utter prayers, with apparent hopes of
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 33
success, which he must have known were frustrated in the
issue.
Thi? single consideration convinces me, that no concert
or confederacy whatever subsisted between the episth^ and
the Acts of the Apostles ; and that whatever coincidences
have been or can be pointed out between them are unso
phisticated, and are the result of truth and reality.
It also convinces me that the epistle was written nol
only m St. Paul's lifetimxC, but before he arrived at Jerusa
lem ; for the important events relating to him which took
place after his arrival at that city, must have been knowr
to the Christian community soon after they happened : they
form the most public part of his history. But had they been
known to the author of the epistle — in other words, had they
then taken place, the passage which we have quoted from
the epistle would not have been found there.
VII. I now proceed to state the conformity which exists
between the argument of this epistle and the history of ita
reputed author. It is enough for this purpose to observe,
that the object of the epistle, that is, of the argumentative
part of it, was to place the Gentile convert upon a parity oi
situation with the Jewish, in respect of his reHgious condi-
tion, and his rank in the divine favor The epistle supports
this point by a variety of arguments ; such as, that no man
of either description was justified by the works of the law—
for this plain reason, that no man had performed them;
that it became therefore necessary to appoint another me-
dium or condition of justification, in which new medium the
Jewish peculiarity was merged and lost ; that Abraham's
o\M justification was anterior to the law, and independent
of it ; that the Jewish converts were to consider the law i s
fiow dead, and themselves as married to another ; that wh tt
the law in truth could not do, in that it was weak through
the flesh, God had done by sending his Son ; that God had
rt^jected the unbeHeving Jews, and had substituted in their
place a society of believers in Christ, collected indiflerentlj
Hora- Faul. 1 7
34 HORiE FAULI^/E.
from Jews and Gentiles. Soon alter the writing of this
epistle, St. Paul, agreeably to the intention intimated in the
epistle itself, took his journey to Jerusalem. The day after
he arrived there, he was introduced to the church. What
passed at this interview is thus related, Acts 21 : 19-21 :
" When he had saluted them, he declared particularly what
things God had wrought among the Gentiles by his minis-
try. And when they heard it, they glorified the Lord, and
said unto him. Thou seest, brother, how many thousands of
Jews there are which believe : and they are all zealous of
the law : and they arc informed of thee, that thou teachest
all the Jews which are among the Gentiles to forsake Moses,
saymg, that they ought not to circumcise their children,
neither to walk after the customs." St. Paul disclaimed
the charge ; but there must have been something to have
led to it. Now it is only to suppose that St. Paul openly
professed the principles which the epistle contains ; that, in
the course of his ministry, he had uttered the sentiments
which he is here made to write, and the matter is ac-
counted for. Concerning the accusation which public rumor
had brought against him to Jerusalem, I will not say that it
was just ; but I will say, that if he was the author of the
epistle before us, and if his preaching was consistent with his
writing, it was extremely natural ; for though it be not a
necessary, surely it is an easy inference, that if the Gentile
convert who did not obsei-ve the law of Moses, held as ad-
vantageous a situation in his religious interests as the Jewish
convert who did, there could be no strong reason for observ-
ing that law at all. The remonstrance therefore of the
chur:h of Jerusalem, and the report which occasioned it,
were founded in no very violent misconstruction of the apos-
tle's doctrine. His reception at Jerusalem was exactly what
I should have expected the author of this epistle to have
met with. I am entitled therefore to argue, that a separate
narrative of effects experienced by St. Paul, similar to what
a person might be expected to experience who held the doc
EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS. 3b
tnnes advanced in this epistle, forms a proof that he did hold
these doctrines ; and that the epistle bearing his name, in
which such doctrines are laid down, actuallyproeeeded from
him.
VIII. This number is supplemental to the former. I
propose to point out in it two particulars in the conduct of
the argument, perfectly adapted to the historical circum-
stances under which the epistle was written ; which yet are
free from all appearance of contrivance, and which it would
not, I think, have entered into the mind of a sophist to con-
trive.
1. The epistle to the Galatians relates to the same
general question as the epistle to the Romans. St. Paul
had founded the church of Galatia : at Rome he had never
been. Observe now a difference in his manner of treating
of the same subject, corresponding with this difference in
his situation. In the epistle to the Galatians, he puts the
point in a great measure upon authority : "I marvel that
ye are so soon removed from him that called you into the
grace of Christ unto another gospel." Gal. 1:6, "I certify
you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me is
not after man. For I neither received it of man, neither
was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ."
Chap. 1:11, 12. "I am afraid of you, lest I have be-
stowed upon you labor in vain." 4 : 11. "I desire to be
present with you now, .... for I stand in doubt of you."
4 : 20. *' Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be cir-
cumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing." 5:2. " This
persuasion cometh not of him that calleth you." 5 : 8.
This is the style in which he accosts the Galatians. In the
epistle to the converts of Rome, where his authority was
uot established; nor his person known, he puts the same
j^Dirts entirely upon argument The perusal of the epistle
will prove this to the satisfaction of every reader ; and as
the observation relates to the whole contents of the epistle,
I forbear adducing separate extracts. 1 repeat, therefore.
56 HOR^ PAULINA.
that we have pointed out a distinction in the two epistles,
suited to tlie relation in whi:;li the author stood to his differ-
ent correspondents.
Another adaptation, and somewhat of the same kind, is
the following :
2. The Jews, we know, were very numerous at Rome,
and probahly formed a principal part among the new con-
\'-erts ; so much so, that the Christians seem to have been
known at Eome rather as a denomination of Jews than as
any thing else. In an epistle consequently to the E-oman
believers, the point to be endeavored after by St. Paul, was
to reconcile the Jeivish converts to the opinion that the Gen-
tiles were admitted by God to a parity of religious situation
with themselves, and that without their being bound by the
law of Moses. The Gentile converts would probably accede
to this opinion very readily. In this epistle, therefore, though
directed to the Roman church in general, it is in truth a
Jew writing to Jews. Accordingly you will take notice, that'
as often as his argument leads him to say any thing deroga-
tory from the Jewish institution, he constantly follows it by
a softening clause. Having, chap. 2 : 28, 29, pronounced,
not much perhaps to the satisfaction of the native Jews,
that "he is not a Jew which is one outwardly ; neither is
that circumcision, which is outward in the flesh ;" he adds
immediately, *' What advantage then hath the Jew, or what
profit is there of circumcision ? Much every icayT Hav-
ing in the third chapter, ver. 28, brought his argument to
this formal conclusion, " that a man is justified by faith with-
out the deeds of the law," he presently subjoins, verse 31,
•* D:- we then make void the law through faith? God for-
bid. Yea, we establish the laivT In the seventh chapter,
when in the sixth verse he had advanced the bold assertion,
that "now we are delivered from the law, that being dead
wherein we were held ;" in the very next verse he comes
in with this healing question, " What shall we say then ?
[a the law sin? C 3d forbid. Nav, I had net known sin.
EPISTLE TO THE ROJIaiMS. SJ
but by the law." Having in the follownig wori?- msiiiaatcd,
or rather more than insinuated, the mefficacy of the Jewish
law, S : 3, " For what the law could Rot do, in that it was
weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the
likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the
flesh ;" after a digression indeed, but that sort of a digres-
sion which he could never resist, a rapturous contemplation
of his Christian hope, and Vv^hich occupies the latter part of
this chapter ; we find him in the next, as if sensible that he
had said something which would give offence, returning to
his Jewish brethren in terms of the warmest aflection and
respect : " I say the truth in Christ Jesus, I lie not, my con-
science also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I
have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart, Foi
1 could wish that myself were accursed from Christ /o/- my
brethren, my kins.men according to the Jlesli : ivho are Ja-
raelites ; to 'whom pertainetli the adojption, and the glory,
and the covenants, and the givijig of the laiv, and the ser-
vice of God, and the loromises ; whose are the fatlicrs, and
of whom, as concerjiing thejlesh, Christ came." When, in
the thirty-first and thirty-second verses of this ninth chapter,
he represented to the Jews the error of even the best of theii
nation, by telling them that " Israel, which followed after
the law of righteousness, had not attained to the law ol
righteousness, . . . because they sought it not by faith, but
as it were by the works of the law ; for they stumbled at
that stumbling-stone," he takes care to annex to this decla-
ration these conciliating expressions : " Brethren, my heart's
desire and -prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be
saved. For I bear them record that they have a zeal oj
God, but not according to knowledge." Lastly, having,
chap. 10 : 20, 21, by the apphcation of a passage in Isaiah,
insinuated the most ungrateful of all propositions to a Jew-
ish ear, the rejection of the Jewish nation as God's peculiar
people ; he hastens, as it were, to quahfy the inteUigence oi
their fall by this interesting expostulation : " I say, ther*
58 HORiE PAULINtE.
hath God cast away his people," that is, wholly and entire-
ly? " God forbid. For I also am an Israelite, of the seed
of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin. God hath not cast
away his people which he foreknew f' and follows this
thought, throughout the whole of the eleventh chapter, in a
series of reflections calculated to soothe the Jewish converts,
as well as to procure from their Gentile brethren respect to
the Jewish institution. Wow all this is perfectly natural
(n a real St. Paul writing to real converts, it is what anxi-
ety to bring them over to his persuasion would naturally
produce ; but there is an earnestness and a personality, if I
may so call it, in the manner, which a cold forgery, I appre-
hend, would neither have conceived nor supported.
FIRST EJISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 39
CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
I. Before we proceed to compare this epistle with tho
history, or with any other epistle, we will employ one num-
ber in stating certain remarks applicable to our argument,
which arise from a perusal of the epistle itself.
By an expression in the first verse of the seventh chap-
ter, "Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto
me," it appears that this letter to the Corinthians was writ-
ten by St. Paul in answer to one which he had received
from them ; and that the seventh, and some of the follow-
ing chapters, are taken up in resolving certain doubts, and
regulating certain points of order, concerning which the Co-
rinthians had in their letter consulted him. This alone is
a circumstance considerably in favor of the authenticity of
the epistle ; for it must have been a far-fetched contrivance
in a forgery, first to have feigned the receipt of a letter from
the church of Corinth, which letter does not appear, and
then to have drawn up a fictitious answer to it, relative to
a great variety of doubts and inquiries, purely economical
and domestic ; and which, though likely enough to have
occurred to an infant society, in a situation, and under an
institution so novel as that of a Christian church then was,
it must have very much exercised the author's invention,
and could have answered no imaginable purpose of forgery,
to introduce the mention of at all. Particulars of the kind
we refer to are such as the following : the rule of duty and
prudence relative to entering into marriage, as applicable to
virgins, to widows , the case of husbands married to uncoi'
verted wives, of wives having unconverted husbands ; that
case where the unconverted party chooses to separate. wher«
he chooses to continue the union ; .he efiect which their
conversion produced upon their prior state, of circumcision,
of slavery ; the eating of things oflered to idols, as it was in
iC HOE,^ PAULINyE.
itself^ as others were a fleeted by it ; the joining in : dohilrous
sacrifices '; the decorum to be observed in their religious as-
semblies, the order of speaking, the silence of women ; the
covering or uncovering of the head, as it became men, as it
became women. These subjects, wdth their several subdi-
visions, are so particular, minute, and numerous, that though
they be exactly agreeable to the circumstances of the per-
sons to whom the letter was w^'itten, nothing, I believe, but
the existence and reality of those circumstances could have
suggested to the writer's thoughts.
But this is not the only nor the principal observation
upon the correspondence between the church of Corinth and
their apostle, which I wish to point out. It appears, I think,
in this correspondence, that although the Corinthians had
written to St. Paul, requesting his answer and his directions
m the several points above enumerated, yet that they had
not said one syllable about the enormities and disorders
which had crept in among them, and in the blame of which
they all shared ; but that St Paul's information concerning
the irregularities then prevailing at Corinth had come round
to him from other quarters. The quarrels and disputes ex-
cited by their contentious adherence to their difierent teach
ers, and by their placing of them in competition with one
another, were not mentioned in their letter, but communis
cated to St. Paul by more private intelhgence : " It hath
been declared unto me of you, my brethren, hj them ivhich
are of the house of Chloe, that there are contentions among
you. Now this I say, that ever}^ one of you saith, I am of
Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ."
1 : 11, 12. The incestuous marriage "of a man with his
father's wife," which St. Paul reprehends with so much
severity in the fifth chapter of our epistle, and which was
not the crime of an individual only, but a crime in which
the whole church, by tolerating and conniving at it, had
rendered themselves partakers, did not come to St. Paul's
knowledge by the lette?, but by a rumor which had reached
/IRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 41
his ears : '' It is rejjortcd commonly that there is fornication
among you, and such fornication as is not so much as named
among the Gentiles, that one should have his father's wife.
And ye are pufled up, and have not rather mourned, that
he that hath done this deed might be taken away from
among you." 5:1,2. Their going to law before the judica-
ture of the countiy, rather than arbitrate and adjust their
disputes among themselves, which St. Paul animadverts
upon with his usual plainness, was not intimated to him in
the letter^ because he tells them his opinion of this conduct
before he comes to the contents of the letter. Their litig-
iousness is censured by St. Paul in the sixth chapter of his
epistle, and it is only at the beginning of the seventh chap-
ter that he proceeds upon the articles which he fomid in
their letter ; and he proceeds upon them with this preface :
" Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me,"
7:1, which introduction he would not have used if he had
been already discussing any of the subjects concerning which
they had written. Their irregularities in celebrating the
Lord's supper, and the utter perversion of the institution
which ensued, were not in the letter, as is evident from the
terms in which St. Paul mentions the notice he had received
of it : " Now in this that I declare unto you, I praise you
not, that ye come together not for the better, but for the
worse. For first of all, when ye come together in the church,
/ hear that there be divisions among you ; and I ijartly be-
lieve it." Now that the Corinthians should, in their own
letter, exhibit the fair side of their conduct to the apostle,
and conceal from him the faults of their behavior, was ex-
tremely natural, and extremely p-'obable ; but it was a dis-
tinction which would not, I think, have easily occurred to
the author of a forgery ; and much less likely is it, that i\
should have entered into his thoughts to make the distinc-
tion appear in the way in which it does appear, namely,
not by the ciiglnal letter, not by any express observation
upon it in the answer, but distantly by marks perceivable in
17*
*2 HOU^ PAULINA.
the manner, or in the order in which St. Paul takes notice
of their faults.
II. Our epistle purports to have been written after St
Paul had already been at Corinth: "I, brethren, ivhen 1
cams to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wis
dom," 2:1: and in many other places to the same effect.
It purport.* also to have been written upon the eve of an-
other visit to that church : " I will come to you shortly, il
the Lord will," 4:19; and again, " I will come unto you,
when I shall pass through Macedonia." IG : 5. Now the
history relates that St. Paul did in fact visit Corinth twice;
once as recorded at length in the eighteenth, and a second
time as mentioned briefly in the twentieth chapter of the
Acts. The same history also informs us. Acts 20:1, that
it was from Ephesus St. Paul proceeded upon his second
journey into Greece. Therefore, as the epistle purports to
have been written a short time preceding that journey ; and
as St. Paul, the history tells us, had resided more than two
years at Ephesus before he set out upon it, it follows that it
must have been from Ephesus, to be consistent with the
history, that the epistle was written ; and every note of
place in the epistle agrees with this supposition. " If, after
the manner of men, I have fought with beasts at Epheuis,
what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not ?" 15 : 32. I
allow that the apostle might say this, wherever he was ;
but it was more natural and more to the purpose to say it,
if he was at Ephesus at the time, and in the midst of those
conflicts to which the expression relates. " The churches
of Asia salute you." 16:19. Asia, throughout the Acts of
the Apostles, and the epistles of St. Paul, does not mean the
whole of Asia Minor or Anatolia, nor even the whole of the
proconsular Asia, but a district in the anterior part of that
country, called Lydian Asia, divided from the rest much as
Portugal is from Spain, and of which district hphesus was
the capital. " Aquila and Priscilla salute you." 16 : 19.
A.qui]a and Priscilla were at Ejohcsus during the period
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE COfllNTHIAN S . 45
within which this epistle was written. Acts 18:13, 26,
" I will tarry at Bphesus until Pentecost." 16:8. This, 1
apprehend, is in terms almost asserting that he was at Eph-
esus at the time of writing the epistle. " A great and effect-
ual door is opened unto me." 16:9. How well this decla-
ration corresponded with the state of things at Ephesus,
and the progress of the gospel in these parts, we learn from
the reflection with which the historian concludes the ac-
count of certain transactions which passed there : "So
mightily grew the word of God and prevailed," Acts 19 , 20,
as well as from the complaint of Demetrius, " that not alone
at Ephesus, but almost throughout all Asia, this Paul hath
persuaded and turned away much people." 19 : 26. "And
there are many adversaries," says the epistle, 16 : 9. Look
into the history of this period : " When divers were hard-
ened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before
the multitude, he departed Irom them and separated the
disciples." The conformity, therefore, upon this head of
comparison is circumstantial and perfect. If any one think
that this is a conformity so obvious, that any forger of toler-
able caution and sagacity would have taken care to preserve
it, I must desire such a one to read the epistle for himself;
and when he has done so, to declare whether he has dis-
covered one mark of art or design ; whether the notes ol
time and 'place appear to him to be inserted with any refer-
ence to each other, wdth any view of their being compared
with each other, or for the purpose of establishing a visible
agreement wdth the history, in respect of them.
III. Chap. 4 : 17-19 : " For this cause I have sent uu.to
you Timotheus, who is my beloved son and faithful in the
Lord, who shall bring you mto remembrance of my ways
which be in Christ, as I teach everywhere in every church.
Now some are puffed up, as though I would not come to you
But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will."
With this I compare Acts 19:21, 22: "After these
things were ended, Paul purposed in the spirit, when he had
44 KORJE PAULINJ5.
passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Jerusalem ;
saying, After I have been there, I must also see Rome. So
he sent into Macedonia two of them that ministered unto
him, Timotheus and Erastus."
Though it be not said, it appears I think with sufficient
certainty, I mean from the history independently of the
epistle, that Timothy was sent upon this occasion into
Achaia, of which Corinth was the capital city, as well as
into Macedonia ; for the sending of Timothy and Erastus is,
in the passage where it is mentioned, plainly connected with
St. Paul's own journey : he se7it them before him. As he
therefore purposed to go into Achaia himself, it is highly
probable that they were to go thither also. Nevertheless,
they are said only to have been sent into Macedonia, be-
cause Macedonia was in truth the country to which they
went immediately from Ephesus ; being directed, as w^e sup-
pose, to proceed afterwards from thence into Achaia, IJ
this be so, the narrative agrees with the epistle ; and the
agreement is attended w^ith very little appearance of design,
One thing at least concerning it is certain ; that if this pas-
sage of St. Paul's history had been taken from his letter, it
would have sent Timothy to Corinth by name, or expressly
however into Achaia.
But there is another circumstance in these two passages
much less obvious, in which an agreement holds without
any room for suspicion that it was produced by design. We
have observed that the sending of Timothy into the penin-
sula of Greece was connected in the narrative with St.
Paul's own journey thither ; it is stated as the effect of the
same resolution. Paul purposed to go into Macedonia ; "so
he sent into Macedonia two of them that ministered unto
him, Timotheus and Erastus." Now in the epistle also vou
remark, that when the apostle mentions his having sent
Timothy unto them, in the very next sentence he speaks of
his own visit : " For this cause have I sent unto you Timo-
theus, who is my beloved son," etc. " Now some are puffed
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 45
up. US though I would not come to you. But I will come
unto you shortly if the Lord will " Timothy's journey, Ave
see, is mentioned in the history and in the epistle, in close
connection with St. Paul's own. Here is the same order oi
thought and intention ; yet conveyed under such diversity
of circumstance and expression, and the mention of them ia
the epistle so allied to the occasion which introduces it,
namely, the insinuation of his adversaries that he would
come to Corinth no more, that I am persuaded no attentive
reader will believe that these passages were written in con-
cert with one another, or will doubt but that the agreement
is unsought and uncontrived.
But, in the Acts, Erastus accompanied Timothy in this
journey, of whom no mention is made in the epistle. From
what has been said in our observations upon the epistle to
the Romans, it appears probable that Erastus was a Co-
rinthian. If so, though he accompanied Timothy to Corinth,
he was only returning home, and Timothy was the messen-
ger charged with St. Paul's orders. At any rate, this dis-
crepancy shows that the passages were not taken from one
another.
IV. Chap. 16 : 10, 11 : "Now if Timotheus come, see
that he may be with you without fear ; for he worketh the
work of the Lord, as I also do. Let no man therefore de-
spise him : but conduct him forth in peace, that he may
come unto me ; for I look for him with the brethren."
From the passage considered in the preceding number, it
appears that Timothy was sent to Corinth, either Avith the
epistle, or before it : " For this cause have I sent unto you
Timotheus." From the passage now quoted, we infer that
Timothy was not sent ^cith the epistle ; for had he been the
bearer of the letter, or accompanied it, would St. Paul in
that letter have said, •' If Timothy come ?" Nor is the
sequel consistent with the supposition of his carrying the
letter ; for if Timothy were with the apostle Avhen he wrote
the letter, could h? say, as he does, " I look for him wdth the
•16 liOH^ PAULlNiE.
brethren?" I conclude, therefore, that Timothy had lefl
St. Paul to proceed upon his journey before the letter was
written. Further, the passage before us seems to imply that
Timothy was not expected by St. Paul to arrive at Corinth
till after they had received the letter. He gives them direc-
lions in the letter how to treat him when he should arrive "
*' If he come," act towards him so and so. Lastly, the whole
form of expression is most naturally applicable to the sup-
position of Timothy's coming to Corinth, not directly from
St. Paul, but from some other quarter ; and that his instruc-
tions had been, when he should reach Corinth, to return.
Now, how stands this matter in the history ? Turn to the
nineteenth chapter and twenty-first verse of the Acts, and
you will find that Timothy did not, when sent from Ephe-
sus, where he left St. Paul and where the present epistle
was written, proceed by a straight course to Corinth, but
that he Mcnt round through Macedonia. This clears up
every thing ; for, although Timothy was sent forth upon his
journey before the letter was written, yet he might not reach
Corinth till after the letter arrived there ; and he would
come to Corinth, when he did come, not directly from St.
Paul at Ephesus, but from some part of Macedonia. Here,
therefore, is a circumstantial and critical agreement, and
unquestionably without design; for neither of the two pas-
sages in the epistle mentions Timothy's journey into Mace-
donia at all, though nothing but a circuit of that kind
can explain and reconcile the expressions which the writer
uses.
Y. Chap. 1:12: "Now this I say, that every one of you
saith, I am of Paul ; and I of Apollos ; and I of Cephas ;
and I of Christ."
Also, chap. 3:6: "I. have planted, Apollos watered;
but God gave the increase."
This expression, " I have planted, Apollos watered," im-
ports two things : first, that Paul had been at Corinth be-
fore Apollos ; secondly, that Apollos had been at Oorintb
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 47
after Paul, but before the writing of this epistle. This im-
plied account of the several events, and of the order in
which they took place, corresponds exactly with the liistory.
St. Paul, after his first visit into Greece, returned from Cor-
inth into Syria by the way of Ephesus ; and dropping his
companions Aquila and Priscilla at Ephesus, he proceeded
forwards to Jerusalem; from Jerusalem he descended to
Antioch; and from thence made a progress through some of
the upper or northern provinces of the Lesser Asia, Acts
18 : 19, 23 ; during which progress, and consequently in the
interval between St. Paul's first and second visit to Corinth,
and consequently also before the writing of this epistle,
which was at Ephesus, two years at least after the apostle's
return from his progress, we hear of Apollos, and we hear
of him at Corinth. While St. Paul was engaged, as has
been said, in Phrygia and Galatia, Apollos came down to
Ephesus ; and being, in St. Paul's absence, instructed by
Aquila and Priscilla, and having obtained letters of recom-
mendation from the church at Ephesus, he passed over to
Achaia ; and when he was there, we read that he " helped
them much which had believed through grace : for he
mightily convinced the Jews, and that publicly." Acts
18 : 27, 28. To have brought Apollos into Achaia, of which
Corinth was the capital city, as well as the principal Chris-
tian church, and to have shown that he preached the gospel
in that country, would have been sufficient for our purpose.
But the history happens also to mention Corinth by name,
as the place in which Apollos, after his arrival in Achaia.
fixed his residence ; for, proceeding with the account of St.
Paul's travels, it tells us, that while Apollos was at Cor-
inth, Paul, having passed through the upper coasts, came
down to Ephesus. Chap. 19 : 1. What is said, therefore,
of Apolbs in the epistle, coincides exactly, and especially in
the point of chronology, with what is delivered concerning
him in the history. The only question now is, whether the
allusions were made with a regard to this coincidence. Now
48 HOE,iE PAULINA.
ihe occasions and purposes for which the name of Apollos is.
introduced in the Acts and in the epistles are so independent
and so remote, that it is impossible to discover the smallest
reference from one to the other. Apollos is mentioned in
the Acts, in immediate connection with the history of Aquila
and Priscilla, and for the very singular circumstance of his
" knowing only the baptism of John." In the epistle, where
none of these circumstances are taken notice of, his name
first occurs for the purpose of reproving the contentious
spirit of the Corinthians ; and it occurs only in conjunction
with that of some others : " Every one of you saith, I am
of Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ/'
The second passage in which Apollos appears, " I have
planted, Apollos watered," fixes, as we have observed, the
order of time among three distinct events ; but it fixes this,
I will venture to pronounce, without the writer perceivinc»
that he was doing any such thing. The sentence fixes this
order in exact conformity with the history ; but it is itseli
introduced solely for the sake of the reflection v/hich fol-
lows : " Neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he
that watereth ; but God that giveth the increase."
VI. Chap. 4: 11, 12 : "Even unto this present hour
we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted,
and have no certain dweUing-place ; and labor, workino-
with our own hands."
We are expressly told in the history, that at Corinth St.
Paul labored with his own hands : " He found Aquila and
Priscilla ; and because he was of the same craft, he abode
with them, and wrought ; for by their occupation they were
tent-makers." But in the text before us, he is made to
say, that he labored "even tmto this j^resent hour,'' that is,
to the time of writing the epistle at Ephesus. Now, in the
narration of St. Paul's transactions at Ephesus, delivered in
the nineteenth chapter of the Acts, nothing is said of his
working with his own hands ; but in the twentieth chapter
we read, that upon his return from Greece, he sent for th*'
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINT HI AI^ S. [\.
elders of the church of Ephcsus to meet him at Mlktus,
and in th'? discourse which he there addressed to thorn,
amidst some other reflections which he calls to their remem-
brance, we find the following: "I have coveted no man's
silver, or gold, or apparel. Yea, ye yourselves know, tl at
these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to
them that were with me." The reader will not forget to
remark, that though St. Paul be now at Miletus, it is to the
ciders of the church of Ephesus he is speaking, when he
says, " Ye yourselves know that these hands have ministered
unto my necessities ;" and that the whole discourse relates
to his conduct during his last preceding residence at Ephe-
sus. That manual labor, therefore, which he had exercised
at Corinth, he continued at Ephesus ; and not only so, but con-
tinued it during that particular residence at Ephesus, near
the conclusion of which this epistle was written ; so that he
might with the strictest truth say, at the time of writing
the epistle, " Eve?i unto this prese?it Jiour we labor, work-
ing with our own hands." The correspondency is suflicient.
Then, as to the undesignedness of it : it is manifest, to my
judgment, that if the history in this article had been taken
from the epistle, this circumstance, if it appeared at all,
would have appeared in its place, that is, in the direct ac-
count of St. Paul's transactions at Ephesus. The corre-
spondency would not have been eflected, as it is, by a kind
of reflected stroke, that is, by a reference in a subsequent
speech to what in the narrative was omitted. Nor is it
likely, on the other hand, that a circumstance which is not
extant in the history of St. Paul at Ephesus, should have
been made the subject of a factitious allusion in an epistle
purporting to be written by him from that place ; not to men-
tion that the allusion itself, especially as to time, is too obliquo
dnd general to answer any purpose of forgery whatever.
YII. Chap. 9 : 20 : "And unto the Jews I became as a
Jew, that I might gain the Jews ; to them that are undei
the law, as under the law."
3
S(^ K0R2E VAULmJE.
We have the disposition here described exemplified in
two instances which the history records ; one, Acts 16:3:
" Him," Timothy, " would Paul have to go forth with him :
and took and circumcised him, because of the Jeivs ivhich
were in those quarters; for they knew all that his father
was a Greek." This was before the writing of the epistle
The other, Acts 21 : 23, 26, and after the writing of the
epistle: "Do therefore this that we say to thee : "VVe have
four men which have a vow on them : them take, and pu-
rify thyself with them, and be at charges with them, that
they may shave their heads : and all may know that those
things whereof they were informed concerning thee, are
nothing ; but that thou thyself also walkest orderly, and
keepest the law. Then Paul took the men, and the next
(\2ij purifying himself ivith them, entered into the templet
Nor does this concurrence between the character and the
instances look like the result of contrivance. St. Paul in
the epistle describes, or is made to describe his own accom-
modating conduct towards Jews and towards Gentiles,
towards the weak and over-scrupulous, towards men, indeed,
of every variety of character : "To them that are without
law, as without law, (being not without law to God, but
under the law to Christ,) that I might gain them that are
without law. To the weak became I as weak, that I might
gain the weak : I am made all things to all men, that 1
might by all means save some." This is the sequel of the
text which stands at the head of the present number. Tak-
ing, therefore, the whole passage together, the apostle's con-
descension to the Jews is mentioned only as a part of his
general disposition towards all. It is not probable that this
character should have been made up from the instances in
the Acts, which relate solely to his dealings with the Jews.
It is not probable that a sophist should take his hint from
those instances, and then extend it so much beyond them ;
and it is still more incredible that the two instances in the
Acts, circumstantially related and interwoven with the nis-
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHiANS. 51
lory, should have been fabricated in order to suit the char
acter which St. Paul gives of himself in the epistle.
VIII. Chap. 1 : 14-17 : " I thank God that I baptized
none of you but Crispus and Gains, lest any should say ^.hat
I baptized in mine own name. And I baptized also the
household of Stephanas ; besides, I know not whether I
baptized any other. For Christ sent me not to baptize, but
to preach the gospel."
It may be expected that those whom the apostle bap-
tized with his own hands were converts distinguished from
the rest by some circumstance either of eminence or of con-
nection with him. Accordingly, of the three names here
mentioned, Crispus, we find from Acts 18:8, was a " chief
ruler" of the Jewish synagogue at Corinth, who "believed
on the Lord with all his house." Gains, it appears from
Rom. 16 : 26, was St. Paul's host at Corinth, and the host,
he tells us, " of the whole church." The household of Steph-
anas, we read in the sixteenth chapter of this epistle,
were " the first-fruits of Achaia." Here, therefore, is the
propriety we expected ; and it is a proof of reality not to be
contemned ; for their names appearing in the several places
in which they occur, with a mark of distinction belonging
to each, could hardly be the efiect of chance, without an)
truth to direct it : and, on the other hand, to suppose that
they w^ere picked out from these passages, and brought to
gether in the text before us, in order to display a conformity
of names, is both improbable in itself, and is rendered more
feo by the purpose for which they are introduced. They
come in to assist St. Paul's exculpation of himself against
the possible charge of having assumed the character of the
founder of a separate religion, and with no other visible; or,
as I think, imaginable design.*"
-^ Chap. 1:1: "Paul, called to be an apostle of Jesus Christ
through the will of God, and Sosthenes our brother, unto the church
of God which is at Corinth." The only account we have of any por-
8or who bore the name of Sosthenes, is found in the eighteenth chapte/
fi2 HURM PAULINiS.
IX. Chap. 16 : 11 : "Now, if Timotheus como, let no
man despise him." Why desjnse him ? This charge is not
given concerning any other messenger whom St. Paul sent ;
and, in the different epistles, many such messengers are
mentioned. Turn to 1 Timothy, chap. 4:12, and you wil3
of the Acts. AVhen the Jews at Corinth had brought Paul before
Gallio, and Gallio had dismissed their complaint as unworthy of his
interference, and had driven them from the judgment-seat, "then all
the Greeks," says the historian, " took Sosthenes, the chief ruler of the
tjynagogue, and beat him before the judgment-seat." The Sosthenes
here spoken of was a Corinthian ; and, if he was a Christian, and with
St. Paul when he wrote this epistle, was likely enough to be joined
with him in the salutation of the Corinthian church. But here occurfi
a difficulty. If Sosthenes was a Christian at the time of this uproar,
why should the Greeks beat him ? The assault upon the Christians
was made by the Jcivs. It was the Jews who had brought Paul before
the magistrate. If it had been the Jews also who had beaten Sosthe-
nes, I should not have doubted but that he had been a favorer of St.
Paul, and the same person who is joined with him in the epistle. Let
us see, therefore, whether there be not some error in our present text.
The Alexandrian manuscript gives navre^ alone, without ol "WJirjVEg^
and it is followed in this reading by the Coptic version, by the Arabian
version, published by Erpenius, by the Vulgate, and by Bede's Latin
version. The Greek manuscripts, again, as well as Chrysostom, give
oi 'lotifJaiOi, in the place of ol '''E.TJ'.rjvEg. A great plurality of manu-
scripts authorize the reading which is retained in our copies. In this
variety it appears to me extremely pi'obable that the historian origi-
nally wrote TTUvref alone, and that ol "^Xkrjveg and ol 'lavdaloL have been
respectively added as explanatory of what the word navreg was sup-
posed to mean. The satitence, without the addition of either name,
would run very perspicuously thus : " mt (mrfKaatv avTOvq (ztto toxi
BfffiaTog- eTrt?Mfi6fievoi de ttuvtec 'Zucdevrjv rbv upxtavvayoyov, Itvktov
e/nrpoGT^tv Tov (S7j[j.aT0c,^' — "and he drove them away from the judgment-
seat ; and they all," namely, the crowd of Jews whom the judge had bid
begone, " took Sosthenes, and beat him before the judgment-seat." It
is certain, that as the whole body of the people were Greeks, the ap-
plication of all to them was unusual and hard. If I were describing
an insurrection at Paris, I might say all the Jews, all the Protestants,
or all the English, acted so and so ; but I should scarcely say all the
French, when the whole mass of the community were of that descrip-
tion. As what is here offered is founded upon a various readmg, and
that in opposition to the greater part of the manuscripts that- ^ro
extant, I have not given it a place in the text.
FUIPT EPISTLE TO THE COHINT H 1 ANS. 53
tiiid that Timothy was a young man, younger probably than
those who were usually employed in the Christian mission ;
and that St. Paul, apprehending lest he should, on that
accovmt, be exposed to contempt, urges upon him the cau-
tion which is there inserted, " Let no man despise thy
youth."
X. Chap. 16 : ] : "Now, concerning the collection for
th3 saints, as I have given orders to the churches of G ala-
lia, even so do ye."
The churches of Galatia and Phrygia were the last
churches which St. Paul had visited before the writing of
this epistle. He M^as now at Ephesus, and he came thither
immediately from visiting these churches : "He went over
all the country of Galatia and Phrygia in order, strengthen
ing all the disciples. And it came to pass that, while Apol-
los was at Corinth, Paul having passed through the upper
coasts," namely, the above-named countries, called the upper
coasts as being the northern part of Asia Minor, " came to
Ephesus." Acts 18 : 23 ; 19 : 1. These therefore, probably,
were the last churches at which he left directions for their
public conduct during his absence. Although two years
intervened between his journey to Ephesus and his writing
this epistle, yet it does not appear that during that time he
visited any other church. That he had not been silent,
when he was in Galatia, upon this subject of contribution
for the poor, is further made out from a hint which he lets
fall in his epistle to that church : " Only they," namely, the
other apostles, " would that we should remember the poor;
the same which I also was forward to do."
XL Chap. 4:18: " Now some are pulled up, as though
I would not come unto you."
Why should they suppose that h(i would not come?
Turn to the first chapter of the second epistle to the Corin
thians, and you will find that he had already disappointed
them: "I was minded to come unto you before, that ye
mio-ht have a second benefit ; and to pass by you into Mao-
54 HORJE PAULINA.
edonia, and to come again out of Macedonia unto you, and
of you to be brought on my way toward Judea. When 1
therefore was thus minded, did I use lightntss ? Or the
things that I purpose, do I purpose according to the flesh,
that with me there should be yea, yea, and nay, nay ? But,
as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay."
It appears from this quotation that he had not only intended,
but that he had promised them a visit before ; for, other-
wise, why should he apologize for the change of his purpose,
or express so much anxiety lest this change should be im-
puted to any culpable fickleness in his temper ; and lest ho
should thereby seem to them as one whose word was not,
in any sort, to be depended upon ? Besides which, the terms
made use of plainly refer to a promise, *' Our ivord toward
you was not yea and nay." St. Paul, therefore, had signi-
fied an intention which he had not been able to execute ;
and this seeming breach of his word, and the delay of hia
visit had, with some who were evil affected towards him,
given birth to a suggestion that he would come no more to
Corinth.
XII. C.iap. 5 : 7, 8 : " For even Christ our passover ig
sacrificed for us : therefore let us keep the feast, not with
old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wicked-
ness ; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and
truth."
Dr. Benson tells us, that from this passage, compared
with chap. 1G:8, it has been conjectured that this epistle
was written about the time of the Jewish passover ; and to
me the conjecture appears to be very well founded. The
passage to which Dr. Benson refers us is this : " I will tarry
at Ephesus until Pentecost." With this passage he ought
to have joined another in the same context : " and it may
be that I will abide, yea, and winter with you ;" for from
the two passages laid together, it follows that the epistle
was written before Pentecost, yet after winter, which neces-
sarily determines the date to the part of the year within
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 55
which the passover falls. It was written before Pentecost,
because he says, " I will tarry at Ephesus until Pentecost."
It was written after winter, because he tells them, " It may
be that I may abide, yea, and winter with you." The
winter which the apostle purposed to pass at Corinth was
undoubtedly tlie winter next ensuing to the date of the epis-
tle ; yet it was a winter subsequent to the ensuing Pente-
cost, because he did not intend to set forwards upon his
journey till after that feast. The words, " let us keep the
feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice
and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity
and truth," look very like words suggested by the season ,
at least, they have, upon that supposition, a force and sig-
mficancy which do not belong to them upon any other ; and
it is not a little remarkable, that the hints casually r'roppt^d
in the epistle, concerning particular parts of the yeai should
coincide with this supposition.
56 HOE.iE PAULINA.
CHAPTER lY.
THE SECOND EPISTLE TO THE COPtlNTHIANS ,
I. I WILL not say that it is impossible, having seen the
iifst epistle to the Corinthians, to construct a second with
ostensible allusions to the first ; or that it is impossible that
both should be fabricated, so as to carry on an order and
continuation of story, by successive references to the samt
events. But I say that this, in either case, must be the
effect of craft and design. "VYhereas, whoever examines the
allusions to the former epistle which he finds in this, while
he will acknowledge them to be such as would rise sponta-
neously to the hand of the writer, from the very subject of
the correspondence and the situation of the corresponding
parties, supposing these to be real, will see no particle of
reason to suspect, either that the clauses containing these
allusions were insertions for the purpose, or that the several
transactions of the Corinthian church were feigned, in order
to form a train of narrative, or to support the appearance of
connection between the two epistles.
1. In the first epistle, St. Paul announces his intention
of passing through Macedonia, in his way to Corinth : " I
will come to you when I shall pass through Macedonia."
In the second epistle, we find him arrived in Macedonia, and
about to pursue his journey to Corinth. But observe the
manner in which this is made to appear : "I know the for-
wardness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of
Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago ; and your zeal
hath provoked very many. Yet have I sent the brethren,
lest our boasting of you should be in vain in this behalf;
that, as I said, ye may be ready ; lest haply if they of Mace-
donia come with me, and find you unprepared, we (that we
say not, ye) be ashamed in this same confident boasting."
Chap. 9 : 2—4. St. Paul's being in Macedonia at the time
ciECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 57
of writing the epistle is, iii this passage, hiferred only from
liis saying tliat he had boasted to the Macedonians of the
alacrity of his Achaian converts ; and the fear which he ex-
presses lest, if any of the Macedonian Christians should comc;
with him unto Achaia, they should find his boasting unwar-
ranted by the event. The business of the contribution is tht
Bole cause of mentioning Macedonia at all. Will it be in-
sinuated that this passage was framed merely to state that
St. Paul was now in Macedonia ; and, by that statement, to
produce an apparent agreement with the purpose of visiting
Macedonia, notified in the first epistle ? Or will it be thought
probable, that if a sophist had meant to place St. Paul in
Macedonia, for the sake of giving countenance to his forgery,
he would have done it in so oblique a manner as through
i5he medium of a contribution ? The same thing may be
observed of another text in the epistle, in which the name
jf Macedonia occurs : " Furthermore, when I came to Troas
<o preach the gospel, and a door was opened unto me of the
Lord, I had -no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus,
my brother ; but taking my leave of them, I went from
thence into Macedonia." I mean, that it may be observed
of this passage also, that there is a reason for mentioning
Macedonia entirely distinct from the purpose of showing St.
Paul to be there. Indeed, if the passage before us show
that point at all, it shows it so obscurely that Grotius, though
he did not doubt that Paul was now in Macedonia, refers
this text to a different journey. Is this the hand of a forger,
meditating to establish a false conformity ? The text, how-
ever, in Avhich it is most strongly imphcd that St. Paul
wrote the present epistle from Macedonia, is found in the
fourth, fifth, and sixth verses of the seventh chapter : " 1
Sja filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful in all our
tribulation. For, when we were come into Macedonia, our
flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side : v/ith-
oat were fightings, wdthin were fears. Nevertheless God,
tV.at comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us ty
n rr P»ul. 1 8
58 HORM PAULINA.
\
the coming of Titus." Yet even here, I think, no one will
contend that St. Paul's coming to Macedonia, or being in
Macedonia, was the principal thing intended to be told ; or
that the telling of it, indeed, was any part of the intention
with which the text was written ; or that the mention even
of the name of Macedonia was not purely incidental, in the
description of those tumultuous sorrows with which the
writer's mind had been lately agitated, and from which he
was relieved by the coming of Titus. The first five verses
of the eighth chapter, which commend the liberality of the
Macedonian churches, do not, in my opinion, by themselves,
prove St. Paul to have been at Macedonia at the time of
writing the epistle.
2. In the first epistle, St. Paul denounces a severe cen
sure against an incestuous marriage which had taken place
among the Corinthian converts, with the connivance, not to
say with the approbation, of the church ; and enjoins the
church to purge itself of this scandal by expelling the offender
from its society : "It is reported commonly that there is for-
nication among you, and such fornication as is not so much
as named among the Gentiles, that one should have his
father's wife. And ye are puffed up, and have not rather
mourned, that he that hath done this deed might be taken
away from among you. For I verily, as absent in body, but
present in spirit, have judged already as though I were pres-
ent, concerning him that hath so done this deed, in the name
of our Lord Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together,
and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, to
deliver such a one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh,
that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus."
1 Cor. 5 : 1-5. In the second epistle, we find this sentence
executed, and the offender to be so affected with the punish-
ment that St. Paul now intercedes for his restoration : " Suf-
ficient to such a man is this punishment, w^hich was inflioted
of many. So that contrariwise, ye ought rather to forgive
him, and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 59
swallowed up with overmuch sorrow. Wherefore I beseech
you that ye would confirm your love toM^ard him." 2 Cor.
2 : 6-8. Is this whole business feigned, for the sake of car
rying on a continuation of story through the two epistles ?
The church also, no less than the offender, was brought by
St. Paul's reproof to a deep sense of the impropriety of their
conduct. Their penitence, and their respect to his authority,
were, as might be expected, exceeding grateful to St. Paul :
" We were comforted not by Titus' coming only, but by the
consolation wherewith he was comforted in you, when he
told us your earnest desire, your mourning, your fervent
mind toward me ; so that I rejoiced the more. For though
I made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent, though I
did repent : for I perceive that the same epistle hath made
you sorry, though it were but for a season. Now I rejoice,
not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to re-
pentance : for ye were made sorry after a godly manner,
that ye might receive damage by us in nothing." Chap.
7 : 7-9. That this passage is to be referred to the incestu-
ous marriage, is proved by the twelfth verse of the same
chapter : " Though I wrote unto you, I did it not for his
cause that had done the wrong, nor for his cause that suf
fered wrong, but that our care for you in the sight of God
might appear unto you." There were, it is true, various
topics of blame noticed in the first epistle ; but there were
none, except this of the incestuous marriage, which could
be called a transaction between private parties, or of which
it could be said that one particular person had " done the
wrong," and another particular person "had suffered it."
Could all this be without foundation ; or could it be put in
the second epistle merely to furnish an obscure sequel to
what had been said about an incestuous marriage in the
first ?
3. In the sixteenth chapter of the first epistle, a col-
lection for the saints is recommended to be set forward at
Corinth : " Now concerning the collection for the saints, ag
GO HOK^ PAULINA.
I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do
ye." Chap. 16 : 1. In the ninth chapter of the secoml
epistle such a collection is spoken of, as in readiness to b(5
received : "As touching the ministering to the saints, it is
superfluous for me to write to you : for I know the forward-
ness of your mind, for which I boast of you to them of Mac-
edonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago ; and your zeal
hath provoked very many." Chap. 9:1,2. This is such
a continuation of the transaction as might be expected ; or
possibly it will be said, as might easily be counterfeited :
but there is a circumstance of nicety in the agreement be-
tween the two epistles, which I am convinced the author of
a forgery would not have hit upon, or which, if he had hit
upon it, he would have set forth M'ith more clearness. The
second epistle speaks of the Corinthians as having begun
this eleemosynary business a year before: "This is expedi
ent for you, who have begun before, not only to do, but also
to be forward a year ago." Chap. 8 : 10. " I boast of you
to them of Macedonia, that Achaia was ready a year ago."
Chap. 9 : 2. From these texts, it is evident that something
had been done in the business a year before. It appears,
however, from other texts in the epistle, that the contribu-
tion was not yet collected or paid ; for brethren were sent
from St. Paul to Corinth, " to make up their bounty."
Chap. 9 : 5. They are urged to "perform the doing of it,"
chap. 8:11; and every man was exhorted to give as he
purposed in his heart. Chap. 9:7. The contribution,
therefore, as represented in our present epistle, was in read-
iness, yet not received from the contributors; was begiin.
was forw^ard long before, yet not hitherto collected. Now
this representation agrees with one, and only with one sup-
position, namely, that every man had laid by in store, haf
already provided the fund from which he was afterwards to
contribute — the very case which the first epistle authorizes
us to suppose to have existed ; for in that epistle St. Paul
had charged the Corinthians, " Upon the first day of thn
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. G\
week, let every one of you lay by in store as God hath pros
pered him."* 1 Cor. IG : 2,
* The following observations will satisfy us concerning the purity
of our apostle's conduct m the suspicious business of a pecuniary con-
tribution :
1. He disclaims the having received any inspired authority foi th.3
directions which he is giving : "I speak not by commandment, but by
occasion of the forwardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of
your love." 2 Cor. 8 : 8. Who that had a sinister purpose to answer
hy the recommending of subscriptions, would thus distinguish, and
thus lower the credit of his own recommendation ?*
2. Although he asserts the general right of Christian-ministers to
a mamtenance from their ministry, yet he protests against the making
use of this right in his own person : "Even so hath the Lord ordained
that they which preach the gospel should live of the gospel. But I
have used none of these things : neither have I written these things
that it should be so done unto me : for it were better for me to die,
than that any man should make my glorying," that is, my profession?
of disinterestedness, "void." 1 Cor. 9: 14, 15.
3. He repeatedly proposes that there should be associates with
himself in the management of the public bounty ; not colleagues of
his o'VATi appointment, but persons elected for that purpose by the con-
tributors themselves: "And v/hen I cq^ne, whomsoever ye shall ap-
prove by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto
Jerusalem. And if it be meet that I go also, they shall go with me."
1 Cor. 16 : 3, 4. And in the second epistle, what is here proposed
we find actually done, and done for the very purpose of guarding his
character against any imputation that might be brought upon it, in
the discharge of a pecuniary trust : "And we have sent with him the
brother, whose praise is in the gospel throughout all the churches ;
and not that only, but who was also chosen of the churches to travel
with us with this grace," gift, "which is administered by us to the
glory of the same Lord, and declaration of your ready mind : avoiding
this, that no man should blame us in this abimdance which is admin-
* This remark seems to rest on an evident misinterpretation. The mean-
ing of St. Paul is not to disclaim a divine warrant for the advice he offers, buJ
to state emphatically that it is advice, and not a command, and that he would
have the offering to be free and spontaneous. The delicacy of thought and
feeling in the passage is greatly obscured, if we lose sight of the true nit-aning
of the expression. Some duties are plain and absolute, and these he enforces
with apostolic authority; others are indirect, and have' no value, unless as the
free utterance of Christian love. In this case the apostle, under the teaching
pf the same Spirit, disclaims the exercise of authority, and simply pleads witb
them as a Christian brother. — Ed.
62 IIOR^ PAULINA
II In comparing the second epistle to the Corinthians
with the Acts of the Apostles, we are soon brought to ob-
serve, not only that there exists no vestige either of the epistle
having been taken from the history, or the history from the
epistle ; but also that there appears in the contents of the
epistle; positive evidence that neither w^as borrowed from
the other. Titus, who bears a conspicuous part in the
epistle, is not mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles at all.
St. Paul's sufferings enumerated, chap. 11 : 24, "Of the
Jews five times received I forty stripes save one, thrice was
I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered ship-
wreck, a night and a day have I been in the deep," cannot
be made out from his history as delivered in the Acts ; nor
would this account have been given by a writer who either
drew his knowledge of St Paul from that history, or who
was careful to preserve a conformity with it. The account
in the epistle of St. Paul's escape from Damascus, though
agreeing in the main fact with the account of the same
transaction in the Acts, is related with such difference of
circumstance, as renders if utterly improbable that one should
be derived from the other. The two accounts placed by the
side of each other, stand as follows :
2 Cor. 11:32, 33: "InDamas- Acts9:23-25: "And after ^l; at
cus the governor under Aretas the many days were fulfilled, the J cws
king kept the city of the Damas- took counsel to kill him. But their
cenes with a garrison, desirous to laying wait was known of Saul,
apprehend me : and through a And they watched the gates day
window in a basket was I let dcwn and night to kill him. Then the
by the v/all, and escaped his disciples took him by night, and let
hands." him down by the wall in a basket."
Now, if we be satisfied in general concerning these twc
ancient writings, that the one was not known to the writcn
of the other, or not consulted by him, then the accordanc^t
istered by us : providing for honest things, not only in the sight of the
L(rd, but also in the sight of men;" that is, not resting in the con-
sciousness of our own integrity, but in such a subject, careful alsr
approve our integrity to the public judgment. 2 Cor. 8 : 18-iJ.
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORimHIAKS GS
which may be pointed out between them will admit of no
solution so probable, as the attributing of them to truth and
reality, as to their common foundation.
III. The opening of this epistle exhibits a connection
with th« history which alone would satisfy my mind that
the episile was written by St. Paul, and by St. Paul in the
situation in which the history places him. Let it be remem-
bered, that in the nineteenth chapter of the Acts St. Paul
is represented as driven away from Ephesus, or as leaving
however Ephesus, in consequence of an uproar in that city
excited by some interested adversaries of the new reUgion.
The account of the tumult is as follows : '' When they heard
these sayings," namely, Demetrius' complaint of the danger
to be apprehended from St. Paul's ministry to the established
worship of the Ephesian goddess, " they were full of wrath,
and cried out, saying, Great is Diana of the Ephesians.
And the whole city was filled with confusion : and having
caught Gains and Aristarchus, men of Macedonia, Paul's
companions in travel, they rushed with one accord into the
theatre. And when Paul would have entered in unto the
people, the disciples suffered him not. And certain of the
chief of Asia, which were his friends, sent unto him desiring
him that he would not adventure himself into the theatre.
Some therefore cried one thing, and some another ; for the
assembly was confused, and the more part knew not where-
fore they were come together. And they drew Alexander
out of the multitude, the Jews putting him forward. And
Alexander beckoned with his hand, and would have made
his defence unto the people. But when they knew that he
was a Jew, all with one voice about the space of two hours
cried out, Great is Diana of the Ephesians. And after tb^.
uproar was ceased, Paul called unto him the disciples, and
embraced them, and departed for to go into Macedonia."
When he was arrived in Macedonia, he wrote the secoiw^
epistle to the Corinthians, which is now before us ; and he
begins his epistle in this wise : " Blessed be God, even the
1)4 HOE.^ PAULINA.
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Fathai of mercies, anr.
the God of all comfort ; Avho comforteth us in all our tiibu-
lation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in
any trouble by the corrifort wherewith we ourselves are com-
forted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in U2,
so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ. And whethei
we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation., which
is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we
also suffer ; or whether we be comforted, it is for your con-
solation and salvation. And our hope of you is steadfast,
knowing, that as ye are partakers of the sufferings, so shall
ye be also of the consolation. For we would not, brethren,
have you ignorant of our trouble ivliich came to us i?i Asia,
that we were pressed out of measure, above strength, inso-
much that we despaired even of life : but we had the sen-
tence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in our-
selves, but in God which raiseth the dead : who delivered
us from so great a death, and doth deliver : in whom we
trust that he will yet deliver us." Nothing could be more
expressive of the circumstances in which the history describes
St. Paul to have been at the time when the epistle purports
to be written ; or rather, nothing could be more expressive
of the sensations arising from these circumstances, than this
passage. It is the calm recollection of a mind emerged from
the confusion of instant danger. It is that devotion and so-
lemnity of thought which follows a recent deliverance. There
is just enough of particularity in the passage to show that it
is to be referred to the tumult at Ephesus : "We would not,
brethren, have you ignorant of our trouble v/hich came to us
in Asia." And there is nothing more ; no mention of Ds-
metrius, of the seizure of St. Paul's friends, of the interfer-
ence of the town-clerk, of the occasion or nature of the ;Un-
ger which St. Paul had escaped, or even of the city Avhere
it happened ; in a word, no recital from which a suspicion
could be conceived, either that the author of the epistle had
made use of the narrative in the Acts, or, on the ^ther hand
SECOND r^riSTLE TO THE COE IIS' Till A NS. 65
that he had sketched the outline, which the narrative in the
Acts only filled up. That the forger of an epistle, under
the name of St. Paul, should borrow circumstances from a
history of St. Paul then extant, or that the author of a his-
tory of St. Paul should gather materials from letters bearing
St. Paul's name, may be credited ; but I cannot believe that
any forger whatever should fall upon an expedient so refined
as to exhibit sentiments adapted to a situation, and to leave
his readers to seek out that situation from the history ; still
less that the author of a history should go about to frame
facts and circumstances fitted to supply the sentiments which
he found in the letter. It may be said, perhaps, that it does
not appear from the history that any danger threatened St,
Paul's life in the uproar at Ephesus, so imminent as that
from which in the epistle he represents himself to have been
delivered. This matter, it is true, is not stated by the his-
torian in form ; but the personal danger of the apostle, we
cannot doubt, must have been extreme, wdien the "whole
city was filled with confusion ;" when the populace had
"seized his companions;" when, in the distraction of his
mind, he insisted upon " coming forth among them ;" when
the Christians who were about him would not sufier him ;
when " his friends, certain of the chief of Asia, sent unto
him, desiring him that he would not adventure himself into
the theatre ;" when, lastly, he was obliged to quit imme-
diately the place and the country, " and when the tumult
was ceased, to depart into Macedonia." All which particu-
lars are found in the narration, and justify St. Paul's own
account, " that he was pressed out of measure, above strength,
insomuch that he despaired even of life ; that he had the
sentence of death in himself;" that is, that he looked upon
himself as a man condemned to die.
IV. It has already been remarked, that St. Paul's origi-
nal intention was to have visited Corinth on his way to
Macedonia : " I was minded to come unto you before, ....
and to pass by you into Macedonia." 2 Cor. 1 : 15. 16. It
IS*
66 RORJE PAULINA.
has also been remarked that he changed his intention, and
ultimately resolved upon going through Macedonia Jirst.
Now, upon this head there exists a circumstance of corre-
spondency between our epistle and the history, which is not
very obvious to the reader's observation, but which, when
observed, will be found, I think, close and exact. Which
circumstance is tliis : that though the change of St. Paul's
intention be expressly mentioned only in the second epistle,
yet it appears, both from the history and from this second
epistle, that the change had taken place before the writing
of the first epistle ; that it appears however from neither,
otherwise than by an inference, unnoticed perhaps by al-
most every one who does not sit down professedly to the
examination.
First, then, how does this point appear from the history ?
In the nineteenth chapter of the Acts and the twenty-first
verse, we are told, that " Paul purposed in the spirit, when
he had passed through Macedonia and Achaia, to go to Je
rusalem. So he sent into Macedonia two of them that min-
istered unto him, Timotheus and Erastus ; but he himself
stayed in Asia for a season." A short time after this, and
evidently in pursuance of the same intention, we find, chap.
20 : 1, 2, that " Paul departed from Ephesus for to go into
Macedonia ; and that, when he had gone over those parts,
he came into Greece." The resolution therefore of passing
first through Macedonia, and from thence into Greece, was
form.ed by St. Paul previously to the sending away of Tim-
othy. The order in which the two countries are mentioned
shows the direction of his intended route, " when he had
passed through Macedonia and Achaia." Timothy and
Erastus, who were to precede him in his progress, were sent
by him from Ephesus into Macedonia. He himself a short
tine afterwards, and, as has been observed, evidently in con-
tinuation and pursuance of the same design, " departed for
to go into Macedonia." If he had ever, therefore, enter-
tained a different plan of his journey, which is not hinted
SEGONl^ EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. G7
•ji the history, he must have changed that plan before this
time. But, from the seventeenth verse of the fourth chap-
ter of the first epistle to the Corinthians, we discover that
Timothy had been sent away from Ephesus before that epis-
tle was written : "■ For this cause have I sent unto you Ti
motheus, who is my beloved son." The change therefore
of St. Paul's resolution, which was prior to the sending
away of Timothy, was necessarily prior to the writing of
the first epistle to the Corinthians.
Thus stands the order of dates, as collected from the his-
tory, compared with the first epistle. Now let us inquire,
secondly, how this matter is represented in the epistle before
us. In the sixteenth verse of the first chapter of this epistle,
St. Paul speaks of the intention which he had once enter-
tained of visiting Achaia in his way to Macedon : " In this
confidence I was minded to come unto you before, that ye
might have a second benefit : and to pass by you into Mac-
edonia." After protesting, in the seventeenth verse, against
any evil construction that might be put upon his laying
aside of this intention, in the twenty-third verse he discloses
the cause of it : " Moreover I call God for a record upon my
soul, that to spare you I came not as yet unto Corinth."
And then he proceeds as follows : " But I determined this
with myself, that I would not come again to you in heavi-
ness. For if I make you sorry, who is he then that maketh
me glad, but the same which is made sorry by me ? A?id
I ivrote this same unto you, lest, when I came, I should
have sorrow from them of whom I ought to rejoice ; having
confidence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all. For
out of much affliction and anguish of heart I ivrote unti
you tvith many tears; not that ye should be grieved, but
that ye might know the love which I have more abundant-
ly unto you. But if any have caused grief, he hath not
grieved me, but in part, that I may not overcharge you all.
Sufficient to suck a man is this punishment, which was in-
flicted of many." In this quotation, let the reader first di
eS YLQRm PAULINA.
rcct his attention to the clause marked by Italics, " ami 1
wrote this same unto you," and let him consider, whether,
from the context and from the structure of the whole pas-
sage, it he not evident that this writing was alter St. Paul
had " determined with himself that he would not come
3.gain to them in heaviness ;" wdiether, indeed, it was
not in consequence of this determination, or at least with
this determination upon his mind. And, in the next place,
et him consider whether the sentence, "I determined this
with myself, that I would not come again to you in heavi-
ness," do not plainly refer to that postponing of his visit to
which he had alluded in the verse but one before, when he
said, " I call God for a record upon my soul, that to spare
you, I came not as yet unto Corinth ;" and whether this be
not the visit of which he speaks in the sixteenth verse,
wherein he informs the Corinthians, " that he had been
minded to pass by them into Macedonia," but that, for rea-
sons which argued no levity or fickleness in his disposition,
he had been compelled to change his purpose. If this be
so, then it follows that the writing here mentioned wag
posterior to the change of his intention. The only question
therefore, that remains, will be, whether this writing relate
to the letter which we now have under the title of the first
epistle to the Corinthians, or to some other letter not ex-
tant. And upon this question I think Mi. Locke's obser-
vation decisive ; namely, that the second clause marked in
the quotation by italics, " I wrote unto you with many
tears," and the first clause so marked, " I wrote this same
unto you," belong to one writing, whatever that was ; and
that the second clause goes on to advert to a circumstance
which is found in our present first epistle to the Corinthi-
iiis, namely, the case and punishment of the incestuous
person. Upon the whole, then, we see that it is capable
of being inferred from St, Paul's own words, in the long ex-
tract which we have quoted, that the first epistle to the Co-
rinthians was written after St. Paul had determined to post
SECOND EriSTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 69
[)one his journey to Corinth ; in other words, that the- change
of his purpose with respect to the course of his journey,
though expressly mentioned only in the second epistle, had
taken place before the writing of the first — the point which
we made out to be implied in the history, by the order o{
the events there recorded, and the allusions to those events
in the first epistle. Now this is a species of congruity to
be relied upon more than any other. It is not an agree-
ment between two accounts of the same transaction, or be-
tween different statements of the same fact, for the fact is
not stated : nothing that can be called an account is given ;
but it is the junction of two conclusions, deduced from in-
dependent sources, and deducible only by investigation and
comparison.
This point, namely, the change of the route being prior
to the writing of the first epistle, also falls in with, and ac-
counts for, the manner in which he speaks in that epistle ot
his journey. His first intention had been, as he declares,
to " pass by them into Macedonia :" that intention having
been previously given up, he writes, in his first epistle,
" that he would not see them now by the way," that is, as
he must have done upon his first plan ; but " that he trust-
ed to tarry awhile with them, and possibly to abide, yea.
and winter with them." 1 Cor. 16 : 5, 6. It also accounts
for a singularity in the text referred to, which must strike
every reader : "I will come to you when I pass through
Macedonia ; for I do pass through Macedonia." The sup-
plemental sentence, "for I do pass through Macedonia,"
imports that there had been some previous communication
upon the subject of the journey ; and also that there had
been some vacillation and indecisiveness in the apostle's
plan ; both which we now perceive to have been the case.
The sentence is as much as to say, " This is what I at last
resolve upon." The expression, drav lAaKsSovcav disMo, is am-
biguous ; it may denote either " when I pass," or " wnen 1
shall have passed,, through Macedonia :" the considerations
;0 HOE.^ PAULIN.^:.
offered above fix it to the latter sense. Lastly, the point we
have endeavored to make out confirms, or rather, indeed, is
necessary to the support of a conjecture which forms the
subject of a number in our observations upon the first epis-
tle, that the insinuation of certain of the church of Corinth,
that he w^ould come no more among them, was founded on
gome previous disappointment of their expectations.
V. But if St. Paul had changed his purpose before the
writing of the first epistle, why did he defer explaining him-
self to the Corinthians, concerning the reason of that change,
until he wrote the second ? This is a very fair question ;
and we are able, I think, to return to it a satisfactory an-
swer. The real cause, and the cause at length assigned by
St. Paul for postponing his visit to Corinth, and not travel-
ling by the route wliich he had at first designed, was the
disorderly state of the Corinthian church at the time, and
the painful severities which he should have found himself
obliged to exercise, if he had come among them during the
existence of these irregularities. He was willing therefore
to try, before he came in person, what a letter of authorita-
tive objurgation would do among them, and to leave time
for the operation of the experiment. That was his scheme
in writing the first epistle. But it was not for him. to ac-
quaint them with the scheme. After the epistle had pro-
duced its effect — and to the utmost extent, as it should seem,
of the apostle's hopes — when he had wrought in them a deep
sense of their fault, and an almost passionate solicitude to
restore themselves to the approbation of their teacher ; when
Titus, chap. 7:6, 7, 11, had brought him intelligence "of
their earnest desire, their mourning, their fervent mind tow-
ards him, of their sorrow and their penitence ; what careful-
ness, what clearing of themselves, what indignation, what
fear, what vehement desire, what zeal, what revenge," his
letter and the general concern occasioned by it had excited
among them, he then opens himself fully upon the subject
The affectionate mind of the apostle is touched by this return
SECOND EI'ISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 7i
of zeal and duty. He tells them that he did not visit them
at the time proposed, lest their meeting should have been
attended with mutual grief; and with grief to him imbit
tered by the reflection, that he was giving pain to those from
whom alone he could receive comfort : " I determined this
with myself, that I would not come again to you in heavi'
ness For if I make you sorry, who is he then that maketh
me glad, but the same which is made sorry by me ?" chap.
2:1, 2 : that he had written his former epistle to warn
them beforehand of their fault, "lest, when he came, he
should have sorrow from them of whom he ought to re-
joice," chap. 2:3: that he had the further view, though
perhaps unperceived by them, of making an experiment of
their fidelity, *' to know the proof of them, whether they
are obedient in all things," chap. 2:9. This full discovery
of his motive came very naturally from the apostle, after he
had seen the success of his measures, but would no-t have
been a seasonable communication before. The whole com-
poses a train of sentiment and of conduct resulting from real
eituation, and from real circumstance, and as remote as pos-
sible from fiction or imposture.
yi. Chap. 11:9: "When I was present with you, and
wanted, I was chargeable to no man ; for that which was
lacking to me the brethren which came from Macedonia
supplied." The principal fact set forth in this passage, the
arrival at Corinth of brethren from Macedonia during St.
Paul's first residence in that city, is explicitly recorded. Acts
18 : 1, 5 : "After these things Paul departed from Athens,
and came to Corinth. And when Silas and Timotheus Avere
come from Macedonia, Paul was pressed in the spirit, and
testified to the Jews that Jesus was Christ."
VII. The above quotation from the Acts proves that
Silas and Timotheus were assistants to St. Paul in preach-
ing the gospel at Corinth. "With which correspond the
words of the epistle, chap. 1 : 19 : "For the Son of God,
Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us, even by
72 HOR^ PAULIN.^
me and Siivauus and Timotheus, was not yea and nay ; bal
in him was yea." I do admit that the correspondency,
considered by itself, is too direct and obvious ; and that an
impostor with the history before him might, and probably
would, produce agreements of the same kind. But let it be
remembered, that this reference is found in a writing whi; h,
from many discrepancies, and especially from those noted
No. II., we may conclude, was not composed by any one
who had consalted, and who pursued the history. Some
observation also arises upon the variation of the name. We
read Silas in the Acts, Silvanus in the epistle. The simili-
tude of these two names, if they were the names of different
persons, is greater than could easily have proceeded from
accident ; I mean, that it is not probable that two persons
placed in situations so much alike, should bear names so
nearly resembling each other. ^ On the other hand, the
difference of the name in the two passages negatives the
supposition of the passages, or the account contained in them,
being transcribed either from the other.
VIII. Chap. 2:12, 13: "When I came to Troas to
preach Christ's gospel, and a door was opened unto me ol
the Lord, I had no rest in my spirit, because I found not
Titus my brother ; hut taking my leave of them, I went
from thence into Macedonia."
To establish a conformity between this passage and the
history, nothing more is necessary to be presumed, than that
St. Paul proceeded from Ephesus to Macedonia, upon the
same course by which he came back from Macedonia to
Ephesus, or rather to Miletus, in the neighborhood of Ephe-
sus ; in other words, that in his journey to the peninsula of
Greece, he w^ent and returned the same way. St. Paul is
now in Macedonia, where he had lately arrived from Ephe
sus. Our quotation imports that in his journey he had stop-
ped at Troas. Of this the history says nothing, leaving us
* That Ihcy were the same persons is farther confiimed by 1 The 39
1:1, compared with Acts 17 : 10.
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS. 73
only the short account, that " Paul departed from Ephesus.
for to go into Macedoiiid." But the history says, that in his
return from Macedonia to Ephesus, " Paul sailed from Phi-
lippi to Troas ; and that, when the disci])lcs came together
on the first day of the week to hreak bread, Paul preached
unto them all night ; that from Troas he went by land to
Asaos ; from Assos, taking ship and coasting along the front
of Asia Minor, he came by Mitylene to Miletus," "Which
account proves, first, that Troas lay in the way by which
St Paul passed between Ephesus and Macedonia ; second-
ly, that he had disciples there. In one journey between
these two places, the epistle, and in another 'journey be-
tweeji the same places, the history makes him stop at this
city. Of the first journey he is made to say, " that a door
was in that city opened unto me of the Lord ;" in the sec-
ond, we hnd disciples there collected around him, and the
apostle exercising his ministry with what was, even in him,
more than ordinary zeal and labor. The epistle, therefore,
is in this instance confirmed, if not by the terms, at least by
the probability of the history ; a species of confirmation by
no means to be despised, because, as far as it reaches, it is
evidently uncontrived.
Grotius, I know, refers the arrival at Troas, to which the
epistle alludes, to a different period, but I think very im-
probably ; for nothing appears to me more certain, than that
the meeting with Titus, which St. Paul expected at Troas,
was the same meeting which took place in Macedonia,
namely, upon Titus's coming out of Greece. In the quota-
tion before us, he tells the Corinthians, ""When I came to
Troas, .... I had no rest in my spirit, because I found not
Titus my brother ; but, taking my leave of them, I went
from thence into Macedonia." Then in the seventh chapter
he writes, " "When Vv^e were come into Macedonia, our flesh
had no rest, but we were troubled on every side ; without
were fightings, v/ithin were fears. Nevertheless God, that
comforteth then: that are cast down^ comforted us by the
4
74 _ HOK-iE PAULINA.
coming of Titus." These two passages plainly relate to the
same journey of Titus, in meeting with whom St. Paul had
been disappointed at Troas, and rejoiced in Macedonia. And
among other reasons which fix the former passage to the
coming of Titus out of Greece, is the consideration, that it
was nothing to the Corinthians that St. Paul did not meet
with Titus at Troas, were it not that he was to bring intel-
ligence from Corinth. The mention of the disappointment
in this place, upon any other supposition, is irrelative.
IX. Chap. 11 : 24, 25 : " Of the Jews five times receiv-
ed I forty stripes save one, thrice was I beaten with rods,
once was I fetoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and
a day I have been in the deep."
These particulars cannot be extracted out of the Acts of
the Apostles, which proves, as has been already observed,
that the epistle was not framed from the history ; yet they
are consistent with it, which, considering how numerically
circumstantial the account is, is more than could happen to
arbitrary and independent fictions. When I say that these
particulars are consistent with the history, I mean, first,
that there is no article in the enumeration which is contra-
dicted by the history; secondly, that the history, though
silent with respect to many of the facts here enumerated,
has left space for the existence of these facts, consistent with
the fidelity of its own narration.
First, no contradiction is discoverable between the epistle
and the history. When St. Paul says, thrice was I beaten
with rods, although the history record only mie beating with
rods, namely, at Philippi, Acts 16 : 22, yet there is no con-
tradiction. It is only the omission in one book of what is
related in another. But had the history contained accounts
oi four beatings with rods, at the time of writing this epis-
tle, in which St. Paul says that he had only suffered three,
there would have been a contradiction properly so called.
The same observation applies generally to the other parts of
the enumeration concerning which the history is silent . h^i
bSCOND El'ISTLE TO THE CURJNTHIANS. 75
theie is one clause in the quotation particularly deserving of
remark, because, Avhen confronted with the history, it fur-
nishes the nearest approach to a contradiction, without a
contradiction being actually incurred, of any I remember to
have met with : " Once," says St. Paul, " was I stoned."
Does the history relate that St. Paul, prior to the writing of
this epistle, had been stoned more than once ? The history
mentions distinctly one occasion upon which St. Paul was
stoned, namely, at Lystra in Lycaonia : '• There came thith-
er certam Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded
the people, and, having stoned Paul, drew him out of the
city, supposing he had been dead." Acts 14:19. And it
mentions also another occasion in which "an assault was
made, both of the Gentiles, and also of the Jews with their
rulers, to use them despitefully and to stone them ; but they
weie aware of it," the history proceeds to tell us, " and fled
into Lystra and Derbe." This happened at Iconium, prior
to the date of the epistle. Now, had the assault been com-
pleted— had the history related that a stone was thrown, as
it relates that preparations were made both by Jews and
Gentiles to stone Paul and his companions ; or even had the
account of this transaction stopped, without going on to in-
form us that Paul and his companions were " aware of their
danger and fled," a contradiction b^t^veen the history and
the epistle would have ensued. Truth^is necessarily con-
sistent ; but it is scarcely possible that mdependent accounts,
ttot having truth, to guide them, should thus advance to the
very brink of contradiction without falling into it.
Secondly, I say, that if the Acts of the Apostles be silent
concerning many of the instances enumerated ia the epistle,
this silence may be accounted for from the plan and fabric
of the history. The date of the epistle synchronize? with
the beginning of the twentieth chapter of the Acts. The
part, therefore, of the history which precedes the twentieth
chapter, is the only part in which can be found any notice
of the persecutions to which St. Paul refers. Now it do-^s
7G ROR.JE PAULINiK.
not appear that tlie author of the history was with St. PauJ
until his departure from Troas, on his way to Macedonia, as
related chap. 16 : 10 ; or rather indeed the contrary appears.
It is in this point of the history that the language changes.
In the seventh and eighth verses of this chapter the third
person is used : " After theij were come to Mysia, they as-
sayed to go into Bithynia ; but the Spirit suffered them not.
And thei/ passing by Mysia came to Troas :" and the third
person is in hke manner constantly used throughout the fore-
going part of the history. In the tenth verse of this chap-
ter, the first person comes in : " After Paul had seen the
vision, immediately ice endeavored to go into Macedonia,
assuredly gathering that the Lord had called its for to preach
the gospel unto them." Now, from this time to the writing
of the epistle, the history occupies four chapters ; yet it is in
these, if in any, that a regular or continued account of the
apostle's life is to be expected ; for how succinctly his histo-
ry is delivered in the preceding part of the book, that is to
say, from the time of his conversion to the time when the
historian joined him at Troas, except the particulars of his
conversion itself, w^hich are related circumstantially, may be
understood from the following observations :
The history of a period of sixteen years is comprised in
less than three chapters ; and of these, a m.aterial part is
taken up with discourses. After his conversion he continu-
ed in the neighborhood of Damascus, according to the histo-
ry, for a certain considerable, though mdefinite length of
time — according to his own words, Gal. 1 : 18, for three
years ; of which no other account is given than this short
one, that " straightv/ay he preached Christ in the syna-
gogues, that he is the Son of God ; that all that heard him
were amazed, and said, Is not this he that destroyed them
which called on this name in Jerusalem ? that he increased
the more in strength, and confounded the Jews which dwelt
at Damascus ; and that after many days were fulfillod, the
Jews took counsel to kill him." From Damascus lie pro
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE COE. IN THIA NS. 77
cceded to Jerusalem ; and of his residence there nothing
more particular is recorded, than that " he was with ths
apostles, coming in and going out ; that he spake boldly in
the name of the Lord Jesus, and disputed against the Gre-
cians, who went about to kill him." From Jerusalem, the
history sends him to his native city of Tarsus. Acts 9: 30. It
Beems probable, from the order and disposition of the history,
that St. Paul's stay at Tarsus was of some continuance ; fol
we hear nothing of him until, after a long apparent interval,
and much interjacent narrative, Barnabas, desirous of Paul's
assistance upon the enlargement of the Christian mission,
*' went to Tarsus for to seek him." Chap. 1 1 : 25. We cannot
doubt but that the new apostle had been busied in his minis-
try ; yet of what he did, or what he suffered, during this pe-
riod, which may include three or four years, the history pro-
fesses not to deliver any information. As Tarsus was situated
upon the sea-coast, and as, though Tarsus was his home,
yet it is probable he visited from thence many other places,
for the purpose of prea-ching the gospel, it is not unlikely,
that in the course of three or four years he might undertake
many short voyages to neighboring countries, in the naviga-
ting of which we may be allowed to suppose that some ol
those disasters and shipwrecks befell him to which he refers
in the quotation before us, " thrice I sufiered shipwreck, a
night and a day I have been in the deep." This last clause
I am inclined to interpret of his being obliged to take an
open boat, upon the loss of the ship, and his continuing out
at sea in that dangerous situation, a night and a day. St.
Paul is here recounting his sufferings, not relating miracles.
From Tarsus, Barnabas brought Paul to Antioch, and there
he remained a year ; but of the transactions of that year no
other description is given than what is contained in the last
four verses of the eleventh chapter. After a more solemn
dedication to the ministry, Barnabas and Paul proceeded
from Antioch to Cilicia, and from thence they sailed to Cy-
prus, of which voyage no particulars are mentioned. Upon
78 KORJE PAULINA
their return from C}-prus, they made a progress togethei
through the Lesser Asia ; and though two remarkable
speeches be preserved, and a few incidents in the course oi
their travels circumstantially related, yet is the account of this
progress, upon the whole, given professedly wdth conciseness :
lor instance, at Iconium, it is said that they abode a long time,
Acts 14:3; yet of this long abode, except concerning the
manner in which they were driven away, no memoir is in-
serted in the history. The whole is wrapped up in one short
summary, "They spake boldly in the Lord, which gave tes-
timony unto the word of his grace, and granted signs and
wonders to be done by their hands." Having completed
their progress, the two apostles returned to Antioch, " and
there they abode a long time with the disciples." Here we
have another large portion of time passed over in silence.
To this succeeded a journey to Jerusalem, upon a dispute
which then much agitated the Christian church, concerning
the obligation of the law of Moses When the object of that
journey was completed, Paul proposed to Barnabas to go again
and visit their brethren in every city where they had preach-
ed the word of the Lord. The execution of this plan carried
our apostle through Syria, Gilicia, and many provinces of
the Lesser Asia ; yet is the account of the whole journey
dispatched in four verses of the sixteenth chapter.
If the Acts of the Apostles had undertaken to exhibit
regular annals of St. Paul's ministry, or even any continued
account of his life, from his conversion at Damascus to his
imprisonment at Eome, I should have thought the omission
of the circumstances referred to in our epistle a matter oi
reasonable objection. But when it appears from the histo-
Ty itself, that large portions of St Paul's life were either
passed over in silence, or only slightly touched upon, and
that nothing more than certain detached incidents and dis
courses is related ; when we observe, also, that the author
of the history did not join our apostle's society till a few years
before the writing of the epistle, at least that there is no
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTH lAl^S. 1^
jiroof in the history that he did so : in comparing the hlsto-
ly with the epistle, we shall not be surprised by the discov-
ry of omissions : we shall ascribe it to truth that there is no
contradiction.
•X. Chap. 3:1: " Do we begin again to commend our*
selves ; or need we, as some others, letters oi' commendation
from you?"
"As some others." Turn to Acts 18 : 27, and you will
find that a short time before the writing of this epistle, Apol-
los had gone to Corinth with letters of commendation from
the Ephesian Christians ; " and when Apollos was disposed
to pass into Achaia, the brethren wrote, exhorting the disci-
ples to receive him." Here the words of the epistle bear
the appearance of alluding to some specific instance, and the
history supplies that instance ; it supplies at least an in-
stance as apposite as possible to the terms which the apostle
uses, and to the date and direction of the epistle in which
they are found. The letter which Apollos carried from
Ephesus was precisely the letter of commendation which
St. Paul meant ; and it was to Achaia, of which Corinth
was the capital, and indeed to Corinth itself, Acts 19:1,
that Apollos carried it ; and it was about two years before
the writing of this epistle. If St. Paul's words be rather
thought to refer to some general usage which then obtained
among the Christian churches, the case of Apollos exempli-
fies that usage ; and afibrds that species of confirmation to
the epistle which arises from seeing the manners of the age,
in which it purports to be written, faithfully preserved.
XI. Chap. 13:1: " This is the third time I am coming
1^ you :" TOLTOV TO no epxouxu.
Do not these words import that the writer had been at
Corinth twice before ? Yet if they import this, they overset
every congruity we have been endeavoring to establish. The
Acts of the Apostles record only two journeys of St. Paul to
Corinth. Yfe have all along supposed, what eveiy mark of
time except this expression indicates, that this epistle was
50 . IIOE.^ PAULINiE.
written betM^een the first and second of these journeys. I.
St. Paul had been already twice at Corinth, this supposition
must be given up ; and every argument or observation
which depends upon it falls to the ground. Again, the Acts
of the Apostles not only record no more than two journeys
cf St. Paul to Corinth, but do not allow us to suppose that
more than two such journeys could be made or intended by
him within the period which the history comprises ; for from
his first journey into Greece to his first imprisonment at
Rome, with which the history concludes, the apostle's time
is accounted for. If therefore the epistle was written after
the second journey to Corinth, and upon the view and expec-
tation of a third, it must have been written after his first
imprisonment at Rome, that is, after the time to w^hich the
history extends. When I first read over this epistle with the
particular view of comparing it with the history, which I
chose to do without consulting any commentary whatever, 1
own that I felt myself confounded by this text. It appeared
to contradict the opinion, which I had been led by a great
varietv of circumstances to form, concerning the date and
occasion of the epistle. At length, however, it occurred to
my thoughts to inquire, whether the passage did necessarily
imply that St. Paul had been at Corinth twice ; or whether,
when he says, " this is the third time I am coming to you,"
he might mean only that this was the third time that he was
ready, that he v»'as prepared, that he intended to set out on
his journey to Corinth. I recollected that he had once be-
fore this purposed to visit Corinth, and had been disappoint-
ed in this purpose ; which disappointment forms the subject
of much apoiogy and protestation, in the first and second
chapters of the epistle. Noav, if the journey in which he
had been disappointed was reckoned by him one of the tim'^s
in which " he was coming to them," then the present would
be the third time, that is, of his being ready and prepared to
come ; although he had been actually at Corinth only opci
before. This conjecture being taken up, a further exaniina
SECOND EPISTLL TO THE COillNTHl ANS. 8)
Kon of the passage and the epistle produced proofs wliich
placed it beyond doubt. "This is the third time I am com-
ing to you :" in the verse following these words, he adds '* 1
told you before, and foretell you, as if I were present, the
second time ; and being absent now I write to them which
Keretofore have sinned, and to all other, that, if I come
again, I will not spare." In this verse the apostle is declar-
ing beforehand what he would do in his intended visit : his
expression, therefore, " as if I were present a second time,"
relates to that visit. But, if his future visit Avould only
make him present among them a second time, it follows that
he had been already there but once. Again, in the fifteentii
verse of the first chapter, he tells them, " In this confidence
I was minded to come unto you before, that ye might have
a second benefit." Why a second, and not a third benefit ?
why Sd'Tepav, and not TptT7]v ,v'"pn', if the rphov Epxofiai, in the
fifteenth chapter, meant a third visit ? for, though the visit
in the first chapter be that visit in which he was disappoint-
ed, yet, as it is evident from the epistle that he had never
been at Corinth from the time of the disappointment to the
time of writing the epistle, it follows, that if it were only a
second visit in which he was disappointed then, it could only
be a second visit which he proposed now. But the text
>hich I think is decisive of the question, if any question
remain upon the subject, is the fourteenth verse of the
twelfth chapter, " Behold, the third time I am ready to come
to you :' 'Idov rphov iroifiog t^" tMelv. It is very clear that
the Tpirov hoi^og l;i;cj kMelv of the twelfth chapter, and the
rpirov tovto lixoiJ-o.!- of the thirteenth chapter, are equivalent
expressions, were intended to convey the same meaning, and
lo relate to the same journey. The comparison of these
[hrases gives us St. Paul's own explanation of his own
words ; and it is that very explanation which we are con-
tendmg for, namely, that rpirav rov-o epxofiai does not mean
that he was coinmg a third time, but that this was the third
tirnc he was is. readiness to come, rpiroi' holuuc .'vwr. I dc
Honr- Paul. 19 *
82 HORiE PAULINA.
not apprehend, that after this it can he necessary to call to
our aid the reading of the Alexandrian manuscript, which
gives troiiiug ex(o cMelv in the thirteenth chapter as well as in
the twelfth; or of the Syriac and Coptic versions, which fol-
low that reading ; because I allow that this reading, besides
not being sufficiently supported by ancient copies, is probably
paraphrastical, and has been inserted for the purpose of ex-
pressing more unequivocally the sense which the shortei
expression rphov tovto epxofiai was supposed to carry. Upon
the whole, the matter is sufficiently certain : nor do I pro-
pose it as a new interpretation of the text which contains the
difficulty, for the same was given by Grotius long ago ; but
I thought it the clearest way of explaining the subject, to
describe the manner in which the difficulty, the solution,
and the proofs of that solution successively presented them-
selves to my inquiries. Now, in historical researches, a rec-
onciled inconsistency becomes a positive argument. First,
because an impostor generally guards against the appear-
ance of inconsistency ; and secondly, because, when apparent
inconsistencies are found, it is seldom that any thing but truth
renders them capable of reconciliation. The existence of the
difficulty proves the want or absence of that caution which
usually accompanies the consciousness of fraud ; and the solu-
tion proves, that it is not the collusion of fortuitous proposi-
tions which we have to deal with, but that a thread of truth
winds through the whole, which preserves every circum-
stance in its place.
XII. Chap. 10 : 14—16 : "We are come as far as to you
also in preaching the gospel of Christ : not boasting of tilings
without our measure, that is, of other men's labors ; but
having hope, when your faith is increased, that we shall be
enlarged by you according to our rule abundantly to preach
the gospel in the regions beyond you."
This quotation aflbrds an indirect, and therefore unsus-
picious, but at the same time a distinct and indubitable
recognition of the truth and exactness of the history I con-
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE COiUN T H Ii\ N S. 8M
Elder it to be implied by tlie words of the quotation, that
Corinth was the extremity of St. Paul's travels hitherto.
He expresses to the Corinthians his hope, that in some future
visit he might " preach the gospel to the regions beyond
them ;" which imports that he had not hitherto proceeded
" beyond them," but that Corinth was as yet the furthest
mini or boundary of his travels. Now, how is St. Pauls
drst journey into Europe, which was the only one he had
taken before the writing of the epistle, traced out in the
history ? Sailing from Asia, he landed at Philippi ; from
Pliilippi, traversing the eastern coast of the peninsula, he
passed through Amphipolis and Appollonia to Thessalonica ;
from thence through Berea to Athens, and from Athens to
Corinth, ivhere he stojjped ; and from whence, after a resi-
dence of a year and a half, he sailed back into Syria. So
that Corinth was the l-ast place which he visited in the
peninsula ; was the place from which he returned into Asia,
and was, as such, the boundary and limit of his progress.
He could not have said the same thing, namely, " I ho])e
hereafter to visit the regions beyond you," in an epistle to
the Philippians, or in an epistle to the Thessalonians, inas-
much as he must be deemed to have already visited the
regions beyond them, having proceeded from those cities to
other parts of Greece. But from Corinth he returned hoixie ••
every part therefore beyond that city might properly be i lid
as it is said in the passage before us, to be unvisited. Yet
is this propriety the spontaneous effect of truth, and prod ced
without meditation or design.
B4 HORiE PAULINA.
CHAPTER V.
THE EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS.
I. The argument of this epistle in some measure proves
its antiquity. It will hardly be doubted, but that it was writ
tnn while the dispute concerning the circumcision of G entile
converts was fresh in men's minds ; for, even supposing it to
have been a forgery, the only credible motive that can be
assigned for the forgery, was to bring the name and author-
ity of the apostle into this controversy. No design could be
so insipid, or so unlikely to enter into the thoughts of any
man, as to produce an epistle written earnestly and pointedly
upon one side of a controversy, when the controversy itself
was dead, and the question no longer interesting to any
description of readers whatever, Now the controversy con-
cerning the circumcision of the Gentile Christians was of
such a nature, that, if it arose at all, it must have arisen in
the beginning of Christianity. As Judea was the scene of
the Christian history — as the Author and preachers of Chris-
tianity were Jews — as the religion itself acknowledged and
was founded upon the Jewish religion, in contradistinction
from every other religion then professed among mankind, it
was not to be wondered at, that some of its teachers should
carry it out in the world rather as a sect and modification of
Judaism, than as a separate original revelation ; or that they
should invite their proselytes to those observances in which
they lived themselves. This was likely to happen; but if
it did not happen at first — if, while the religion was in the
hands of Jewish teachers, no such claim was advanced, no
euch condition was attemj)ted to be imposed, it is not prob-
able that the doctrine would be started, much less that it
should prevail in any future period, I likewise think, that
those pretensions of Judaism were much more likely to be
insisted upon while the Jews continued a nation, than aftei
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANTv 80
their iall and dispersion— while Jerusalem and the tempki
stood, than after the destruction brought upon them by the
Roman arms, the fatal cessation of the sacrifice and the
priesthood, the humiliating loss of their country, and, witL
it, of the great rites and symbols of their institution. It
should seem, therefore, from the nature of the subject and
the situation of the parties, that this controversy was carried
on in the interval between the preaching of Christianity to
the Gentiles and the invasion of Titus ; and that our present
epistle, M^hich was undoubtedly intended to bear a part in
this controversy, must be referred to the same period.
But, again, the epistle supposes that certain designing
adherents of the Jewish law had crept into the churches of
Galatia, and had been endeavoring, and but too successfully,
to persuade the Galatic converts that they had been taught
the new religion imperfectly and at second hand — that the
founder of their church himself possessed only an inferior and
deputed commission, the seat of truth and authority being
in the apostles and elders of Jerusalem ; moreover, that
whatever he might profess among them, he had himself, at
other times and in other places, given way to the doctrine of
circumcision. The epistle is unintelligible without suppos-
ing all this. Keferring therefore to this, as to what had
actually passed, we find St. Paul treating so unjust an
attempt to undermine his credit, and to introduce among his
converts a doctrine which he had uniformly reprobated, in
terms of great asperity and indignation. And in order to
refute the suspicions which had been raised concerning the
fidelity of his teaching, as well as to assert the independency
and divine original of his mission, we find him appealing to
the history of his conversion, to his conduct under .t, to the
manner in which he had conferred with the apostles when
he met with them at Jerusalem : alleging, that so far was
his doctrine from being derived from them, or they from exer-
cising any superiority over him, that they had simply assent-
ed to what he had already preached among the Gentiles, and
t'6 RORJE PAULlNili.
whicli preaching was communicated not by them to him,
but by himself to them ; that he had maintained the liberty
of the Gentile church by opposing-, upon one occasion, an
apostle to the face, when the timidity of his behavior seemed
to endanger it ; that from the first, that all along, that to
that hour he had constantly resisted the claims of Judaism :
and that the persecutions which he daily underwent, at the
hands or by the instigation of the Jews, and of which he
bore in his person the marks and scars, might have been
avoided by him, if he had consented to employ his labors in
bringing, through the medium of Christianity, converts ovei
to the Jewish institution, for then " would the offence of the
cross have ceased." Now an impostor who had forged the
epistle for the purpose of producing St. Paul's authority in
the dispute, which, as has been observed, is the only cred
ible motive that can be assigned for the forgery, might hav(
made the apostle deliver his opinion upon the subject in
strong and decisive terms, or might have put his name to a
train of reasoning and argumentation upon that side of the
question which the impostor was intended to recommend.
I can allow the possibility of such a scheme as that ; but for
a writer, with this purpose in view, to feign a series of trans-
actions supposed to have passed among the Christiai"!.- of
Galatia, and then to counterfeit expressions of anger and
resentment excited by these transactions ; to make the apos-
tle travel back into his own history, and into a recital of
various passages of his life, some indeed directly, but others
obliquely, and others even obscurely bearing upon the pomt
in question ; in a word, to substitute narrative for argument,
expostulation and complaint for dogmatic positions and con-
troversial reasoning, in a writing properly controversial, and
of which the aim and design was to support one side of a
much agitated question — is a method so intricate, and so
unlike the methods pursued by all other impostors, as tc
require very flagrant proofs of imposition to induce us to be
lieve it to be one.
lilPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 87
II. In this number I shall endeavor to prove,
1. That the epistle to the Galatians and the Acts of the
Apostles were written without any communication vfith
each other.
2. That the epistle, though written without any com-
munication with the history by recital, implication, or refei*-
ence, bears testimony to many of the facts contauied in it.
1. The epistle and the Acts of the Apostles were written
without any communication with each other.
To judge of this point, we must examine those passages
in each which describe the same transaction ; for if the
author of either writing derived his information from the
account which he had seen in the other, when he came to
speak of the same transaction, he would follow that account.
The history of St. Paul at Damascus, as read in the Acts,
and as referred to by the epistle, forms an instance of this
sort. According to the Acts, Paul, after his conversion, was
certain days with the " disciples which w^ere at Damascus.
And straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that
he is the Son of God. But all that heard him were amazed,
and said. Is not this he that destroyed them which called on
his name in Jerusalem, and came hither for that intent, that
he might bring them bound unto the chief priests ? But
Saul increased the more in strength, confounding the Jews
w^hich dwelt at Damascus, proving that this is veiy Christ,
And after that many days were fulfilled, the Jews took
counsel to kill him. But their laying w^ait was known to
Saul. And they watched the gates day and night to kill
him. Then the disciples took him by night, and let him
down by the wall in a basket. And when Saul was come
to Jerusalem, he assayed to join himself to the disciples."
Chap. 9 : 19-2G.
According to the epistle, "When it pleased God, who
separated me from my mother's womb, and called me by
his grace, to reveal his Son in me, that I might preach him
among the heathen ; immediately I conferred not with flesh
88 HOE^ PAULINA.
and blood : neither went I up to Jerusalem to them which
were apostles before me ; but I went into Arabia, and re-
turned again unto Damascus. Then after three years ]
went up to Jerusalem."
Besides the diiierence observable in the terms and gen-
eral complexion of these two accounts, " the journey into
Arabia" mentioned in the epistle and omitted in the history,
affords full proof that there existed no correspondence be-
tween these writers. If the narrative in the Acts had been
made up from the epistle, it is impossible that this journey
should have been passed over in silence ; if the epistle had
been composed out of what the author had read of St. Paul's
history in the Acts, it is unaccountable that it should have
been inserted.^
The journey to Jerusalem related in the second chapter
of the epistle — "then fourteen years after, I went up again
to Jerusalem" — supplies another example of the same kind.
Either this was the journey described in the fifteenth chap-
ter of the Acts, when Paul and Barnabas were sent from
Antioch to Jerusalem to consult the apostles and elders upon
the question of the Gentile converts, or it was some journey
of which the history does not take notice. If the first opin
ion be followed, the discrepancy in the two accounts is so
considerable, that it is not without difficulty they can be
adapted to the same transaction ; so that upon this supposi-
tion, there is no place for suspecting that the writers were
guided or assisted by each other. If the latter opinion be
preferred, we have then a journey to Jerusalem, and a con-
ference with the principal members of the church there, cir-
* N. B. The Acts of the Apostles simply inform us that St. Paul
left Damascus In order to go to Jerusalem, " after many days were
fulfilled." If any doubt whether the words "many days" could be
m';ended to express a period which included a terra of three years, he
will find a complete instance of the same phrase used with the same
latitude in the fii-st book of Kings, chap. 11 :38, 39 : "And Shimei
dwelt in Jerusalem many days. And it came to pass at the en 3 of
three years, that two of the servants of Shimei ran away."
filPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 8'J
^umstantially related in the epistle, and entirely omitted in
the Acts ; and we are at liberty to repeat the observation
which we before made, that the omission of so material a
fact in the history is inexplicable, if the historian had read
the epistle; and that the insertion of it in the epistle, ii
the writer derived his information from the history, is not
less so.
St. Peter's visit to Antioch, during which the dispute
arose between him and St. Paul, is not mentioned in the
Acts.
If v.-e connect with these instances the general observa-
tion that no scrutiny can discover the smallest trace of tran-
scription or imitation, either in things or words, we shall be
fully satisfied in this part of our case ; namely, that the two
records, be the facts contained in them true or false, come
to our hands from independent sources.
Secondly, I say that the epistle thus proved to have
been written without any communication with the history,
bears testimony to a great variety of particulars contained
in the history.
1. St. Paul, in the early part of his life, had addicted
himself to the study of the Jewish religion, and was distin-
guished by his zeal for the institution, and for the traditions
wdiich had been incorporated with it. Upon this part of his
character the history makes St. Paul speak thus : "I am
verily a man which am a Jew, born in Tarsus, a city ol
Cilicia, yet brought up in this city at the feet of Gamaliel,
and taught according to the perfect manner of the law of
the fathers, and was zealous toward God, as ye all are this
day." Acts 22 : 3.
The epistle is as follows : " I profited in the Jews' relig-
ion above many my equals in mine own nation, being more
exceedingly zealous of the traditions of my fathers." Chap.
1 :14.
2. St. Paul, before his conversion, had been a fierce per-
secutor of the new sect. "As for Saul, he made havoc of
19*
90 HOE,^ PACJLI]:i.E.
the churclij entering into every house, and haJing men and
women, committed them to prison." Acts 8:3.
This is the history of St. Paul, as deUvered in the Acts ;
in the recital of his own history in the epistle, "Ye have
heard," says he, " of my conversation in time past in the
Tews' religion, how that beyond measure I persecuted the
.jhurch of God." Chap. 1 : 13.
3. St. Paul was miraculously converted on his way to
Damascus. "And as he journeyed, he came near Damas-
cus : and suddenly there shined round about him a light
from heaven ; and he fell to the earth, and heard a voice
saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ?
And he said. Who art thou, Lord ? And the Lord said, I
am Jesus whom thou persecutest. It is hard for thee to
kick against the pricks. And he trembling and astonished,
said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" Acts 9 : 3-6.
With these compare the epistle, chap. 1 : 15-17 : "When
it pleased God, who separated me from my mother's womb
and called me by his grace, to reveal his Son in me, that I
might preach him among the heathen ; immediately I con-
ferred not with flesh and blood : neither went I up to Jeru-
salem to them that were apostles before me : but I went
into Arabia, and returned again unto Damascus."
In this quotation from the epistle, I desire it to be re-
marked how incidentally it appears that the affair passed at
Damascus. In what may be called the direct part of the
account, no mention is made of the place of his conversion
at all ; a casual expression at the end, and an expression
brought in for a different purpose, alone fixes it to have
been at Damascus : " I returned again unto Damascus."
Nothing can be more like simplicity and undesignedness
than this is. It also draws the agreement between the two
quotations somewhat closer, to observe, that they both state
St. Paul to have preached the gospel immediately upon his
call: "And straightway he preached Christ in tho syna-
gogues, that he is the Son of God." Acts 9 : 20. 'When
ETISTLE TO THE OALATIANS. 91
it pleased God .... to reveal his Son in me, that 1 might
preaoh him among the heathen ; immediately I conferred
not with flesh and blood." Galatians I : 15.
4. The course of the apostle's travels after his conver-
sion was this : he went from Damascus to Jerusalem, and
from Jerusalem into Syria and Cilicia. At Damascus, "the
disciples took him by night, and let him down by the wall
in a basket. And when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he
assayed to join himself to the disciples." Acts 9 : 25, 26.
Afterwards, "when the brethren knew" the conspiracy
formed against him at Jerusalem, "they brought him down
to Cesarea, and sent him forth to Tarsus," a city in Cilicia.
Ver. 30. In the epistle, St. Paul gives the following briel
account of his proceedings within the same period : " After
three years, I went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode
with him fifteen days. Afterwards I came into the regions
of Syria and Cilicia." The history had told us that Paul
passed from Cesarea to Tarsus : if he took his journey by
land, it would carry him through Syria into Cilicia ; and he
would come, after his visit at Jerusalem, " into the regions
of Syria and Cilicia," in the very order in which he men-
tions them in the epistle. This supposition of his going
from Cesarea to Tarsus b?j land, clears up also another
point. It accounts for what St. Paul says in the same place
concerning the churches of Judea : "Afterwards I came into
the regions of Syria and Cilicia ; and was unknown by face
unto the churches of Judea which were in Christ : but they
had heard only. That he which persecuted us in times past,
now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed. And
thoy glorified God in me." Upon which passage I observe,
first, that what is here said of the churches of Judea, is
spoken in connection with his journey into the regions of
Syria and Cilicia. Secondly, that the passage itself has
little significancy, and that the connection is inexplicable,
unless St. Paul went through Judea — though probably by a
hasty journey — at the time that he came into the region* oJ
92 RORM PAULINiE.
Syria and Cilicia.^ Suppose him to have passed by land
trom Cesarea to Tarsus, all this, as has been observed,
would he precisely true.
5. Barnabas was with St. Paul at Antioch. " Then de-
parted Barnabas to Tarsus, for to seek Saul : and when he
had found him, he brought him unto Antioch. And it came
to pass, that a whole year they assembled themselves with
the church." Acts 11 : 25, 2G. Again, and upon another
occasion, Paul and Barnabas " sailed to Antioch ," and there
they continued a "long time with the disciples." Chap.
14 : 26.
Now, what says the epistle? "When Peter was come
to Antioch, I withstood him^ to the face, because he was to
be blamed. And the other Jews dissembled likewise with
him ; insomuch that Barnabas also was carried away with
their dissimulation." Chap. 2 : 11, 13.
6. The stated residence of the apostles was at Jerusalem.
" At that time there was a great persecution against the
church which was at Jerusalem ; and they were all scat
tered abroad throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria,
except the apostles." Acts 8 : 1. "They," the Christians
at Antioch, " determined that Paul and Barnabas, and cer-
tain other of them, should go up to Jerusalem unto thf
apostles and elders about this question." Acts 15:2. With
these accounts agrees the declaration in the epistle: "JSTei-
ther went I up to Jerusalem to them which were apostles
before me," chap. 1:17; for this declaration implies, or
rather assumes it to be known, that Jerusalem was the
pi ice where the apostles were to be met with.
7. There were at Jerusalem two apostles, or at the least,
two eminent members of the church, of the name of James.
* Dr. Doddridge thought that the Cesarea here mentioned was not
the celebrated city of that name upon the Mediterranean sea, but Ces-
area Pliilippi, near tho borders of Syria, M^hich lies in a much more
direct line from Jerusalem to Tarsus than the other. The objection
to this, Dr. Benson remarks, is, that Cesarea, without any addition,
usually ■d^enotes Cesarea Palestine.
irCPISTLE TO THE CtALA-TIAN^. 93
This is directly iiifeiTed from the Acts of the ipostlcs, which,
in the second verse of the tAvelfth chapter, relates the death
of James the brother of John ; and yet, if. the fifteenth
chapter, and in a subsequent part of the history, records a
speech delivered by James in the assembly of the apostles
and elders. It is also strongly implied by the form of ex-
pression used in the epistle: "Other apostles' saw I none,
save James the Lord's brother f' that is, to distinguish him
from James the brother of John.
To us who have been long conversant in the Christian
history as contained in the Acts of the Apostles, these points
are obvious and familiar ; nor do we readily apprehend any
greater difficulty in making them appear in a letter purport-
ing to have been written by St. Paul, than there is in intro-
ducing them into a modern sermon. But to judge correctly
of the argument before us, we must discharge this know-
ledge from our thoughts. Yfe must propose to ourselves the
situation of an author who sat down to the writing of the
epistle without having seen the history, and then the con
currences we have deduced will be deemed of importance.
They will at least be taken for separate confirmations of the
several facts, and not only of these particular facts, but of
the general truth of the history.
For what is the rule wdth respect to corroborative testi-
mony which prevails in courts of justice, and which prevails
only because experience has proved that it is a useful guide
to truth ? A principal witness in a cause delivers his ac-
count ; his narrative, in certain parts of it, is confirmed by
witnesses who are called afterwards. The credit derived
from their testimony belongs not only to the particular cir-
cumstances in which the auxiliary witnesses agree with the
principal Mdtness, but in some measure to the whole oi his
evidence ; because it is improbable that accident or fiction
should draw a line which touched upon truth in so many
points.
In like manner, if tvro records be produced manifestly
1)4 HOltiE fAULlJNii:.
independent, that is, manifestly written without any partici-
pation of intelligence, an agreement between them, even in
few and slight circumstances — especially if from the different
nature and design of the writings, few points only of agree-
ment, and those incidental, could be expected to occui—
would add a sensible weight to the authority o^ both 'zi
every part of their contents.
The same rule is applicable to history, with at least at'
much reason as any other species of evidence.
III. But although the references to various particulars
m the epistle, compared with the direct account of the same
particulars in the history, afford a considerable proof of the
truth not only of these particulars, but of the narrative which
contains them, yet they do not show, it will be said, that
the epistle was written by St. Paul ; for admitting what
seems to have been proved, that the writer, whoever he was,
had no recourse to the Acts of the Apostles ; yet many of
the facts referred to, such as St. Paul's miraculous conver-
sion, his change from a virulent persecutor to an indefati-
gable preacher, his labors among the Gentiles, and his zeal
for the liberties of the Gentile church, were so notorious as
to occur readily to the mind of any Christian who should
choose to personate his character and counterfeit his name ;
it was only to write what every body knew. Now, I think
that this supposition — namely, that the epistle was com-
posed upon general information and the general publicity of
the facts alluded to, and that the author did no more than
weave into his work what the common fame of the Christian
church had reported to his ears — is repelled by the particular-
ity of the recitals and references. This particularity is ob-
servable in the following instances ; in perusing which, I de-
sire the reader to reflect, whether they exliibit the language
of a man who had nothing but general reputation to proceed
upon, or of a man actually speaking of himself and of his own
history, and consequently of things concerning which he pos
Bessed a clear, int/mate, and circumstantial knowledge.
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 95
1. The history, in giving an account of St. Paul after his
L-onversion, relates, "that after many days," efiecting, by
the assistance of the disciples, his escape from Dama&aus,
"he proceeded to Jerusalem." Acts 9:25. The epistle,
spealdng of the same period, makes St. Paul say that " ho
went into Arabia," that he returned again to Damascus,
and that after three years he went up to Jerusalem. Chap.
1 : 17, 18.
2. The history relates, that when Saul was come from
Damascus, he was with the disciples " coming in and going
out." Acts 9 : 28. The epistle, describing the same jour-
ney, tells us, that he " went up to Jerusalem to see Peter,
and abode with him fifteen days." Chap. 1:18.
3. The history relates that when Paul was come to Jeru-
salem, " Barnabas took him, and brought him to the apos'
ties." Acts 9:27. The epistle, that he saw Peter; but
other of the apostles saw he " none, save James the Lord's
brother." Chap. 1 : 19.
Now this is as it should be. The histoiian delivers his
account in general terms, as of facts at which he was not
present. The person who is the subject of that account,
when he comes to speak of these facts himself, particularizes
time, names, and circumstances.
4. The hke notation of places, persons, and dates, is
met with in the account of St. Paul's journey to Jerusalem,
given in the second chapter of the epistle. It was fourteen
years after his conversion ; it was in company with Bar-
nabas and Titus ; it was then that he met with James,
Cephas, and John; it was then also that it was agreed
among them that they should go to the circumcision, and he
unto the Gentiles.
5. The dispute with Peter, which occupies the sequel of
the second chapter, is marked with the same particularity.
[t was at Antioch ; it was after certain came from James ;
it was while Barnabas was there, who was carried away by
their dissimulation. These exam.ples negative the inainua'
96 R0R.5I PAULl^^.E.
tion, that the epistle presents nothing: hut indefinite aUasions
to puhUc facts,
IV. Chap. 4 : 11-16 : " I am afraid of you, lest I have
bestowed upon you labor in vain. Brethren, I beseech you,
be as I am ; for I am as ye are : ye have not injured me it
all. Ye know how through infirmity of the flesh I preached
the gospel unto you at the first. And my temfAation ivliich
was in my flesh ye despised not, nor rejected ; but received
me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus. Where ig
then the blessedness ye spake of? for I bear you record, that,
if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own
eyes, and have given them unto me. Am I therefore be
come your enemy because I tell you the truth ?"
With this passage compare 2 Cor. 12:1—9: " It is not
expedient for me doubtless to glory. I will come to visions
and revelations of the Lord. I knew a man in Christ above
fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell ; or
whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth ;j
such a one caught up to the third heaven. And I knew
such a man, (whether in the body, or out of the body, I can-
not tell : God knoweth ;) how that he was caught up into
paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not laAv-
ful for a man to utter. Of such a one will I glory : yet oi
myself I will not glory, but in mine infirmities. For, thougl'
I would desire to glory, I shall not be a fool : for I will say
the truth : but now I forbear, lest any man should think ot
me above that which he seeth me to be, or that he heareth
of me. And lest I should be exalted above measure through
the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a
thorn in thejlesh, the 7nessenger of Sata7i to buffet me, lest
1 should be exalted above measure. For this thing I b;'-
songht the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And
he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee ; for my
strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly there-
fore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power ol
Christ may rest upon me."
EPJSTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 97
There can be no doubt but that " the temptation which
was m the flesh," mentioned in the ep.'stle to the Galatians^
and " the thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to bullet
him," mentioned in the epistJe to the Corinthians, were in.
tended to denote the same thing. Either therefore it was,
what we pretend it to have been, the same person in both,
alluding, as the occasion led him, to some bodily infirmity
under which he labored — that is, we are reading the real
letters of a real apostle ; or it was, that a sophist who had
seen the circumstance in one epistle, contrived, for the sake
of correspondency, to bring it into another ; or, lastly, it wa?
a circumstance in St. Paul's personal condition, supposed tc
be well known to those into whose hands the epistle was
likely to fall, and for that reason introduced into a Avriting
designed to bear his name. I have extracted the quotations
at length, in order to enable the reader to judge accurately
of the manner in which the mention of this particular comes
in, in each ; because that judgment, I think, will acquit the
author of the epistle of the charge of having studiously insert-
ed it, either with a view of producing an apparent agreement
between them, or for any other purpose whatever.
The context, by which the circumstance before us is
introduced, is in the two places totally difiercnt, and without
any mark of imitation ; yet in both places does the circum-
stance rise aptly and naturally out of the context, and that
context from the train of thought carried on in the epistle.
The epistle to the Galatians, from the beginning to the
end, runs in a strain of angry complaint of their defection
from the apostle, and from the principles which he had
taught them. It was very natural to contrast with this
conduct, the zeal with which they had once received him ;
and it was not less so to mention, as a proof of their former
disposition towards him, the indulgence which, while he was
among them, they had shown to his infirmity : " My temp
tation which was in my flesh ye despised not, nor rejected ;
but received me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus,
5
96 HORiE PAULINA.
Where is then the blessedness ye spake of?" that is^ the
benedictions which you bestowed upon me ; " for I bear you
record, that, if it had been possible, ye would have plucked
out your own eyes, and have given them to me."
In the two epistles to the Corinthians, especially in th?
second, we have the apostle contending with certain teache •§
in Corinth, who had formed a party in that church against
him. To vindicate his personal authority, as well as the
dignity and credit of his ministry among them, he takes occa- ■
sion — but not without apologizing repeatedly for the folly,
that is, for the indecorum, of pronouncing his own panegyr-
ic=^ — to meet his adversaries in their boastings: "Where-
insoever any is bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am bold also. Are
they Hebrews ? so am I. Are they Israelites ? so am I.
Are they the seed of Abraham ? so am I. Are they the
ministers of Christ ? (I speak as a fool,) I am more ; in labors
more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more
frequent, in deaths oft." Being led to the subject, he goes
on, as was natural, to recount his trials and dangers, his
incessant cares and labors in the Christian mission. From
the proofs which he had given of his zeal and activity in the
service of Christ, he passes — and that with the same view
of establishing his claim to be considered as " not a whit
behind the very chiefest of the apostles" — to the visions and
revelations which from time to time had been vouchsafed to
him. And then, by a close and easy connection, comes in
the mention of his infirmity : " Lest I should be exalted,"
says he, " above m.easure through the abundance of the rev-
elations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the
messenger of Satan, to buffet me."
Thus then, in both epistles, the notice of his infirmity is
* " Would to God you would bear with me a little iu my foii f :
&nd indeed bear with me." Chap. 11:1.
'■'That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord, but as it were
foolishly, in this confidence of boasting." Chap. 11 : 17.
"I ara become a fool in gloryin^g; ye have compelled me." Chap
12:11.
EiMSlLE TO THE GALATJANS. 99
suited to the place in which it is found. In the epistle to
the Corinthians, the train of thought draws up to the cir-
cumstance by a regular approximation. In this epistle, it is
suirgestcd by the subject and occasion of the epistio itself.
Which observation we offer as an argument to prove that it
is not, in either epistle, a circumstance industriously brought
forward for the sake of procuring credit to an imposture.
A reader will be taught to perceive the force of this argu-
ment, who shall attempt to introduce a given circumstance
into the body of a writing. To do this without abruptness,
or without betraying marks of design in the transition,
requires, he will find, more art than ne expected to be neces-
sary, certainly more than any one can believe to have been
exercised in the composition of these epistles.
V. Chap. 4 : 29 : " But as then he that was born after
the flesh persecuted him that v/as born after the Spirit, even
50 it is now."
Chap. 5:11: " And I, brethren, if I yet preach circum-
cision, why do I yet suffer persecution ? then is the oflence
Df the cross ceased."
Chap. 6:17: " From henceforth, let no man trouble
me ; for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus."
From these several texts, it is apparent that the perse-
cutions which our apostle had undergone, were from the
hands or by the instigation of the Jews ; that it was not for
preaching Christianity in opposition to heathenism, but it
was for preaching it as distinct from Judaism, that he had
brought upon himself the sufferings which had attended his
ministry. And this representation perfectly coincides with
that w^hich results from the detail of St. Paul's history, as
delivertd in the Acts. At Antioch, in Pisidia, the " word A
the Lord was published throughout all the region. But the
Jeivs stirred up the devout and honorable women, and the
chief men of the city, and raised persecution against Paul
and Barnabas, and expelled them out of their coasts." Acts
13 : 49, 5C. Not long after, at Iconium, " a great multitude
lOO HOR^ PACLIN.'E.
both of the Jews and also of the Greeks believed. But tb<»
unbelieving Jeius stirred up the Gentiles, and made th«i^
minds evil-affected against the brethren." Chap. 14 : 1, :'
At Lystra " there came certain Jews from Antioch and Ice
nium, who persuaded the people, and having stoinjsd Paul
drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead.*
Chap. 14 : 19. The same enmity, and from the same quar
ter, our apostle experienced in Greece. At Thessalonica,
" some of them," the Jews, " believed, and consorted with
Paul and Silas ; and of the devout Greeks a great multitude.
and of the chief" women not a few. But the Jews which
believed not, moved wdth envy, took unto them certain lewd
fellows of the baser sort, and gathered a company, and se^
all the city in an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason^
and sought to bring them out to the people." Chap. 17:4,5
Their persecutors follow them to Berea : " When the Jeiv5
of Thessalonica had knowledge that the word of God was
preached of Paul at Berea, they came thither also, and stir-
red up the people." Chap. 17 : 13. And lastly at Corinth,
when Gallio was deputy of Achaia, "the Jews, made insur-
rection with one accord against Paul, and brought him to
the judgment-seat." I think it does not appear that our
apostle was ever set upon by the Gentiles, unless they were
first stirred up by the Jews, except in two instances ; in
both which the persons who began the assault were imme-
diately interested in his expulsion from the place. Once
this happened at Philippi, after the cure of the Pythoness :
'' When her masters saw that the hope of their gains was
gone, they caught Paul and Silas, and drew them into the
market-place, unto the rulers." Chap. 16 : 19. And a sec-
ond time at Ephesus, at the instance of Demetrius, a silver-
smith, which made silver shrines for Diana ; who called
together " workmen of like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye
know that by this craft we have our wealth. Moi cover ye
Bee and hear, that not alone at Ephesus, but almost through-
out ail Asia, this Paul hath persuaded and turned away
EMSTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 101
mucii peopio, saying that they be no gods, which are made
\v:th hands ; so that not only this our craft is in danger to
Of 3 set at naught, but also that the temple of the great god
dess Diana should be despised, and her magnificence should
be destroyed, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth."
VI. I observe an agreement in a somewhat peculiar rule
of Christian conduct, as laid down in this epistle, and as ex-
emplified in the second epistle to the Corinthians. It is not
the repetition of the same general precept, which would
have been a coincidence of little value ; but it is the general
precept in one place, and the application of that precept to
an actual occurrence in the other. In the sixth chapter
and first verse of this epistle, our apostle gives the folloAV-
ing direction : " Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault,
ye which are spiritual restore such a one in the spirit of
meekness." In 2 Cor. 2 : 6—8, he writes thus : " Sufiicient
to such a man" — the incestuous person mentioned in the
first epistle — " is this punishment, which was inflicted of
many. So that contrariwise, ye ought rather to iorgbie him
and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be SM'al-
iowed up with overmuch sorrow. Wherefore I beseech
you that ye would confirm your love toward him." I have
little doubt but that it was the same mind Avhich dictated
these two passages.
VII. Our epistle goes further than any of St. Paul's epis-
tles ; for it avows in direct terms the supersession of the
Jewish law, as an instrument of salvation, even to the Jews
themselves. Not only were the Gentiles exempt from this
authority, but even the Jews were no longer to place any
dependency upon it, or consider themselves as subject to it
on a religious account. " Before faith came, we were kept
under the law, shut up unto the faith which should after-
waiJs be revealed. Wherefore the law was our schoolmas-
ter to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by
faith. But after that faith is come, ice are no longer under
a schoohnaster.''' Chap. 3 : 23-25. This was undoubtedly
1U2 HOE,^ PAULINiE.
spoken of Jews and to Jews In like manner, chip. 4 : 1—5 :
'• Now. I say, that the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth
nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all ; but is
under tutors and governors until the time appointed of the
father. Even so we, when we were children, were in Dond-
age under the elements of the world : but when the fulness
of time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman,
made under the law, to redeem them tliat tvere uncle)' the
laiv, that we might receive the adoption of sons," These
passages are nothing short of a declaration, that the obliga-
tion of the Jewish law, considered as a religious dispensa-
tion, the effects of which were to take place in another life,
had ceased with respect even to the Jews themselves. What
then should be the conduct of a Jew — ^for such St. Paul
was — who preached this doctrine ? To be consistent with
himself, either he would no longer comply, in his own per-
son, with the directions of the law ; or, if he did comply, it
would be for some other reason than any confidence which
he placed in its efficacy, as a religious institution. Now so
it happens, that whenever St. Paul's compliance with the
Jewish law is mentioned in the history, it is mentioned in
connection with circumstances which point out the motive
from which it proceeded ; and this motive appears to have
been always exoteric, namely, a love of order and tranquil-
lity, or an unwillingness to give unnecessary ofience. Thus,
Acts 16:3: " Him," Timothy, " would Paul have to go forth
with him ; and took and circumcised him, because of the,
Jews, ivhich icere in those quarters T Again, Acts 21 : 26,
when Paul consented to exhibit an example of public com-
pliance with a Jewish rite by purifying himself in the tem-
ple, it is plainly intimated that he did this to satisfy " many
thousands of Jews who believed, and who were all zealous
of the law." So far the instances related in one book cor
respond with the doctrine delivered in another.
VIII. Chap. 1:18: " Then after three years I went uj-
to Jerusalem +o see Peter, and abode with him fifte^'n days "
EPISTLE TO THE TtALATIANS, I03
The shortness of St. Paul's stay at Jerusalem is what I
desire the reader to remark. The direct account of the same
journey in the Acts, chap. 9 : 28, determines nothing con-
cerning the time of his continuance there: "And he was
with them," the apostles, " coming in and going out at Jerusa-
lem And he spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus,
and disputed against the Grecians ; but they went about to
slay him. Which when the brethren knew, they brought
him down to Cesarea." Or rather this account, taken by
itself, would lead a reader to suppose that St. Paul's abode
at Jerusalem had been longer than fifteen days. But turn
to the twenty-second chapter of the Acts, and you will find
a reference to this visit to Jerusalem, which plainly indi-
cates that Paul's continuance in that city had been of short
duration : " And it came to pass, that, when I M^as come
again to Jerusalem, even while I prayed in the temple, I
was in a trance ; and saw him saying unto me, Make haste,
and get thee quickly out of Jerusalem ; for they will not re-
ceive thy testimony concerning me." Here we have the
general terms of one text so explained by a distant text in
the same book, as to bring an indeterminate expression into
a close conformity with a specification delivered in another
book : a species of consistency not, I think, usually found in
fabulous relations.
IX. Chap. 6:11: "Ye see how large a letter I have
written unto you with mine own hand."
These words imply that he did not always write with
his own hand ; which is consonant to what we find intima-
ted in some other of the epistles. The epistle to the Ro-
mans was written by Tertius : " I Tertius, who wrote this
epistle, salute you in the Lord." Chap. 16 : 22. The first
epistle to the Corinthians, the epistle to the Colossians, and
the second epistle to the Thessalonians, have all, near the
conclusion, this clause, "the salutation of me, Paul, with
mine own hand;" which must be understood, and is uni-
versally understood to import, that the rest of the epittie
I.U4 HOR/E PAULINA'.
was written by another hand. I do not thmk it improbable
that an impostor, who had remarked this subscription in
some other epistle, should invent the same in a forgery ;
but that is not done here. The author of this epistle does
not imitate the manner of giving St. Paul's signature ; he
only bids the Galatians observe how large a letter he had
written to them with his own hand. He does not say th'S
was different from his ordinary usage ; this is left to impli-
cation. Now, to suppose that this was an artifice to procure
credit to an imposture, is to suppose that the author of the
forgery, because he knew that others of St. Paul's were not
written by himself, therefore made the apostle say that this
was ; which seems an odd turn to give to the circumstance,
and to be given for a purpose which would more naturally
and more directly have been answered by subjoining the
salutation or signature in the form in which it is found in
other epistles. =^
X. An exact conformity appears in the manner in which
a certain apostle or eminent Christian whose name was
James, is spoken of in the epistle and in the history. Both
writings refer to a situation of his at Jerusalem, somewhat
different from that of the other apostles ; a kind of eminence
or presidency in the church there, or at least a more fixed
md stationary residence. Chap. 2 : 11, 12. " When Peter
was at Antioch, .... before that certain came from James,
he did eat with the Gentiles." This text plainly attributes
a kind of preeminency to James ; and, as we hear of him
twice in the same epistle, dwelling at Jerusalem, chap.
1:19, and 2:9, we must apply it to the situation which he
held in that church. In the Acts of the Apostles, divers
* The words irTjliKOig ypaftfiaoiv may probably be meant to describe
the character in which he wrote, and not the length of the letter. But
this will not alter the truth of our observation. I think, however,
that a? St. Paul by the mention of his own hand designed to express
to the Galatians the great concern which he felt for them, the words,
whatever they signify, belong to the whole of the epistle j and not, aa
G-rotius, after St. Jerome, interprets it, to the few verses which foUow
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 106
intimations occur, conveying the same idea of James' situ*
ation. When Peter was miraculously delivered from prison,
and had surprised his friends by his appearance among them,
after declaring unto them how the Lord had brought him
out of prison, " Go show," says he, " these things unto
James and to the brethren." Acts 12 : 17. Here James is
manifestly spoken of in terms of distinction. He appears
again with like distinction in the twenty-first chapter and
the seventeenth and eighteenth verses : " And when we.'
Paul and his company, " were come to Jerusalem, .... the
day following Paul went in with us unto James ; and all
the elders were present." In the debate which took place
upon the business of the Gentile converts in the council at
Jerusalem, this same person seems to have taken the lead.
It was he who closed the debate, and proposed the resolu-
tion in which the council ultimately concurred: "Where-
fore my sentence is, that we trouble not them which from
among the Gentiles are turned to God."
Upon the whole, that there exists a conformity in the
expressions used concerning James, throughout the history,
and in the epistle, is unquestionable. But admitting this
conformity, and admitting also the undesignedness of it,
what does it prove ? It proves that the circumstance itsell
is founded in truth ; that is, that James was a real person,
who held a situation of eminence in a real society of Chris-
tians at Jerusalem. It confirms also those parts of the nar-
rative which are connected with this circumstance. Sup-
pose, for instance, the truth of the account of Peter's escape
from prison was to be tried upon the testimony of a witness
who, among other things, made Peter, after his deliverance,
say, " Go show these things unto James, and to the breth-
ren ;" would it not be material, in such a trial, to make out
by other independent proofs, or ])y a comparison of proofs,
drawn from independent sources, that there was actually at
that time living at Jerusalem such a person as James ;
that this person held such a situation in the society among
Horse P»uL 20 ^
106 liORiE PAULINA.
whom these things were transacted, as to ren lei the TCord*
which Peter is said to have used concerning him, j roper and
natural for him to have used ? If this would be pertinent
in. the discussion of oral testimony, it is still more so in
appreciating the credit of remote history.
It must not be dissembled that the comparison of our
epistle with the history presents some difficulties, or to say
the least, some questions of considerable magnitude. It may
be doubted, in the first place, to what journey the words
wliich open the second chapter of the epistle, " then, four-
teen years afterwards, I went to Jerusalem," relate. That
which best corresponds with the date, and that to which
most mterpreters apply the passage, is the journey of Paul
and Barnabas to Jerusalem, when they went thither from
Antioch, upon the business of the Gentile converts ; and
which journey produced the famous council and decree
recorded in the fifteenth chapter of Acts. To me this opin-
ion appears to be encumbered with strong objections. In
the epistle, Paul tells us that he "went up by revelation."
Chap. 2:2. In the Acts, we read that he was sent by the
church of Antioch. After no small dissension and disputa-
tion, " they determined that Paul and Barnabas, and certain
other of them, should go up to the apostles and elders about
this question." Acts 15 : 2. This is not very reconcilable.
In the epistle St. Paul writes, that when he came to Jeru-
salem, " he communicated that gospel which he preached
among the Gentiles, but privately to them which were of
reputation." Chap. 2 : 2. If by "that gospel" he meant
the immunity of the Gentile Christians from the Jewish
law — and I know not what else it can mean — it is not easy
to conceive how he should communicate that privately
which was the object of his public message. But a yet
greater difficulty remains, namely, that in the account which
the epistle gives of what passed upon this visit it Jerusa-
lem, no notice is taken of the delibeiation and dec ee which
are recorded in the Acts, and which, accordino^ to that hiy
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS. 107
Eory, formed the business for the sake of which the journey
was undertaken. The mention of the council and of its
determination, while the apostle was relating- his proceed-
ings at Jerusalem, could hardly have been avoided, if in
truth the narrative belong to the same journey. To me it
appears more probable that Paul and Barnabas had taken
some journey to Jerusalem, the mention of which is omitted
in the Acts. Prior to the apostolic decree, we read that
" Paul and Barnabas abode at Antioch a long time with the
disciples." Acts 14 : 28. -Is it unlikely, that during this
long abode, they might go up to Jerusalem and return to
Antioch ? Or would the omission of such a journey be un-
suitable to the general brevity with which these memoirs
are written, especially of those parts of St. Paul's history
which took place before the historian joined them?
But again, the first account we find in the Acts of the
Apostles of St. Paul's visiting Galatia, is in the sixteenth
chapter and the sixth verse : " Now when they had gone
through Phrygia and the region of Galatia, .... they assay-
ed to go into Bithynia." The progress here recorded was
subsequent to the apostolic decree ; therefore that decree
must have been extant when our epistle was written. Now,
as the professed design of the epistle was to establish the
exemption of the Gentile converts from the law of Moses,
and as the decree pronounced and confirmed that exemption,
it may seem extraordinary that no notice whatever is taken
of that determination, nor any appeal made to its authority.
Much, however, of the weight of this objection, which ap-
plies also to some other of St. Paul's epistles, is removed by
the following reflections.
1. It was not St. Paul's manner, nor agreeable to it, to
resort or defer much to the authority of the other apostles,
especially while he was insisting, as he does strenuous. y
throughout this epistle insist, upon his own original inspira
tion. He who could speak of the very chiefest of the apos
tJes in such terms as the following — " of those who s-eraed
108 HOE..^ PAULINA.
to be somewhat, (whatsoever they were it maketh no matter
to me, God accepteth no man's person,) for they who seemed
to he somewhat in conference added nothing to me" — he, 1
say, was not hkely to support himself by their decision.
2. The epistle argues the point upon principle ; and il
is not perhaps more to be wondered at, that in such an argu-
ment St. Paul should not cite the apostolic decree, than it
would be that in a discourse designed to prove the moral
and religious duty of observing the Sabbath, the \AT:iter
should not quote the thirteenth -canon.
3. The decree did not go the length of the position
maintained in the epistle ; the decree only declares that the
apostles and elders at Jerusalem did not impose the obser-
vance of the Mosaic law upon the Gentile converts, as a
condition of their being admitted into the Christian church.
Our epistle argues that the Mosaic institution itself was at
an end, as to all effects upon a future state, even with re-
spect to the Jews themselves.
4. They whose error St. Paul combated were not per
sons who submitted to the Jewish law because it was im
posed by the authority, or because it was made part of the
law of the Christian church ; but they were persons who,
having already become Christians, afterwards voluntarily
took upon themselves the observance of the Mosaic code,
under a notion of attaining thereby to a greater perfection.
This, I think, is precisely the opinion which St. Paul opposes
in this epistle. Many of his expressions apply exactly to it :
" Are ye so foolish ? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now
made perfect by the flesh?" Chap. 3 : 3. "Tell me, ye
that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law V
Chap. 4 : 21. "How turn ye again to the weak and bog*
gaily elements, whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage ?''
Chap. 4:9. It cannot be thought extraordinary that St.
Paul should resist this opinion with earnestness ; for it both
changed the character of the Christian dispensation, and
derogated expressly from the completeness of that rcdemjr
EPISTLE TO THE GALATIANS 109
tion which Jesus Christ had wrought for them that believed
in him. But it w^as to no purpose' to allege to such persoiir
the decision at Jerusalem, for that only showed that they
were not bound to these observances by any law of the
Christian church ; they did not pretend to be so bound ;
nevertheless, they imagined that there was an efficacy in
these observances, a merit, a recommendation to favor, and
a ground of acceptance with God for those who comphed
wdtli them. This was a situation of thought to which the
tenor of the decree did not apply. Accordingly, St. Paul's
address to the Galatians, which is throughout adapted to
this situation, runs in a strain widely different from the lan-
guage of the decree : " Christ is become of no efiect unto
you, whosoever of you are justified by the law," chap. 5:4;
that is, whosoever places his dependence upon any merit he
may apprehend there is in legal observances. The decree
had said nothing like this ; therefore it would have been
useless to produce the decree in an argument of which this
was the burden. In like manner as in contending with
an anchorite, who should insist upon the superior holiness
of a recluse, ascetic life, and the value of such mortifications
in the sight of God, it would be to no purpose to prove that
the laws of the church did not require these vows, or even
10 prove that the laws of the church expressly left every
Christian to liis liberty. This would avail little towards
abating his estimation of their merit, or towards settling
the point in controversy.*
* Mr. Locke's solution of this difficulty is by no means satisfactory.
"St. Paul," he says, "did not remind the Galatians of the apostolic
decree, because they already had it." hi the first place, it does not
appear with any certainty that they had it ; in the second place, ii
they had it, this was rather a reason than otherwise for referring tJiein
to it. The passage in the Acts from which Mr. Locke concludes that
the Galatic churches were in possession of the decree, is the fourth
rerse of the sixteenth chapter: "And as they," Paul and Timothy,
'went through the cities, they delivered them the decrees for to keep,
<that were ordained of the apostles and elders which were at Jerusa
no HOR^ PAULINA.
Another difficulty arises from the account of Peter's con
duct towards the Gentile converts at Antioch, as given in
the epistle, in the latter part of the second chapter ; which
conduct, it is said, is consistent neither with the revelation
lem." In my opinion, this delivery of the decree was confined to the
chui-ches to which St. Paul came, in pursuance of the plan upon which
he set out, " of visiting the brethren in every city where he had preach-
ed the word of the Lord;" the history of which progress, and of all
that pertained to it, is closed in 4he fifth verse, when the history in-
forms us that " so were the churches established in the faith, and in-
creased in number daily." Then the history proceeds upon a new
section of the narrative, by telling us that "when they had gone
throughout Phrygia and the region of Galatia, they assayed to go into
Bithynia." The decree itself is directed to "the brethren which are
of the Gentiles in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia;" that is, to church*^«
already founded, and in which this question had been stirred. And
I think the observation of the noble author of the Miscellanea Sacra
is not only ingenious but highly probable, namely, that there is ha this?
place a dislocation of the text, and that the fourth and fifth verses of
the sixteenth chapter ought to follow the last verse of the fifteenth, so
as to make the entire passage run thus : " And they went through
Syria and Cilicia," to the Christians of which country the decree was
addressed, "confirming the churches; and as they went through the
cities, they delivered them the decrees for to keep, that were ordained
of the apostles and elders which were at Jerusalem ; and so were the
churches established in the faith, and mcreased in number daily.''
And then the sixteenth chapter takes up a new and unbroken para-
graph: "Then came he to Derbe and Lystra," etc. When St. Paul
came, as he did into Galatia, to preach the gospel, for the first time,
in a new place, it is not probable that he would make mention of the
decree, or rather letter, of the church of Jerusalem, which presupposed
Christianity to be known, and which related to certain doubts that
had risen in some established Christian communities.
The second reason which Mr. Locke assigns for the omission of tlie
decree, namely, that "St. Paul's sole object in the epistle was to
acquit himself of the imputation that had been charged upon him of
istually preaching circumcision," does not appear to me to be strictly
brue. It was not the sole object. The epistle is written in general
opposition to the Judaizing inclination wluch he found to prevail
among his converts. The avowal of his own doctrine, and of his
steadfast adherence to that doctrine, formed a necessary pari- of the
iosira of his letter, but was not the whole of it.
EPISTLE TO THE OALATIANS. Ill
communicated to him upon the conversion of Cornelius, nor
with the part he took in the debate at Jerusalem. But, ir.
order to understand either the difficulty or the solution, it
will be necessary to state and explain the passage itself.
" When Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the
face, because he was to be blamed. For, before that cer-
tain came from James, he did eat with the Gentiles : but
when they were come, he withdrew, and separated himself,
fearing them which were of the circumcision. And the
other Jews dissembled likewise with him ; insomuch that
Barnabas also was carried away with their dissimulation.
But when I saw that they walked not uprightly according
to the truth of the gospel, I said unto Peter before them all,
If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of Gentiles,
and not as do the Jews, w^hy compellest thou the Gentiles
to live as do the Jews ?" Now the question that produced
the dispute to which these words relate, was not whether
the Gentiles were capable of being admitted into the Chris-
tian covenant ; that had been fully settled : nor was it
whether it should be accounted essential to the profession oi
Christianity that they should conform themselves to the law
of Moses ; that was the question at Jerusalem : but it was,
whether, upon the Gentiles becoming Christians, the Jews
might henceforth eat and drink with them, as with their
Dwn brethren. Upon this point St. Peter betrayed some in-
constancy ; and so he might, agreeably enough to his history.
He might consider the vision at Joppa as a direction for the
occasion, rather than as universally abolishing the distinc-
tion between Jew and Gentile ; I do not mean with respect
to final acceptance with God, but as to the manner of their
living together in society : at least, he might not have com-
prehended this point with such clearness and certainty, as
to stand out upon it against the fear of bringing upon him-
self the censure and complaint of his brethren in the church
of Jerusalem, who still adhered to their ancient prejudices.
But Peter, it is said, compelled the Gentiles — I6vdai^s(v. "Why
fl2 HOE^ PAULINA.
eompellest thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews ?" Ho"W
did he do that ? The only way in which Peter appears to
have connpelled the Gentiles to comply with the Jewish
institution, was by withdrawing himself from their society
By which he may be understood to have made this declara-
tion : " liYe do not deny your right to be considered as
Christians ; we do not deny your title in the promises of the
gospel, even without compliance with our law ; but if you
would have us Jews live with you as we do with one
another, that is, if you would in all respects be treated by
us as Jews, you must live as such yourselves." This, I
think, was the compulsion which St. Peter's conduct im-
posed upon the Gentiles, and for which St. Paul reproved
him.
As to the part which the historian ascribes to St. Petei
in the debate at Jerusalem, besides that it was a different
question which was there agitated from that which pro-
duced the dispute at Antioch, there is nothing to hinder us
from supposing that the dispute at Antioch was prior to the
consultation at Jerusalem ; or that Peter, in consequence ol
this rebuke, might have afterwards maintained firmer
sentiments.
EPISTLE Tu THE EPHESIANS. 113
CHAPTEK YI.
THE EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS.
I. This epistle, and the epistle to the Colossians, appear
to have been transmitted to their respective churches by the
same messenger : " But that ye also may know my afiairs,
and how I do, Tychicus, a beloved brother and faithful min-
ister m the Lord, shall make known to you all things ; whom
I have sent unto you for the same purpose, that ye might
know our affairs, and that he might comfort your hearts."
Ephes. 6 : 21, 22. This text, if it do not expressly declare,
clearly I think intimates, that the letter was sent by Tychi-
cus. The words made use of by him in the epistle to the
Colossians are very similar to these, and afford the same
implication that Tychicus, in conjunction with Onesimus,
was the bearer of the letter to that church : " All my state
shall Tychicus declare unto you, who is a beloved brother,
and a faithful minister and fellow-servant in the Lord ;
whom I have sent unto you for the same purpose, that he
might know your estate, and comfort your hearts ; with
Onesimus, a faithful and beloved brother, who is one of you.
They shall make known unto you all things which are done
here." Col. 4 : 7-9. Both epistles represent the writer as
under imprisonment for the gospel ; and both treat of the
same general subject. The epistle therefore to the Ephe-
sians, and the epistle to the Colossians, import to be two
letters written by the same person, at or nearly at the same
time, and upon the same subject, and to have been sent by
the same messenger. Now every thing in the sentiments,
order, and diction of the two WTitings, corresponds with what
might be expected from this circumstance of identity or cog-
nation in their original. The leading doctrine of both epis-
tles is the union of Jews and Gentiles under the Christian
dispensation ; and that doctrine in both is established by the
20^
114 HORiE PAULlWiE.
same arguments, or more properly speaking, illustrated by
the same similitudes :^ " one head," "one body," " one new
man," "one temple," are in both epistles the figures under
which the society of believers in Christ, and their common
relation to him as such, are represented.! The ancient, and,
as had been thought, the indelible distinction between Jew
and Gentile, in both epistles, is declared to be " now abol-
ished by his cross." Besides this consent in the general tenor
of the two epistles, and in the run also and warmth ol
thought with which they are composed, we may naturally
expect, in letters produced under the circumstances in which
these appear to have been written, a closer resemblance of
style and diction, than between other letters of the same
person but of distant dates, or between letters adapted to dif-
ferent occasions. In particular, we may look for many of
the same expressions, and sometimes for whole sentences
being alike ; since such expressions and sentences would be
repeated in the second letter — whichever that was — as yel
fresh in the author's mind from the writing of the first. This
repetition occurs in the following examples :$
* St. Paul, I am apt to believe, has been sometimes accused oJ
inconclusive reasoning, by our mistaking that for reasoning which \va?
only intended for illustration. He is not to be read as a man whose
own persuasion of the truth of what he taught always or solely de-
pended upon the views mider which he represents it in his writings
Taking for granted the certainty of his doctrine, as resting upon the
revelation that had been imparted to him, he exhibits it frequently tc
the conception of his readers under images and allegories, in which
if an analogy may be perceived, or even sometimes a poetic resctn
blance be found, it is all perhaps that is required.
Ephes. 1 : 22 1 ( Colos. 1 : 18.
t Compare \ 4 : 15 > with } 2:19.
2:15 ) ( 3:10,11.
Ephes. 2 : 14, 15 ) C Colos. 2 : 14.
Also { 2:16 > with J 1 : 18-21.
2:20 ) ( 2:7.
I When verbal comparisons are relied upon, it becomes necessary
to state the original; but that the English reader may be interrupted
M little as may be, I shall in general do this in the notes.
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 116
Ephes. 1:7: "In whom we have redemption through
his blood, thd forgiveness of sins."*
Colos. 1 : 14 : "In jvhom we have redemption through
his blood, the forgiveness of sins. "f
Besides the sameness of the words, it is further remark-
able that the sentence is in both places preceded by the
same introductory idea. In the epistle to the Ephesians, it
is the ''Beloved,'' 7^yaiv7]fi£v<p ; in that to the Colossians, it is
" his dear Son" vlov njg aycnzTjc avTov, " in whom we have
redemption." The sentence appears to have been suggested
to the mind of the writer by the idea which had accompa-
nied it before.
Ephes. 1:10: " All things in Christ, both which are in
heaven and which are on earth ; even in him."t
Colos. 1 : 20 : " All things by him, whether they be
things in earth, or things in heaven." §
This quotation is the more observable, because the con-
necting of things in earth with things in heaven is a very
singular sentiment, and found nowhere else but in these two
epistles. The words also are introduced by describing the
union which Christ had efiected, and they are followed by
telling the Gentile churches that they were incorporated
into it.
Ephes. 3:2: " The dispensation of the grace of God,
which is given me to you-ward."ll
Colos. 1 : 25 : " The dispensation of God, which is given
to me for you."^
Of these sentences it may likew^ise be observed, that the
^ Eplies. 1:7: 'Ev cj exoiiev ttjv uizoAvrpuaLv 6ta rov ai/j.a~og avrov,
T^v 'afeoLV rC)v ■KapaTTTUfuiTCJv.
t Colos. 1 : 14 : 'Ev u exofiev ttjv uTToTivrpuatv dia rov aifiaroc; avTOv,
r^v 'a<(>eacv tuiv dftaprubv. However, it must be observed, that ia this
latter text many cojnes have not Siu rov ctfiarog avTOv.
t Ephes. 1:10: Ta re ev Tolg ovpavolg kui ra kirl r?/g y;}f, h avro).
^ Colos. 1 : 20 : Ai' avrov eIte tu etzI rrjc y^r, dvE ra iv rolg ovpavolg.
II Ephes. 3 ; 2 : Trjv o'lKovofLtav x^pi-~^^ "^ov Qeov Ti/i dcrdharjr fiot €i(
^ Colos. 1 : 25 : T^v oiKovo/iiav tuv Qeov, t7)v doT^itaav /aoi eig vfiug
116 llORM PAULINA.
accompanying ideas are similar. In both places, they are
immediately preceded by the mention of his present suffer-
ings ; in both places, they are immediately followed by the
mention of the mystery which was the great subject of his
preaching.
Ephes. 5:19: "In psalms and hymns and spiritual
songs, singing and making melody in your hearts to the
Lord."^
Colos. 3:16: "In psalms and hymns and spiritual
songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord."!
Ephes. 6 : 22 : " Wliom I have sent unto you for the
game purpose, that ye might know our affairs, and that he
might comfort your hearts. "$
Colos. 4:8: " Whom I have sent unto you for the same
purpose, that he might know your estate, and comfort your
hearts."^
In these examples, we do not perceive a cento of phrases
gathered from one composition, and strung together in the
other, but the occasional occurrence of the same expression
to a mind a second time revolving the same ideas.
2. Whoever writes two letters, or two discourses, nearly
upon the same subject, and at no great distance of time, but
without any express recollection of what he had written
before, will find himself repeating some sentences in the
very order of the words in which he had already used them ;
but he will more frequently find himself employing some
principal terms, with the order inadvertently changed, or
with the order disturbed by the intermixture of other words
and phrases expressive of ideas rising up at the time ; or in
* Ephes. 5:19: "i^alfiolg kui vfivoig, Kai udaig TTvevfiarucaig "adovre;
<ui rpa?2ovT£g kv ry Kapdia v/iuv tu Kvptu.
t Colos. 3:16: "J'c/l^oif kui viivolc kui tjdalg livev/xantiaig, h x^tpLU
gdovTcc £v Ty Kapdca vficJv rw Kvpiu.
t Ephes. 6 : 22 : 'Ov iTzenipa npbg v/idg elg av-h rovro^ Iva yvcbre rci
TFpt Tjfiuv, Kai irapaKokicri rag KapSlag vfzCJv.
§ Colos. 4:8: 'Ov iirefXTpa Tzpog vfidg elg avrb tovto, Iva yvuTE rfi
repl vficJv, KUI TzanaKaMari rag Kapdlac viu.v.
EPISTLE TO THE EHIESIANS. 117
many instances repeating not single words, nor yet whole
sentences, but parts and fragments of sentences. Of all these
varieties the examination of our two epistles will furnish
plain examples ; and. I should rely upon this class of instan-
ces more than upon the last, because, although an impostor
might transcribe into a forgery entire sentences and phrases,
yet the dislocation of words, the partial recollection of phrases
and sentences, the intermixture of new terms and new ideas
with terms and ideas before used, which will appear in the
examples that follow, and which are the natural properties
of writings produced under the circumstances in which these
epistles are represented to have been composed — would not,
I think, have occurred to the invention of a forger ; nor, il
they had occurred, would they have been so easily executed.
This studied variation was a refinement in forgery which 1
beheve did not exist ; or, if we can suppose it to have been
practised in the instances adduced below, why, it may be
asked, was not the same art exercised upon those which wo
have collected in the preceding class ?
Ephes. 1 : 19 to 2 : 5 : "To us-ward who believe, accord-
ing to the working of his mighty power, which he wrought
in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, (and set hiiri
at his ovv'n right hand in the heavenly places, far above all
principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every
name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that
which is to come. And hath put all thmgs under his feet,
and gave him to be the head over all things to the church,
which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in aU.)
And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses
and sins ; (wherein m times past ye walked according to the
course of this world, according to the prince of the power of
tlie air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of diso-
bedience : among whom also we all had our conversation in
times past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires oi
the flesh and of the mind : and were by nature the children
of wrath, even as others. But God, who is rich in mercy, foi
118 UORJE PAULIJS^.
his great love wherewith he loved us,) even when we were
(lead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ."^
Colos. 2 : 12, 13 : " Through the faith of the operation
of God, who hath raised him from the dead : and you, being
dead in your sins and the uncircumcision of your flesh, hath
he quickened together with him."t
Out of the long quotation from the Ephesians take away
the parentheses, and you have left a sentence almost in terms
the same as the short quotation from the Colossians. The
resemblance is more visible in the original than in our trans-
lation ; for what is rendered in one place, "the working,"
and in another the "operation," is the same Greek term
evepyeia: m one place it is, rovg TriaTevovrac Kara ttjv kvipyeLav\ in
the other, 6La ttjc morecjc Tijg kvepyeiag. Here, therefore, we have
the same sentiment, and nearly in the same word^s ; but, in
the Ephesians, twice broken or interrupted by incidental
thoughts, which St. Paul, as his manner was, enlarges upon
by the way,$ and then returns to the thread of his discourse.
It is interrupted the first time by a view which breaks in
Upon his mind of the exaltation of Christ ; and the second
time by a description of heathen depravity. I have only to
remark that Griesbach, in his very accurate edition, gives
the parentheses very nearly in the same manner in which
they are here placed ; and that without any respect to the
comparison which we are proposing.
Ephes. 4 : 2-4 : " With all lowliness and meekness, with
long-suffering, forbearing one another in love ; endeavoring
to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There
* Eplies. 1 : 19, 20; 2 : 1, 5 : Tovf TTiorevovTag Kara ri)v evepyeiav
TOV Kparovg rfjg Icrxiog airov, 7]v evf/pyTjacv tv tu Xplaru, kyeipag avTov e\
vsKpcJv, Kui EKa-&La£V kv de^ia avrov kv Tolg eTrovpavloig — Koi vfiug ovtuc
VEKpovg rdig TiapairTtop-aGt kui ralg cfiapnatg — kui ovrag Vfiug veKpovg toi(
ircpaTTTu/xaai, ovve^cjOTcoiTjce rw Xplaro).
t Colos. 2 : 12, 13 : Aiu rfjg Tnoricjg TTJg bvepyhag tov Qeov tov h/ei-
navTog uvtov ek tuv veKpuv. KtU vfiag vEKpovg bvrag kv Tolg wapaTTTuficm
%ai Ty uKpofivoTLa rrjg aapKog Vfiiiv, cwe^uoTroiTjoe cvv avTu, .
J Vide Locke in loc.
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 119
js one body and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope
fif your calling."^
Colos. 3 : 12—15 : *' Put on therefore, as the elect of God,
holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of
mind, meekness, long-suffering, forbearing one another, and
forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against
any ; even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye. And above
all these things put on charity, v^hich is the bond of perfect-
ness ; and let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the
which also ye are called in one body."t
In these two quotations, the words raTTEcvo(ppocvvi], Tzpaorv,^.
izaicpo-dvfica, uvsxofiEvot uHtjIov, occur exactly in the same order:
ayd^rrj is also found in both, but in a different connection
cvvdeafiog tt/C Elp7]vrjg answers to cvv6£C^oq tijq reTieioTrjTog : EK?J/d7]Te
ev ivl cufian to iv ccjfia Kadug kul tK7a]-Q-)]Te ev fzca klTcidL : yet is this
similitude found in the midst of sentences otherwise very
different.
Ephes. 4:16: " From whom the whole body fitly joined
together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth,
according to the effectual working in the measure of every
part, maketh increase of the body."$
Colos. 2 : 19 : "From which all the body by joints and
bands having nourishment ministered and knit together, iii-
creaseth with the increase of God."§
* Ephes. 4 : 2-4 : Meru TzdGrjg Ta'7:eLvo^poavvi]g kul 7rpa6T7]Tog, /zert)
uaKpo-dviuag, dvexdfievoi oKTJrfKZiV hv dyuTTij' aT:ov6d(,ovTeg Ti]pdv ttjv ivo-
T7]Ta Tov TTvevtiaTog ev tu GvvdeGfKf) rrjg elpf^vrjg. "Ev GC)(J.a kul ev Trvevfia,
KuSdg KUL eKlTjdrjre Iv fiid i?i7zi.6t rJjg /c/lf/aecjf viiCjv.
t Colos. 3 : 12-15 : ^Evdvcac^e ovv c'lf kK?.eKTol tov Oeov, uytoi Kui
T/yaTiTJiievoi, a'n7.dyxva oLKTipfxcJv, xpv<^~OTr]Ta^ ra'KeLvo<ppoavvr]v. -npadrijra^
unKpodviiiav uvexofi^vot u7J<.7]lcjv, /cad a'^piC'V^^' eavTolg, edv rig izpog riva
hXV (lOii^Tjv Ka^dg kui u Xpcorbg exapiaaro vfuv, ovtu icui vfielg- em ttuoi
Se TOVTOLg T7jv dydmiv^ ^rig earl cvvdeaiiog rf/g Te7i,EL6rTjTog- kul tj Elpijvj] tov
Qef/b (3paf3£VETO) ev Tcug Kapdimg vjiuv, elg tjv kul £k7.tj^^t£ ev evl gu^qtl.
X Ephes. 4:16: 'E^ ov ttuv to ao)fj,a, avvapfioXoyovfievov kui gvii/Si-
Ba^div^-ov did ndGTjg d(pT/g TTJg emxopvyt-ag kut' ivepyEiav ev iiirpcj evb{
ixaGTOV flEpOVg, Tr/V UV^TjGLV tov GUflUTOg TZOlELTai.
§ Colos. 2:19: 'E^ ov ttuv to Gufxa^ did tCjv dcpcJv kul GvvdiGfiuv
iTrLXoprjydviiE^'ov kul GV[i[3L8aC6fi£vov, aifa t^v av^tjcLV tov Gcou.
120 HOE.^ PAULINA.
In these quotations are read e^ ov irav rb aufia avfil3tl3a^6fii vov
ill both places, kmxoprjyoviievov answering to kmxoprjyiag, dia tuv
d<^uv to 6ui Tzdavc a0W, av^ei lijv av^ijaiv to nocelTac tijv av^atv : and
yet the sentences are considerably diversified in other parts.
Ephes. 4:32: " And be kind one to another, tender-
hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sako
hath forgiven you."*
Colos. 3:13: " Forbearing one another, and forgiving
one another, if any man have a quarrel against any : even
as Christ forgave you, so also do ye."t
Here we have " forgiving one another, even as God for
Christ's sake," kv XpiarC), " hath forgiven you," in the first
quotation, substantially repeated in the second. But in the
second the sentence is broken by the interposition of a new
clause, " if any man have a quarrel against any ;" and the
latter part is a little varied : instead of " God in Christ," it
is " Christ hath forgiven you."
Ephes. 4 : 22-24 : " That ye put ofi^ concerning the for-
mer conversation the old man, which is corrupt according
to the deceitful lusts ; and be renewed in the spirit of your
mind ; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is
created in righteousness and true holiness."!
Colos. 3:9, 10 : " Seeing that ye have put off the old
man with his deeds ; and have put on the new man, which
is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that cre-
ated him."^
* E plies. 4 : 32 : Tcvsa^e ds hg a/lA^/louf ^PV^toi, evG7r?iayxvoi., x^^Pf--
0fj.EVOL iavTolg, Ka^&dg km 6 Qebg hv XpcuTG) exaplaaro vjuv.
t Colos. 3 : 13 : 'Avexoftsvoi uXXtjTmv, kul x(ipi^ofj.Evoi iavToIg, lav rtg
Tzpog TLva Ixv [t-oii^riv Ka-&dg Kut 6 Xpiarbg kxapiaaTO vfxiv, ovru kul vfielg.
t Ephes. 4 : 22-24 : ^AnoTdia^at vfidg /ccra r^v rrpoTEpav dvacrpo^^v
fbv TTaXaibv av&puTTOv tov (p^etpofxevov kutu Tug £7n-&vfilag rrjg uTTaTTjg'
avav£Ovc-&aL 6e rcj TrvivfiOTL tov vobg vficjv, kul tvdvaacr&at rdv Koivbv
avdpwKOV^ rbv Kara Qebv Kna^ivTa kv diKaioavvy Kdc oowttjtl TTJg aA?/-
^ELag.
§ Colos. 3:9, 10 : ^ATrsKdvadftevoL rbv iraXaibv "avdpu-KOv aiiv rati
TTpci^Edtv dvTov' Kac evdvodftevot rbv viov, tov dvaKacvcvuevov eig sTi-yiXi^iP
•£17 ' elKova TOV KTcaavTog dvTov.
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. i21
111 these quotations, " putting ofT the old man, and put
ting on the new," appears in both. The idea is furthei ex-
•plained by calhng it a renewal : in the one, " renewed in the
spirit of your mind ;" in the other, " renewed in knowledge."
In both, the new man is said to be formed according to the
same model : in the one, he is after God " created in right-
eousness and true holiness ;" in the other, he is renewed
" after the image of him that created him." In a word, it
is the same person writing upon a kindred subject, with the
terms and ideas which he had before employed still floating
in his memory.*'
Ephes. 5 : 6-8 : " Because of these ildngs cometh the
ivrath of God iifon the children of disobedience. Be not
ye therefore partakers with them. For ye were sometime
iarkness, but now are ye light in the Lord : walk as children
jf light."!
Colos. 3 : 6-8 : " For ivhich things' sake the ivrath of
God cometh on the children of disobedience : in the which
ye also walked some time when ye lived in them. But now
ye also put off all these. "$
These verses afibrd a specimen of that i^artial resem-
blance which is only to be met with when no imitation is
designed, when no studied recollection is employed, but
when the mind, exercised upon the same subject, is left to
the spontaneous return of such terms and phrases as, having
been used before, may happen to present themselves again.
* In these comparisons we often perceive the reason why the
writer, though expressing the same idea, uses a different term ; namely,
because the term before used is employed in the sentence under a dif-
ferent form : thus, in the quotations under our eye, the new man is
Kaivoq 'av^poTZog in the Ephesians, and tov viov in the Colossians; but
then it is because tov Kacvbv is used in the next word, uvaKawov^ <a>.
t Ephes. 5 : 6-S : Aici Tavra yap epxerai 7] bpyfj tov Qeov Ittl tov^
vhvg T?/g uTTeidelag. M?} ovv yivEcrQe (n)fi(j£Toxoi uvtuv. 'Hrc yap ttotf
JKOTog, vvv 6a (pCjg h Kvpicj* ug TtKva (poTug TieptTTarelTS.
t Colos. 3 : 6-8 : At.' a epx^rai rj upyf] tov Qeov eirl TOvg vlovg rf/c
U7:ei^eiag' kv olg kul v{j.elg ■KepLeTraTrjaaTs ttot€, ote k^fjTE hv aiiTolg. Nvvi
iVe d-Tod^ea^e kul v/xeig tu Truvra.
6
122 llORM PAULINA
The sentiment of both passages is throughout alike : hali
of that sentiment, the denunciation of God's wrath, is ex-
pressed in identical words; the other half, namely, the
admonition to quit their former conversation, in words en-
tirely different.
Ephes. 5:15, 16 : " See then that ye walk circumspsot-
ly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time."*
Colos. 4:5: " Walk in wisdom toward them that aie
without, redeeming the time."t
This is another example of that mixture which we re-
marked of sameness and variety in the language of one writer.
" Hedeeming the time," ^ayopaCofievoc rov Kacpdv, is a literal
repetition. " Walk not as fools, but as wise," TZEpmaTelre //^
cjf aao^ot, d/l/l' wf co(l)ot, answers exactly in sense, and nearly in
terms, to " walk in wisdom," Iv GO(l>ia Trspnraretre. mptnaTdTe
uKpt(3ioc is a very different phrase, but is intended to convey
precisely the same idea as neptTTa-dre Trpbg rovg e^u. 'AKptlSug is
not w^ell rendered " circumspectly." It means what in mod-
ern speech we should call " correctly ;" and when we advise
a person to behave "correctly," our advice is ahvays given
with a reference " to the opinion of others," Trpbg Tovg efw.
" Walk correctly, redeeming the time," that is, suiting your-
selves to the difficulty and ticklishness of the times in which
we live, " because the days are evil."
Ephes. 6 : 19, 20 : "And" praying "for me, that utter-
ance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth
boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel, for which
I am an ambassador in bonds : that therein I may speak
boldly, as I ought to speak."!
Colos. 4:3,4. " Withal praying also for us, that God
* Ephes. 5 : L'), 16: BMireTe ovv irug uKpi[3ug irspLrraTelre • {irj wf
'aaof^QL, a?>,/l' dg oocpol^ k^aynoa^oiievoL tov Kaipov.
t Colos. 4:5: ''Ev ao(pla TTEpnraTelTe Trpof Tovg e^io. tov Kaipbv i^ayo-
pa^ofiEuoc.
t Ephes. 6 : 19, 20: Kut VTzep efiov^ Iva [zot 6o&ity loyog h uvol^ei
TOV GTO/iaror fiov iv Tra^pTjata, yvuplaai rb [ivaT7]pL0v rov EvayysMov, viric
oi irptaBEVu kv uXvoel^ ''va iv avru 110^^7] aiu(70)fx.at, ug 6d ^e TiaTvrjcai.
EPISTLE TO THE E1HESIAN3. \2'i
would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak the mystery
of Christ, for which I am also in bonds : that I may make it
manifest, as 1 ought to speak."*
In these quotations, the phrase, " as I ought to speak,"
fjf (5a {le laki]aai^ the words "utterance," Ibyoq^ a "mystery,"
fwoT^fMv, "open," uvol^^) and Iv uvoi^a, are the same, "To
make known the mystery of the gospel," jvupioac to iivaTi/pLov,
answers to " make it manifest," ha (pavepuao) uvto; " for which
I am an ambassador in bonds," virep ov TrpEajSEvo) Iv ulvcet, to
"for which I am also in bonds," 61 b kul S^dsfiac
Ephes. 5 : 22-33 ; 6 : 1-9 : " Wives, submit yourselves
unto your own husbands, as U7ito the Lord. For the hus-
band is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head ol
the church : and he is the Saviour of the body. Therefore
as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to
their own husbands in every thing. Husbands, love your
ivives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave him-
self for it ; that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the
washing of water by the word, that he might present it to
himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or
any such thing ; but that it should be holy and without
blemish. So ought men to love their wives as their own
bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself For no
man ever yet hated his own flesh ; but nourisheth and chcr-
isheth it, even as the Lord the church : for we are members
of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. For this cause
shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined
unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is
a great mystery : but I speak concerning Christ and the
church. Nevertheless, let every one of you in particular so
love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she
reverence her husband. Children, obey yowr 'parents in
the Lord : for this is right. Honor thy father and mother
* Colos. 4 : 3, 4 : Ilpo(yevxofj,evoi ufia Kai irspl f)ficJv^ iva 6 Qebg uvot^
rjiuv -^vpav rov ?i6yov, Xa'kvoai to /jvaTT/ptov tov XptoTov, dt' 6 kui dstkjm;.
Iva <t>aveouau avTo, wf 6a ue ?M?{,7iGau
124 HOR^ PAULINiE.
(which is the first commandment with promise,) that it may
be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth
A7id ye fathers,, iirovohe not your children to ivraJi : but
bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.
Servants, be ohedlent to them that are your tnasters accord^
ing to the flesh, ivith fear and trembling, in singleness oj
your heart, as unto Christ : not with eye-service, as men-
lyleasers ; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of
God from the heart ; with good ivill doing service, as to
the Lord, and not to men : knowing that ivhatsoever good
thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord,
whether he be bond or free. And, j^e masters, do the same
things unto them, forbearing threatening : knoiving that
your Master also is in heaven ; neither is there respect of
persons with him."*
Colos. 3 : 18 :t "Wives, submit yourselves unto your
* Ephes. 5 : 22 : ki yvvalKsg, Tolg Idcoig uvdpaai,v VTCoraaaead^e, wf
T(j Kvpio).
t Colos. 3 : 18 : A.I yvvalKsg, vnoruaGea-Qe role; Idloic; uvSpuciv, wc
avTjKev kv Kvpc(fj.
Ephes. 5 : 25 : 01 'avdpcg, uya-ure tu^ yvvaiKag eavruv.
Colos. 3:19: 01 'avdpe^, a) a-dre Tug yvvalKag.
Ephes. 6:1: Td re/cva, vTraKovere Tolg yovii^Gtv i'ficJv kv Kvptu- rovro
yap koTL dlKaiov.
Colos. 3 : 20 : Td rinva, VTzaKOvere rolg yuvevatv Kara navra' rovro
yap kanv evapearov ru Kvpcu.
Ephes. 6:4: Kut ol Tvartpeg, (ii/ Trapopyi^ere ra reKva v(j,C)V.
Colos. 3 : 21 : 01 narepsg, fi^ iped^l^erE^ ra rsKva i'liuv.
Ephes, 6 : 5-8 : 0/ dov?iOt, VTraKOvere rolg Kvplocg Kara capaa //erd
(j>6(Sov Kat rpo/iov, Iv hnTibrriri rijg Kapdiag vficJv, ug ru 'KptarCi • iiij nar*
b^daT^nodovTieiav, cjg av&poTzdpecKOi, a72,' ug 6ov2x)c rov Xpiarov, Trocovvrsi
rb di2.i]fca rod Qeov sk ipvxvg' fJ^^^' svvoiag 6ov?.£Vovreg [cjg] ru Kvplu^ Ka:
ovK dv&p6)7roLg' eldoreg on b edv n tKaarog rcoujari dya-&bv, rovro KOfimrai
napa rov Kvplov, elre dovlog, elre fkev&epog.
Colos. 3 : 22 : 01 6ov7iOL, vrraKovere Kara rrdvra rolg Kara adpKa Ktpt-
Qig, iiTj kv b(p^a?i(io6ovA£Latg, ug dv&poTrapEGKOi, a}\}J kv 6.Ti:%br7jrL Kapdiag^
po'^oi^evoL rov Qebv kul ttHv b^rc kav TTOU/re, £/c tpvxvg kpyd^eade, uc r^i
Knpffd, Kal OVK avd^puTTotg- elbbreg ore utto Kvplov d-iro7^7pl>£G^e r^v civia
irjdomv rrjg KTojpovoiiiag' roj yap Kvplu XptGru) dovXevere.
* izapopyi^erE, lectio non spernenda. Griesbach.
EPISTLE TO THE EPliEfclANS. l^ii
own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord Husbands, love your
wives, and be not bitter against them Children, obey your
parents in all things ; for this is well pleasing unto the Lord.
Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be
discouraged. Servants, obey in all things your masters
according tc the flesh : not wdth eye-service, as men-pleas-
ers ; but in singleness of heart, fearing God : and whatsoever
ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men :
knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the
inheritance ; for ye serve the Lord Christ. But he that
doeth wrong, shall receive for the wrong which he hath
done ; and there is no respect of persons. Masters, give un-
to your servants that which is just and equal ; knowing that
ye also have a Master in heaven."
The passages marked by italics in the quotation from the
Ephesians, bear a strict resemblance, not only in significa-
tion, but in terms, to the quotation from the Colossians.
Both the words and the order of the words are, in many
clauses, a duplicate of one another. In the epistle to ihi
Colossians, these passages are laid together ; in that to the
Ephesians, they are divided by intermediate matter, espec-
ially by a long digressive allusion to the mysterious union
between Christ and his church ; which possessing, as Mr.
Locke has well observed, the mind of the apostle, from being
an incidental thought, grows up into the principal subject.
The affinity between these two passages in signification, in
terms, and in the order of the words, is closer than can be point-
ed out between any parts of any two epistles in the volume.
If the reader would see how the same subject is treated
by a difierent hand, and how distinguishable it is from the
production of the same pen, let him turn to the second and
third chapters of the first epistle of St. Peter. The duties
of &3rvants, of wives, and of husbands, are enlarged upon in
that epistle, as they are in the epistle to the Ephesians ; but
the subjects both occur in a difierent order, and the train oi
sentiment subjoined to each is totally unlike.
126 KOJLM PAULINA.
3. In two letters issuing from the same person, nearly at
the same time, and upon the same general occasion, we maj
expect to trace the influence of association in the order in
which the topics follow one another. Certain ideas univer-
sally or usually suggest others. Here the order is what we
call natural, and from such an order nothing can be con-
cluded. But when the order is arbitrary, yet alike, the
concurrence indicates the effect of that principle by which
ideas which have been once joined commonly revisit the
thoughts together. The epistles under consideration furnish
the two following remarkable instances of this species of
agreement :
Ephes. 4 : 24, 25 : '* And that ye put on the new man.
which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.
Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with
his neighbor : for we are members one of another."*
Colos. 3 : 9, 10 : " Lie not one to another, seeing that yc
have put off the old man with his deeds ; and have put on
the new man, which is renewed in knowledge."!
The vice of " lying," or a correction of that vice, does not
seem to bear any nearer relation to the " putting on the new
man," than a reformation in any other article of morals.
Yet these two ideas, we see, stand in both epistles in imm*^-
diate connection.
Ephes. 5:20, 21, 22: "Giving thanks always for all
things unto God and the Father, in the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ ; submitting yourselves one to another in the feaj
of God. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands
as unto the Lord "$
* Ephes. 4 : 24, 25 : Kac hdvaao^at. tov kglvov "av&pcoTrov, rbr <aTd
Qsbv KTca^evra ev diKaioovvy kui baLorrjTL ryg a?^7]^iiag' deb uTiodtiievoL ri
\pEv6og, TualelTE akrj^tiav EKaarog fieTu tov TT?^'r]aiov avTOv • on kcuhv 0AJI7
t Colos. 3:9, 10 : M^ tpevdea^e elg uIXtjTmvq^ uTtsKdvaa^evoL rev ta-
XaiJbv 'av&po)7zov, cvv ToXg Troa^eatv uvtov, koi hivGcifievoc rbv viov. rdv
avaKaivoi'uevov elg emyvucLV.
t Ephes. 5 : 20, 21, 22 : EvxapiaroiivTeg iravTon virhp ttuvtov, kx
EPISTLE TO TuE EPIlKblANS. 1:27
Colos. 3 : 17, 18 : "Whatsoever ye do in word or deed.
do all ill the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God
and the Father by him. Wives, submit yourselves unto your
own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord."*
In both these passages, submission follows giving of
thanks, without any similitude in the ideas which should
account for the transition.
It is not necessary to pursue the comparison between the
two epistles further. The argument which results from it
stands thus. No two other epistles contain a circumstance
which indicates that they were written at the same, or near-
ly at the same time. No two other epistles exhibit so many
marks of correspondency and resemblance. If the original
which we ascribe to these two epistles be the true one, that
is, if they were both really written by St. Paul, and both
sent to their respective destination by the same messenger.
the similitude is in all points what should be expected to
take place. If they were forgeries, then the mention of
Tychicus in both epistles, and in a manner which shows that
he either carried or accompanied both epistles, was inserted
for the purpose of accounting for their similitude ; or else
the structure of the epistles was designedly adapted to the
circumstance ; or lastly, the conformity between the con-
tents of the forgeries, and what is thus directly intimated
concerning their date, was only a happy accident. Not one
of these three suppositions will gain credit with a reader
who peruses the epistles with attention, and who reviews
the several examples we have pointed out, and the observa-
tions with which they were accompanied.
II. There is such a thing as a peculiar word or phrase
cleaving, as it were, to the memory of a writer or speaker,
ivoiiaTL rov Kvplov ?)fj.cJv ^Itjgov XpiGTOv, tu Qeu kol Tzarpi, VTroTaoaSfievoi
xX?iJjh)LC £v <p6(3u Qeoi: Al yvvcuKtc, -^olg idioig uvdpuacv VTTLiTuacEa&e,
6f Tu Kvplc)
* Colos 3 : 17, 18 : Kuc irav b,Tc uv 7roi/}-e, h 7.6yio^ rj Iv IpyCfi, ncvT^
•V ovoftart Kvpiov ^hjaov, ei'xapLCTOvvTEC r<p Qeu Kci 'Karpl 6C avrov. Ai
•tTOi/cff, vnoTaaaeade rolq iSioig uvt^puaLV^ ug avijKn' ev Kvpuj.
(28 KORM PAULINA.
and presenting itself to his utterance at every turn. "When
we observe this, we call it a cant word or a ca?it phrase.
It is a natural effect of habit ; and would appear more fre-
quently than it does, had not the rules of good writing taught
the ear to be offended with the iteration of the same sound,
and oftentimes caused us to reject, on that account, the word
which offered itself first to our recollection. With a writer
who, like St. Paul, either knew not these rules, or disregard-
ed them, such words wdll not be avoided. The truth is, an
example of this kind runs through several of his epistles, and
in the epistle before us abou7ids ; and that is in the word
riches, Tr^oCrof, used metaphorically as an augmentative ol
the idea to which it happens to be subjoined. Thus, "the
riches of his glory," "his riches in glory," ''riches of the
glory of his inheritance," ''riches of the glory of this myste-
ry," Rom. 9 : 23 ; Ephes. 3:16; Phil. 4:19; Ephes. 1:18;
Colos. 1 : 27 : "riches of his grace," twice in the Ephe-
sians, 1 : 7, and 2:7; " riches of the full assurance of un-
derstanding," Colos. 2:2; "riches of his goodness," Rom.
2:4; " riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God," Rom.
11:33; " riches of Christ," Ephes. 3 : 8. In a like sense,
the adjective, Rom. 10 : 12, "rich unto all that call upon
him ;" Ephes. 2:4, " 7'ich in mercy ;" 1 Tim. 6 : 18, "rich
in good works." Also the adverb, Colos. 3 : 16, "let the
w^ord of Christ dwell in you richly.'' This figurative use oi
the w^ord, though so familiar to St Paul, does not occur in
any part of the New Testament, except once in the epistle
of St. James, 2:5: " Hath not God chosen the poor of this
world rich in faith?" where it is manifestly suggested by
ihe antithesis. I propose the frequent, yet seemingly un-
affected use of this phrase, in the epistle before us, as one
internal mark of its genuineness.
III. There is another singularity in St. Paul's style,
which, wherever it is found, may be deemed a badge of au'
thenticity ; because, if it were noticed, it would not, I think,
be imitated, hiasmuch as it almost always produces embar-
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 12^
rassment and interruption in the reasoning. This singulari-
ty is a species of digression which may properly, I think, be
denominated going off at a word, it is turning aside from
the subject upon the occurrence of some particular word,
forsaking the train of thought then in hand, and entering
npon a parenthetic sentence in which that word is the pre-
vailing term. I shall lay before the reader some example.?
of this collected from the other epistles, and then propose
two examples of it which are found in the epistle to the
Ephesians. In 2 Cor. 2 : 14-17, at the word savor : "Now
thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in
Christ, and maketh manifest the savor of his knowledge by
us in every place. (For we are unto God a sweet savor ol
Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish : to
the one we are the savor of death unto death, and to the
other the savor of life unto life. And who is sufficient for
these things ?) For we are not as many which corrupt the
word of God : but as of sincerity, but as of God, in the sight
of God speak we in Christ." Again, 2 Cor. 3 : 1-3, at the
word epistle: "Need we, as some others, ejnstles of com-
mendation to you, or of commendation from you ? (Ye are
our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all
men : forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the
epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but
with the Spirit of the living God : not in tables of stone, but
in the fleshly tables of the heart.") The position of the
words in the original, shows more strongly than in the trans-
lation, that it was the occurrence of the Avord kmaTolrj which
gave birth to the sentence that follows : 2 Cor. 3:1. E/
M^ XPV^ofJ'SV, ug TLveg, crvGTanKcJv emaroXuv npog vfiui; ?} e^ v(icJv avcra-
ri-cuv; rj entaroTirj r^fiuv vnetg lore, eyysypa^idvrj kv ralg Kap&kug i/fj-cov.
] t yuaKOfih-r} kul uvaytvuaKOfievT] vtto iravruv uv&pQiTuv • cpavspovfievoL Cn i
iore E7naT0?i?j Xpiarov 6uiK0vr]-&elaa v^' r/fiuv, ey/Eypa/i[XEvr} ov /.liT^vi,
aX^a TTVEvmri Qeov ^uvTog' ovk ev Tzka^l Ic^tvatg, uKK ev irla^l Kapdia^
japtdvaic.
Again, 2 Cor. 3 : 12, etc., at the word veil • •' Seeing
Ilora- Paul. 21
130 HORiE PAULINA.
then that we have such hope, we use great plainness of
speech : and not as Moses, which put a veil over his face,
that the children of Israel could not steadfastly look to the
end of that which is abolished : hut their minds were bUnd-
ed ; for until this day remaineth the same veil untaken
away in the reading of the Old Testament, which veil is
done away in Christ. But even unto this day, when Moses
iS read, the veil is upon their heart. Nevertheless, when it
shall turn to the Lord, the veil shall be taken away. (Now
the Lord is that Spirit ; and where the Spirit of the Lord is,
there is liberty.) But we all Avith open face beholding as in
a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same
image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of Lhe Loid.
Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received
mercy, we faint not."
Who sees not that this whole allegory of the veil arisej*
entirely out of the occurrence of the word, in telling us that
" Moses put a veil over his face," and that it drev/ the
apostle away from the proper subject of his discourse, the
dignity of the office in which he w^as engaged ? which sub-
ject he fetches up again almrost in the words with which he
had left it : " therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we
have received mercy, we faint not." The sentence which
he had before been going on with, and in which he had
been interrupted by the veil, was, " Seeing then that we
have such hope, we use great plainness of speech."
Li the epistle to the Ephesians, the reader will remark
two instances in which the same habit of composition obtains :
he will recognize the same pen. One he will find, chap.
4 : 8-1 1, at the word ascended : " Wherefore he saith. When
be ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave
gifts unto men. (Now that he ascended, what is it but that
he also descended first unto the lower parts of the earth ?
H3 that descended is the same also that ascended up fax
above all heavens, that he might fill all things.) And he
gave some, apostles," etc.
EPISTLE TO THE ETHESIANS. 131
The ether appears, chap. 5 : 12-15, at the v^ord light:
•• For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are
done of them in secret. But all things that are reproved,
are made manifest by the light: (for whatsoever doth make
manifest is light. Wherefore he saith. Awake, thou that
sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee
light.) See then that ye walk circumspectly."
IV. Although it does not appear to have ever been dis-
puted that the epistle before us was written by St. Paul,
yet it is well known that a doubt has long been entertained
concerning the persons to whom it was addressed. The
question is founded partly on some ambiguity in the external
evidence. Marcion, a heretic of the second century, as
quoted by Tertullian, a father in the beginning of the third,
calls it the epistle to the Laodiceans. From what we know
of Marcion, his judgment is little to be rehed upon; nor is
it perfectly clear that Marcion was rightly understood by
Tertulhan. If, however, Marcion be brought to prove thai
some copies in his time gave h AaoSiKeca in the superscription
his testimony, if it be truly interpreted, is not diminished b)
his heresy ; for, as Grotius observes, " cu?' in cd re menti
retiir nihil erat caused.''' The name kv 'E^eatj, in the firs'
\rerse, upon which word singly depends the proof that th«
epistle was written to the Ephesians, is not read in all tht
manuscripts now extant. I admit, however, that the exter-
nal evidence preponderates with a manifest excess on the
side of the received reading. The objection, therefore, prin-
cipally arises from the contents of the epistle itself, which,
in many respects, militate with the supposition that it was
written to the church at Ephesus. According to the his-
tory, St. Paul had passed two whole years at Ephesus.
A.cts 19:10. And in this point, namely, of St. Paul having
preached for a considerable length of time at Ephesus, the
history is confirmed by the two epistles to the Corinthians,
and by the two epistles to Timothy. "I will tarry at
Ephesus until Pentecost ". 1 Cor. 16 ; 8. " We would not
132 aORM PAULINA.
have you ignorant of our trouble which can.e to us in Asia.'*
2 Cor. 1:8. " As I beso^aght thee to abide still at E2')hesuSj
when I went into Macedonia." 1 Tim. 1:3. " And in
how many tnings he ministered to me at Ephesus, thou
knowest very well." 2 Tim. 1:18. I adduce these testi-
monies, because, had it been a competition of credit between
the history and the epistle, I should have thought myself
boi<nd to have preferred the epistle. Now, eveiy epistle
which St. Paul wrote to churches which he himself had
founded, or which he had visited, abounds with references
md appeals to what had passed during the time that he
was present among them ; whereas there is not a text, in
the epistle to the Ephesians, from which we can collect that
he had ever been at Ephesus at all. The two epistles to
the Corinthians, the epistle to the Galatians, the epistle to
the Philippians, and the two epistles to the Thessalonians
are of this class ; and they are full of allusions to the apos-
tle's history, his reception, and his conduct while among
them : the total want of which, in the epistle before us, is
very difficult to account for, if it was in truth written to the
church of Ephesus, in which city he had resided for so long
a time. This is the first and strongest objection. But fur-
ther, the epistle to the Colossians was addressed to a church
in wliich St. Paul had never been. This we infer from the
first verse of the second chapter : " For I would that ye knew
wdiat great conflict I have for you, and for them at Laodicea,
and for as many as have not seen my face in the flesh."
There could be no propriety in thus joining the Colossians
and Lao.iiceans wdth those "who had not seen his face in
the flesh," if they did not also belong to the same descrip-
lion.* Now, his address to the Colossians, whom he had
aot visited, is precisely the same as his address to the Chris-
dans to whom he wrote in the epistle which we are now
considering : •' We give thanks to God and the Father of our
-* Dr. Lardner contends against the validity of this oonclusion;
but I think without success. Laupntse, vol. 14, p. 47.3, edit. 1757.
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESJANS. . 133
Lord Jesus Christ, praying always for you, sbice ive heard
of your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love which ye have
to all the saints." Col. 1:3. Thus he speaks to the Ephe
sians, in the epistle before us, as follows : " Wherefore I also,
after I licard of your faith in the Lord Jesus, and love unto
all the saints, cease not to give thanks for you, making men-
tion of you in my prayers." Chap. 1:15. The terms of
thi;i address are observable. The words " having heard of
your faith and love," are the very words, we see, which he
uses towards strangers ; and it is not probable that he should
employ the same in accosting a church in which he had long
exercised his ministry, and whose "faith and love" he must
have personally known. *= The epistle to the Romans was
written before St. Paul had been at Rome ; and his address
to them runs in the same strain with that just now quoted :
" I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your
faith is spoke7i of throughout the whole world." Rom. 1 : 8.
Let us now see what was the form in which our apostle was
accustomed to introduce his epistles, when he wrote to those
with whom he was already acquainted. To the Corinthi-
ans it was this : " I thank my God always on your behalf,
for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ."
1 Cor. 1:4. To the Philippians : " I thank my God upor
every remembrance of you." Phil. 1:3. To the Tliessa-
lonians : •' We give thanks to God always for you all, making
mention of you in our prayers; remembering without ceas-
ing your work of faith, and labor of love." 1 Thess. 1 : 3,
To Timothy : " I thank God, whom I serve from my fore-
* Mr. Locke endeavors to avoid this difficulty, by explaining
*■'■ their faith, of which St. Paul had hea.rd," to mean the steadfastnc;5F
of their persuasion that they were called into the kingdom of Gol,
without subjection to the Mosaic institution. But this interpretation
ieems to me extremely hard • for in the manner in which faith is here
jcined with love, in the expression " your faith and love," it could not
mean to denote any particular tenet which distinguished one set oi
Christians from others : forasmuch as the expression describes the gen-
oraJ virtues of the Christian profession. Vide Locke in loc.
i.34 HOR^ PAU LUS^:.
fathers with pure conscieiice, that without ceasing I havt>
remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day." 2 Tim
1:3. In these quotations, it is usually his remembrance,
jind never his hearing of them, which he makes the subject
of his thankfulness to God.
As great difficulties stand in the way of supposing the
epistle before us to have been written to the churcli oi
Ephesus, so I think it probable that it is actually the epistle
to the Laodiceans referred to in. the fourth chapter of the
epistle to the Colossians. The text which contains that ref-
erence is this : " When this epistle is read among you, cause
that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans, and
that ye likewise read the epistle from Laodicea." Ver. 16.
The " epistle /rom Laodicea," was an epistle sent by St. Paul
to that church, and by them transmitted to Colosse The
two churches were mutually to communicate the epistles
they had received. This is the way in which the direction
is explained by the greater part of commentators, and is the
most probable sense that can be given to it. It is also prob-
able that the epistle alluded to was an epistle which had
been received by the church of Laodicea lately. It appears
then, with a considerable degree of evidence, that there exist-
ed an epistle of St. Paul's nearly of the same date with the
epistle to the Colossians, and an epistle directed to a churca —
for such the church of Laodicea was — in wdiich St. Paul
had never been. What has been observed concerning the
epistle before us, shows that it answers perfectly to that
character.
Nor does the mistake seem very difficult to account for.
Whoever inspects the map of Asia Minor will see, that a
person proceeding from E-ome to Laodicea would probably
land at Ephesus, as the nearest frequented seaport in that
direction. Might not Tychicus then, in passing through
Ephesus, communicate to the Christians of that place the
letter with wdiich he was charged ? And might not copies
of that letter be multiplied and preserved a1^ Eohesus ?
hPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. 135
Might not some of the copies drop the words of designation
h* Ty AaocWeta* which it was of no consequence to an Ephe-
sian to letain ? Might not copies of the letter come out
into the Christian church at large from Ephesus; and might
not this give occasion to a beUef that the letter was written
to that church ? And lastly, might not this beUef produce
the error which we suppose to have crept into the in-
scription ?
V. As our epistle purports to have been written during
St. Paul's imprisonment at Rome, which lies beyond the
period to which the Acts of the Apostles brings up his his-
tory ; and as we have seen and acknowledged that the epis-
tle contains no reference to any transaction at Ephesus
during the apostle's residence in that city, we cannot expect
that it should supply many marks of agreement with the
narrative. One coincidence however occurs, and a coinci-
dence of that minute and less obvious kind, which, as has
been repeatedly observed, is most to be relied upon.
Chap. 6 : 19, 20, we read, praying " for me, that I may
open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the
gospel, for which I am an ambassador in bonds." " I/t
bo7ids" ev akvccL, in a chain. In the twenty-eighth chapter
* And it is remarkable that there seem to have been some ancient
copies without the words of designation, either the words in Ephesus^
or the words in Laodicca. St. Basil, a writer of the fourth century,
speaking of the present epistle, has this very singular passage : "And
writing to the Ephesians, as truly united to him who is through know-
ledge, he," Paul, "calleth them in a peculiar sense such who are / say-
ing to the saints who are and^^^ or even, " the faithful in Christ Jesus ; for
so those before us have transmitted it, and we have found it m ancient
copies." Dr. Mill interprets — and, notwithstanding some obj,*.ctions
that have been made to him, in my opinion rightly interprets — tbes':>.
words of Basil, as declaring that his father had seen certain copies oi
the epistle in which the words "in Ephesus" were wanting. And
the passage, I think, must be considered as Basil's fanciful way of
explaining what was really a corrupt and defective reading; for I do
not believe it possible that the author of the epistle could have origi-
nally written dyioig rolg oiViv, without any nair.e of place to follow it
136 HORiE PAULm^E.
of tlift Acts, we are informed that Paul, after liis arrival ai
Rome, was suffered to dwell by himself with a soldier that
kept him. Dr. Lardner has shown that this mode of custody
was in use among the Romans, and that whenever it was
adopted, the prisoner was bound to the soldier by a single
chain : in reference to which St. Paul, in the twentieth
verse of this chapter, tells the Jews whom he had assem
bled, " For this cSuse therefore have I called for you, to see
you, and to speak with you, because that for the hope oi
Israel I am bound icithtlds cliaiji^' rijv a7a}Giv TavTrjvnepliianai.
It is in exact conformity therefore with the truth of St. Paul's
Eituation at the time, that he declares of himself in the epis-
tle, Ttpec^evu h akvoEc. And the exactness is the more remark-
able, as ulvcLg — a chain — is nowhere used in the singulai
number to express any other kind of custody. When the
prisoner's hands or feet were bound together, the word was
<5ea/zdi, bonds, as in the twenty-sixth chapter of the Acts,
where Paul replies to Agrippa, " I would to God that not
only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both
almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds,''
napEKToc ro)v deofiuv tovtuv. "When the prisoner was confined
oetween two soldiers, as in the case of Peter, Acts 12:6,
two chains were employed ; and it is said upon his miracu-
lous deliverance, that the " chains" — &?iVGeLg, in the plural —
*' fell from his hands." Aecfibg the noun, and didenat the verb,
being general terms, were applicable to this in common with
any other species of personal coercion ; but alvacg, in the sin-
gular number, to none but this.
If it can be suspected that the Avriter of the present
epistle, who in no other particular appears to have availed
himself of the information concerning St. Paul delivered in
the Acts, had in this verse borrowed the word which he
read in that book, and had adapted his expression to what
he found there recorded of St. Paul's treatment at Rome ;
m short, that the coincidence here noted was effected by
craft and design — I think it a strong reply to remark, that
EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS. Vd7
in llie parallel passage of the epistle to the Colossians, the
same allusion is not preserved : the words there are, " pray-
ing also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utter-
ance, to speak the mystery of Christ, for which I a??i also in
bonds,'' 6C b mc Sidefiai. After what has been shown in a
preceding number, there can be little doubt but that these
two epistles were written by the same person. If the writer,
therefore, sought for, and fraudulently inserted the corre-
spondency into one epistle, why did he not do it in the other ?
A. real prisoner might use either general words which com-
prehend this among many other modes of custody, or might
use appropriate words which specified this, and distinguished
it from any other mode. It would be accidental which form
of expression he fell upon. But an impostor, who had tho
art in one place to em.ploy the appropriate term foi the
purpose of fraud, would have used it in both places
21*
138 HORiE TAULINA.
CHAPTER VII.
THE EPISTLE TO THE PHILIPPIANS-
I. When a transaction is referred to in such a manner
as that the reference is easily and immediately understood
by those who are beforehand, or from other quarters, ac-
quainted with the fact, but is obscure or imperfect, or re-
quires investigation or a comparison of different parts, in
order to be made clear to other readers, the transaction so
referred to is probably real ; because, had it been fictitious,
the writer would have set forth his story more fully and
plainly, not merely as conscious of the fiction, but as con-
scious that his readers could have no other knowledge of the
subject of his allusion than from the information of which
he put them in possession.
The account of Epaphroditus, in the epistle to the Philip-
pians, of his journey to Rome, and of the business which
brought him thither, is the article to which I mean to apply
this observation. There are three passages in the epistle
v/hich relate to this subject. The first, chap. 1:7," Even
as it is meet for me to think this of you all, because I have
you in my heart ; inasmuch as both in my bonds, and in the
defence and confirmation of the gospel, ye all are cvyKOivuvoi
(lov TTjg xm'^og, joint contributors to the gift which I have
received."* Nothing more is said in this place. In the
latter part of the second chapter, and at the distance of half
the epistle from the last quotation, the subject appears again :
.*' Yet I supposed it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus,
my brother, and companion in labor, and fellow-soldier, but
* Pearce, I believe, was the first commentator who gave this sense
to the expression; and I believe also that his exposition is now gen-
erally assented to. He interprets in the same sense the phrase in the
fifth verse, which our translation renders " your fellowship in the gos-
pel;" but which in the original is not KOivcovla tov cvayyeXlov, ox KOLVii-
via Iv TU) evayye^uo), but koivuviq. kvc rh evayyiliov.
EPISTLE TO THE PHILIPPIANS. 139
your messenger, and he that ministered to my ivaiit.^. For
he longed after you all, and was full of heaviness, because
that ye had heard that he had been sick. For indeed he
was sick nigh unto death ; but God had mercy on him ; and
not on him only, but on me also, lest 1 should have sorrow
upon sorrow. I sent liim therefore the more carefully, that,
when ye see him again, ye may rejoice, and that I may be
the less sorrowful. Receive him therefore in the Lord with
all gladness ; and hold such in reputation : because for the
work of Christ he w^as nigh imto death, not regarding his
life, to sup2^ly your lack of service towards me." Chap.
2 : 25-30. The matter is here dropped, and no further
mention made of it till it is taken up near the conclusion of
the epistle as follows : " But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly,
that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again ;
wherein ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity.
Not that I speak in respect of want : for I have learned, in
whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know
both how to be abased, and I know how to abound ; every-
where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and
to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do
all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. Not
withstanding, ye have well done that ye did communicate
with my affliction. Now ye Philippians, know also, that in
the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedo-
nia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving
and receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent
once and again unto my necessity. Not because I desire a
gift : but I desire fruit that may abound to your account.
But I have all. and abound : I am full, having received of
Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you." Chap.
4 : 10-18. To the Philippian reader, Avho knew that con-
tributions were wont to be made in that church for the apos-
tle's subsistence and relief, that the supply which they were
accustomed to send to him had been delayed by the want of
Dpportunity, that Epaphroditus had undertaken the charge
140 JIOKiE PAULlNiE.
of conveying their liberality to the hands of the apostle, that
he had acquitted himself of this commission at the peril of
his life, by hastening to Rome under the oppression of a
grievous sickness — to a reader who knew all this beforehand,
every line in the above quotations would be plain and clear.
But how is it with a stranger? The knowledge of these
several particulars is necessary to the perception and expla-
nation of the references ; yet that knowledge must be gath-
ered from a comparison of passages lying at a great distance
from one another. Texts must be interpreted by texts long
subsequent to them, which necessarily produces embarrass-
ment and suspense. The passage quoted from the beginning
of the epistle contains an acknowledgment, on the part o^
the apostle, cf the liberality which the Philippians had exer-
cised towards him ; but the allusion is so general and inde-
terminate, that, had nothing more been said in the sequel of
the epistle, it would hardly have been applied to this occa-
sion at all. In the second quotation, Epaphroditus is de-
clared to have " ministered to the apostle's wants," and "tc
have supplied their lack of service towards him ;" but hoio\
that is, at whose expense or from what fund he " minister-
ed," or what was " the lack of service " which he supphed,
are left very much unexplained, till we arrive at the third
quotation, where we find that Epaphroditus " ministered to
St. Paul's wants," only by conveying to his hands the con-
tributions of the Philippians : " I am full, having received oi
Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you ;" and
that "the lack of service which he supplied" was a delay
or interruption of their accustomed bounty, occasioned by
.the want of opportunity : " I rejoiced in the Lord greatly
that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again ,
wherein ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity/'
The afiair at length comes out clear : but it comes out by
piecemeal. The clearness is the result of the reciprocal
illustration of divided texts. Should any one choose there-
fore to insinuate, that this whole story of Epaphroditus, oi
ETTSTLE TO THE PHILIPPJANS. 141
his journey; his errand, his sickness, or even his existence
might, for what we know, have no other foundation than in
the invention of the forger of the epistle ; I answer, that a
forger would have set forth this story connectedly, and also
more fully and more perspicuously. If the epistle he authen-
tic, and the transaction real, then every thing which is said
concerning Epaphroditus and his commission would he clear
to those into whose hands the epistle was expected to come.
Considering the Philippians as his readers, a person might
naturally write upon the suhject, as the author of the epistle
has written ; but there is no supposition of forgery with
which it will suit.
II. The history of Epaphroditus supphes another obser-
vation : " Indeed he was sick, nigh unto death ; but God
had mercy on him : and not on him only, but on me also,
lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow." In this passage
no intimation is given that Epaphroditus' recovery was
miraculous. It is plainly, I think, spoken of as a natural
event. This instance, together with one in the second epis-
tle to Timothy, " Trophimus have I left at Miletum sick,"
afibrds a proof that the power of performing cures, and, by
parity of reason, of working other miracles, was a powei
which only visited the apostles occasionally, and did not at
all depend upon their own will. Paul undoubtedly would
have healed Epaphroditus if he could. Nor, if the power
of working cures had awaited his disposal, would he have
left his fellow-traveller at Miletus sick. This, I think, is a
fair observation upon the instances adduced ; but it is not
the observation I am concerned to make. It is more for the
purpose of my argument to remark, that forgery, upon such
an occasion, would not have spared a miracle ; much less
would it have introduced St. Paul professing the utmost
anxiety for the safety of his friend, yet acknowledging him-
self unable to help him ; which he does, almost expressly,
in the case of Trophimus, for he " left him sick ;" and vir-
tually in the passage before us, in which he felicitates him-
142 HOR^ PAULINiE.
gelf upon the recovery of Epaphroditus, in terms which
almost exclude the supposition of any supernatural means
being employed to effect it. This is a reserve which nothing
but truth would have imposed.
III. Chap. 4 : 15, 16 : "Now ye Philippians, know also,
that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from
Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning
giving and receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica
ye sent once and again unto my necessity."
It will be necessary to state the Greek of this passage,
because our translation does not, I think, give the sense of it
accurately.
OlSaTE de Kcic vfielg, ^L/Wnnfjaioi^ on h apxy rov £vayy£?uov, ore l^f/A-
&OV u-nb MaKEdoviag, ovdefiia fioc kKn?i7]aia £koivC)VT]G£v, hg loyov 66a£ug
KtU }Jr]-\pEUQ, el iiT] vfiEig uovoc on mc kv QecGa/^ovLKri Kut u-a^ kuc, dig eig
TT/v rpe^dv uoL k-ifi-djaTE.
The reader will please to direct his attention to the cor-
responding particulars 6n and ore kui, which connect the
words h upxy rov £va-yy£?uov, ore £^r]7Sov utco MaKEdovtag, With the
words h QEaaalovlKTi, and denote, as I interpret the passage,
two distinct donations, or rather donations at two distinct
periods, one at Thessalonica, uTra^ Kai 6lg, the other after his
departure from Macedonia, ore k^yMov and MaKedoviag.* T
would render the passage so as to mark these different
periods, thus : " Now ye Philippians, know also, that in the
beo-inning of the gospel, when I was departed from Macedo-
iiia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving
and receiving, but ye only. And that also in Thessalonica
* Luke 2 : 15: Kac tyEVETO, ug u-t]Mov aif avTcJv hg rov ovpavov
oi 'ayy£2.oi, " as the angels were gone away," that is, after their de-
parture, at TTOifiEVEg eIttov irpbg u7.7Jri7.ovg. Mat. 12 : 43 : "Orav Sk t^
amddpTov irvevfJ-a e^eMti utto tov av^puTtov, '-when the unclean spirit
is gone," that is, after his departure, diipxsTac. John 13:30: 'Ore
e^flTi^E (liwdag,) "when he was gone," that is, after his departure,
leyE-^ 'l7]oovg. Acts 10:1 : ugde imril^EV 6 'ayyElog 6 7n7L)V rw KopvT/-
^6), •' and when the angel which spake unto him was departed," that
is, after Ms departure, ipuvijaag 6vd tuv oIketuv, etc.
EPISTLE TO THE PHILIPl'lANS. 143
ye sent once and again unto my necessity." Now with this
exposition of the passage compare 2 Cor. 11 :8, 9: "[
robbed other churches, taking wages of them, to do you ser-
vice. And when I was present with you, and wanted, I
was chargeable to no man ; for that which was lacking to
me the brethren which came from Macedonia suppHed."
It, appears from St. Paul's history, as related in the Acts
of the Apostles, that upon leaving Macedonia, he passed,
after a very short stay at Athens, into Achaia. It appears,
secondly, from the quotation out of the epistle to the Corin-
thians, that in Achaia he accepted no pecuniary assistance
from the converts of that country ; but that he drew a sup-
ply for liis wants from the Macedonian Christians. Agree-
ably whereunto it appears, in the third place, from the text
which is the subject of the present number, that the breth-
ren in Philippi, a city of Macedonia, had followed him with
their munificence, ore i^yjldw drro 'M.aKEdoviag, when he was
departed from Macedonia, that is, when he was come into
Achaia.
The passage under consideration affords another cir-
fjumstance of agreement deserving of our notice. The gift
alluded to in the epistle to the Philippians is stated to have
been made " in the beginning of the gospel." This phrase
is most naturally explained to signify the first preaching of
the gospel in these parts ; namely, on that side of the ^gean
sea. The succors referred to in the epistle to the Corinthi-
ans, as received from Macedonia, are stated to have been
received by him upon his first visit to the peninsula of
Greece. The dates therefore assigned to the donation in
the two epistles agree ; yet is the date in one ascertained
very incidentally, namely, by tht considerations which fix
tlie date of the epistle itself; and in the other, by an ex-
pression— " the beginning of the gospel" — much too general
to have been used if the text had been penned with any
view to the correspondency we are remarking.
Further, the phrase, "in the beginning cf the gospe!/'
144 KOHm PAULINJE.
raises an idea in the reader's mind that the gospel liad been
preached there more than once. The writer would hardly
have called the visit to which he refers the '= beginning of
the gospel," if he had not also visited them in some other
stage of it. The fact corresponds with this idea. If we
consult the sixteenth and twentieth chapters of the Acts., we
shall find, that St. Paul, before his imprisonment at Home,
during which this epistle purports to have been written, had
been tivice in Macedonia, and each time at Philippi.
IV. That Timothy had been long with St. Paul at Phi-
lippi is a fact which seems to be implied in this epistle twice.
First, he joins in the salutation with which the epistle
opens : " Paul and Timotheus, the servants of Jesus Christ,
to all the saints in Christ Jesus which are at Philippi."
Secondly, and more directly, the point is inferred from what
is said concerning him, chap. 2:19: "But I trust in the
Lord Jesus to send Timotheus shortly unto you, that I also
may be of good comfort, when I know your state. For I
have no man like-minded, who will naturally care for your
state. For all seek their own, not the things which are
Jesus Christ's. But ye knoio the 'proof of Mm, that as a
son with the father, he hath served with me in the gospel."
Had Timothy's presence with St. Paul at Phihppi, when he
preached the gospel there, been expressly remarked in the
Acts of the Apostles, this quotation might be thought to
contain a contrived adaptation to the history ; although,
oven in that case, the averment, or rather the allusion in
the epistle, is too oblique to afford much room for such sus-
picion. But the truth is, that in the history of St. Paul's
transactions at Philippi, which occupies the greatest part of
the sixteenth chapter of the Acts, no mention is made of
Timothy at all. What appears concerning Timothy in the
history, so far as relates to the present subject, is this : when
Paul came to Derbe and Lystra, "behold a certain disciple
was there, named Timotheus. . . . Him would Paul have to
go forth wdth him." The narrative then proceeds with tht
EPJSTLE TO THE PillLlTPlANS. IIA
account of St. Paul's progress through various provinces of
the lesser Asia, till it brings him down to Troas. At Troas
he was warned in a vision to pass over into Macedonia. In
obedience to which, he crossed the iEgean sea to Samothra
cia, the next day to Neapolis, and from thence to Philippi.
Ilis preaching, miracles, and persecutions at Philippi followed
next : after which Paul and his company, when they had
passed through Amphipolis and Apollonia, came to Thessa-
lonica, and from Thessalonica to Berca. From Berea the
brethren sent away Paul, "but Silas and Timotheus abode
there still." The itinerary, of which the above is an ab-
stract, is undoubtedly sufficient to support an inference that
Timothy was along with St. Paul at PhiUppi. We find them
setting out together upon this progress from Derbe, in Lyca-
onia ; we find them together near the conclusion of it, at
Berea, in Macedonia. It is highly probable, therefore, that
they came together to Philippi, through which their route
between these two places lay. If this be thought probable,
it is sufficient. For w^iat I wish to be observed is, that in
comparing, upon this subject, the epistle with the history,
we do not find a recital in one place of what is related in
another ; but that we find, what is much more to be relied
upon, an oblique allusion to an impfied fact.
Y. Our epistle purports to have been written near the
conclusion of St. Paul's imprisonment at Ptome, and after
a residence in that city of considerable duration. These
circumstances are made out by different intimations, and
the intimations upon the subject preserve among themselves
a just consistency, and a consistency certainly unmeditated.
First, the apostle had already been a prisoner at Rome so
long; as that the reputation of his bonds, and of his con
stancy under them, had contributed to advance the success
of the gospel : "But I would ye should understand, breth-
ren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen
out rather unto the furtherance of the gospel ; so that my
bonds in Christ are manifest in all the palace, and in aU
1
M6 HORiE PAULINtE.
other places ; and many of the brethren in the Lord, wax-
ing confident by my bonds, are much more bold to speak
the word without fear." Secondly, the account given of
Epaphroditus imports, that St. Paul, when he wrote the
epistle, had been in Rome a considerable time : " He longed
after you all, and was full of heaviness, because that ye had
heard that he had been sick." Epaphroditus was with St.
Paul at Rome, He had been sick. The Philippians had
heard of his sickness, and he again had received an account
how much they had been affected by the intelligence. The
passing and repassing of these advices must necessarily have
occupied a long portion of time, and must have all taken
place during St. Paul's residence at Rome. Thirdly, after
a residence at Rome thus proved to have been of consider-
able duration, he now regards the decision of his fate as nigh
at hand. He contemplates either alternative — that of his
deliverance, chap. 2 : 23 : " Him, therefore," Timothy, " I
hope to send 'presently, so soon as I shall see how it will go
with me. But I trust in the Lord that I also m.ysclf shall
come shortly :" that of his condemnation, ver. 17 : " Yea,
and if I be offered^ upon the sacrifice and service of your
faith, I joy and rejoice with you all." This consistency is
material, if the consideration of it be confined to the epis-
tle. It is further material, as it agrees, with respect to the
duration of St. Paul's first imprisonment at Rome, with the
account delivered in the Acts, which, having brought the
apostle to Rome, closes the history by telling us " that he
dwelt there tivo ichole years in his own hired house."
YL Chap. 1 : 23 : " For 1' am in a strait betwixt two,
having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ ; which is
far better."
With this compare 2 Cor. 5:8: " We are confident,
i say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to
be present with the Lord."
* 'A2X' el Kat airevdofioi km ry ■&valg. rrjq mareug v/icJv, if my hloo4
be poured out as a libation upon the sacrifice of your faith
EPiSTLE TO THE PHILIPPI A Nfe. 147
The sameness of sentiment in these two quotations is
obvious. I rely, hoAvever, not so much upon that, as upon
the similitude in the train of thought which in each epistle
leads up to this sentiment, and upon the suitableness of that
train of thought to the circumstances under which the epis-
tles purport to have been written. This, I conceive, be-
speaks the production of the same mind, and of a mind
operating upon real circumstances. The sentiment is in
both places preceded by the contemplation of imminent per-
sonal danger. To the Philippians he writes, in the twentieth
verse of this chapter, " According to my earnest expectation,
and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that
with all boldness, as always, so now also, Christ shall be
magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death."
To the Corinthians, " Troubled on every side, yet not dis-
tressed ; perplexed, but not in despair ; persecuted, but not
forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed ; always bearing
about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus." This train
of reflection is continued to the place from whence the words
v/hich we compare are taken. The two epistles, though
written at different times, from different places, and to dif-
ferent churches, were both written under circumstances
which would naturally recall to the author's mind the pre-
carious condition of his life, and the perils which constantly
awaited him. When the epistle to the Philippians was
written the author was a prisoner at Rome, expecting his
trial. "When the second epistle to the Corinthians was writ-
ten he had lately escaped a danger in which he had given
himself over for lost. The 'epistle opens with a recollection
of this subject, and the impression accompanied the writer's
thoughts throughout.
I know that nothing is easier than to transplant into a
forged epistle a sentiment or expression which is found in a
true one ; or, supposing both epistles to be forged by the
same hand, to insert the same sentiment or expression in
both ; but the difficulty is to uitroduce it in just and close
148 EORJE PAULINtE.
oonnection with a train of thought going before, and witli
a train of thought apparently generated by the circumstances
under which the epistle is written." In two epistles, pur-
porting to be written on different occasions, and in different
periods of the author's history, this propriety would net
easily be managed.
VII. Chap. 1 : 29, 30 ; 2 : 1, 2 : " For unto you is given
in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him, but also
to suffer for his sake ; having the same conflict which ye
satv in me, and now hear to be in me. If there be there-
fore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any
fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies, fulfii ye
my joy, that ye be like-minded, having the same love, being
of one accord, of one mind."
With this compare Acts 16 : 22 : "And the multitude,"
at Philippi, "rose up together against them," Paul and
Silas : " and the magistrates rent off their clothes, and com-
manded to beat them. And when they had laid many
stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the
jailer to keep them safely. Who having received such a
charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their
feet fast in the stocks."
The passage in the epistle is very remarkable. I know
not an example in any writing of a juster pathos, or which
more truly represents the workings of a warm and affec-
tionate mind, than what is exhibited in the quotation before
us.* The apostle reminds the Philippians of their being
joined with himself in the endurance of persecution for tin?
sake of Christ. He conjures them by the ties of their com-
mon profession and their common sufferings, to " fulfil his
loy ;" to complete, by the unity of their faith, and by their
mutual love, that joy with which the instances he had re-
ceived of their zeal and attachment had inspired his breast.
* The original is very spirited : 'El tlq ovv 7rapaK?i'!]Gig kv XpcaT^j
n n Tvapaiiv^iov uyaTrrjg, el ng Kocvuvia Uvd'uarog. el tcvi OT^Xayxva nci
olnTipfiol. 7x\r,p6)aaTE iiov rijv ;fapav.
EPISTLE TO THE PHILIPPIANS. 14<J
Now if this was the real effusion of St. Paul's mind, ci
which it bears the strongest internal character, then wc
have in the words " the same conflict which ye saw in me,"
an authentic confirmation of so much of the apostle's history
ill the Acts, as relates to his transactions at Philippi ; and,
through that, of the intelligence and general fidelity of the
historian.
lAO HOR^ PAULINiE,
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EPISTLE TO THE COLOSSIANS,
I. There is a circumstance of conformity between St
Paul's history and his letters, especially those which were
written during his first imprisonment at Home, and more
especially the epistles to the Colossians and Ephesians, which
being to'D close to be accounted for from accident, yet too in-
direct and latent to be imputed to design, cannot easily be
resolved into any other original than truth : which circum-
stance is this, that St. Paul in these epistles attributes his
imprisonment, not to bis preaching of Christianity, but to
his asserting the right of the Gentiles to be admitted into it
without conforming themselves to the Jewish law. This
was the doctrine to which he considered himself as a martyr.
Thus, in the epistle before us, chap. 1 : 24 : I Paul, "who
now rejoice m my sufferings for you" — ''for you,'' that is,
for those whom he had never seen ; for a few verses after-
wards he adds, " I would that ye knew what great conflict
I have for you, and for them in Laodicea, and for as many
as have not seen my face in the flesh." His suffering there-
fore for them was, in their general capacity of Gentile
Christians, agreeably to what he explicitly declares in his
epistle to the Ephesians, 3:1: "For this cause, I Paul, the
prisoner of Jesus Christ /or you Gentiles^ Again, in the
epistle now under consideration, 4:3: "Withal praying also
for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance, to
speak the mystery of Christ, for which I am also in bonds."
What that "mystery of Christ" was, the epistle to the
Ephesians distinctly informs us : "Whereby, when ye read,
ye may understand my knowledge in the mystery of Christy
which in other ages was not made known unto the sons ol
men, as it is now revealed unto the holy apostles and
prophets by the Spirit, that the Gentiles should be fellow-
heirs, and of the same body, and partakers of his lyromisi
EPISTLE TO THE COLOSSIAN? 151
in Christ, hy the gospel.'" This, therefore, was the con-
fession for which he declares himself to be in bonds. Now
Jet us inquire how the occasion of St. Paul's imprisonment
is represented in the history. The apostle had not long re-
turned to Jerusalem from his second visit into Greece, when
an uproar was excited in that city by the clamor of certain
Asiatic Jews, who, "having seen Paul in the temple,. stirred
up all the people, and laid hands on him." The charge
advanced against him was, that " he taught all men every-
where against the people, and the law, and this place ; and
further, brought Greeks also into the temple, and hath pol-
luted this holy place." The former part of the charge seems
to point at the doctrine which he maintained, of the admis-
sion of the Gentiles, under the new dispensation, to an in-
discriminate participation of God's favor with the Jews.
But what follows makes the matter clear. When, by the
interference of the chief captain, Paul had been rescued out
jf the hands of the populace, and was permitted to address
the multitude who had followed him to the stairs of the
castle, he delivered a brief account of his birth, of the early
course of his life, of his miraculous conversion ; and is pro-
ceeding in this narrative, until he comes to describe a vision
which was presented to him, as he was praying in the tem-
ple ; and which bid him depart out of Jerusalem ; " for I will
send thee far hence unto the Gentiles^ Acts 22 : 21. " They
gavL. him audience," says the liistorian, '' U7ito this ivord,
and then lifted up their voices, and said. Away with such a
fellow from the earth." Nothing can show more strongly
than this account does, what was the offence which drew
down upon St. Paul the vengeance of his countrymen. His
mission to the Gentiles, and his open avowal of that mis
sion, was the intolerable part of the apostle's crime. But
al though the real motive of the prosecution appears to have
been the apostle's conduct towards the Gentiles, yet when
his accusers came before a Roman magistrate, a charge wae
U) be framed of a more legal form. The profanation of the
152 HOUiE PAULINA\
temple was the article they chose to rely upon. This, there-
fore, became the immediate subject of Tertullus' oration
before Felix, and of Paul's defence. But that he all along
considered his ministry among the Gentiles as the actual
source of the enmity that had been exercised against him,
and in particular, as the cause of the insurrection in which
his person had been seized, is apparent from the conclusion
of his discourse before Agrippa : "I have appeared untc
thee," says he, describing what passed upon his journey to
Damascus, " for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a
witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of
those things in the which I will appear unto thee ; deliver-
ing thee from the people and from the Gentiles, unto whom
now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from
darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God,
that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance
among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me.
Whereupon, 0 king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the
heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of Damascus,
and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea,
and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn
to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes
the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill
me." The seizing, therefore, of St. Paul's person, from
which he was never discharged till his final liberation at
Rome, and of which, therefore, his imprisonment at Rome
w as the continuation and efiect, was not in consequence of
any general persecution set on foot against Christianity ; nor
did it befall him simply as professing or teaching Christ's
religion, which James and the elders at Jerusalem did as
well as he, and yet, for any thing that appears, remained at
that time unmolested ; but it was distinctly and specifically
brought upon him by his activity in preaching to the Gen-
tiles, and by his placing them upon a level with the once-
favored and still self-flattered posterity of Abraham. How
well St. Paul's letters, purporting to be written during this
EPiyiLE TO THE COLOSSIANS. 163
Imprisonment, agree with this account of its cause and origin,
we have already seen.
11. Chap. ^4 : 10, 11 : " Aristarchus, my fellow-prisoner,
saluteth you, and Marcus, sister's son to Barnabas, (touching
whom ye received commandments : if he come unto you,
receive him,) and Jesus, which is called Justus, who are oi
the circumcision."
We fuid Aristarchus as a companion of our apostle in the
nineteenth chapter of the Acts and the twenty-ninth verse :
"And the whole city" of Ephesus "was filled with confu-
sion : and having caught Gains and Aristm'chus, men of Mac-
edonia, PauVs compaiiions in travel, they rushed with one
accord into the theatre." And we find him upon his jour-
ney with St. Paul to Rome, in the twenty-seventh chapter
and the second verse : " And when it was determuied that
we should sail into Italy, they delivered Paul and certain
other prisoners unto one named Julius, a centurion of Augus-
tus' band. And entering into a ship of Adramyttium, we
launched, meaning to sail by the coasts of Asia ; one Aris-
tarchus, a Macedonian of Thessalonica, being ivith us "'
But might not the author of the epistle have consulted the
history; and, observing that the historian had brought Aris-
tarchus along with Paul to E-ome, might he not for that
reason, and without any other foundation, have put down
his name among the salutations of an epistle purporting to
be written by the apostle from that place ? I allow so much
of possibility to this objection, that I should not have pro-
posed this in the number of coincidences clearly undesigned,
had Aristarchus stood alone. The observation that strikes
me in reading the passage is, that together with Aristarchus,
whose journey to PLome we trace in the history, are joined
Marcus and Justus, of w^iose coming to Rome the history
says nothing. Aristarchus alone appears in the history, and
Aristarchus alone would have appeared in the epistle, if the
author had regulated himself by that conformity. Or if you
talie it the other way — if you suppose the history to have
HoTR» raul. 22
154 HOR^ PAULINA.
been made out of the epistle, why the journey of Arista rchus
to Rome should be recorded, and not that of Marcus aad
Justus, if the groundwork of the narrative was the appear-
ance of Aristarchus' name in the epistle, seems to be una-
countable.
"Marcus, sister's son to Barnabas." Does not this hint
account for Barnabas' adherence to Mark in the contest that
arose with our apostle concerning him ? "And some days
after, Paul said unto Barnabas, Let us go again and visit our
brethren in every city Avhere we have preached the w^ord of
the Lord, and see how they do. And Barnabas determined
to take ivith them John, ivhose surname ivas Mark. But
Paul thought not good to take him with them, who departed
from them from Pamphylia, and went not with them to the
work. And the contention was so sharp between them, that
they departed asunder one from the other : and so Barnabas
took Mark and sailed unto Cyprus." The history, which
records the dispute, has not preserved the circumstance of
Mark's relationship to Barnabas. It is nowhere noticed but
in the text before us. As far, therefore, as it apphes, the
application is certainly undesigned.
" Sister's son to Barnabas." This woman, the mother
of Mark, and the sister of Barnabas, was, as might be ex-
pected, a person of some eminence among the Christians oJ
Jerusalem. It so happens that we hear of her in the his-
tory. When Peter was delivered from prison, " he came to
the house of Mary the mother of John, tvhose surname was
Mark ; where many w^re gathered together praying." Acts
12 : 12. There is somewhat of coincidence in this — some-
what bespeaking real transactions among real persons.
III. The following coincidence, though it bear the ap-
pearance of great nicety and refinement, ought not, perhaps,
to be deemed imaginary. In the salutations with which
this, like most of St. Paul's epistles, concludes, we have
** Aristarchus and Marcus, and Jesus, which is called Justus,
W'W are of the circumcision.'" Chap. 4 : 10, 1 1 . Then I'ol
EPISTLE TO ThE C0L0S3IANS. 1(35
low also, " Epaphras, Luke the beloved physician, and De-
mas." Now, as this description, *' who are of the circum-
rision," is added after the first three names, it is inferred,
not without great appearance of probability, that the rest,
among whom is Luke, were not of the circumcision. Now,
can we discover any expression in the Acts of the Apostles
which ascertains whether the author of the book was a Jew
or not ? If we can discover that he was not a Jew, we fix
a circumstance in his character which coincides with what
is here, indirectly indeed, but not very uncertainly, inti-
mated concernin.of Luke : and we so far confirm both the
testimony of the primitive church, that the Acts of the Apos-
tles was written by St. Luke, and the general reality of the
persons and circumstances brought together in this epistle.
The text in the Acts, which has been construed to show that
the writer was not a Jew, is the nineteenth verse of the first
chapter, where, in describing the field which had been pur-
chased with the reward of Judas' iniquity, it is said, "that
it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem ; insomuch
as that field is called in their proper tongue, Aceldama, that
is to say, The field of blood." These words are by most
commentators taken to be the words and observation of the
historian, and not a part of St. Peter's speech, in the midst
of wdiich they are found. If this be admitted, then it is
argiied that the expression, " in their proper tongue," would
not have been used by a Jew, but is suitable to the pen of a
Gentile writing concerning Jews.^ The reader will judge
of the probability of this conclusion, and we urge the coinci-
dence no further than the probability extends. The coinci-
dence, if it be one, is so remote from all possibility of design,
that nothing need be added to satisfy the reader upon that
\^art of the argument.
IV. Chap. 4:9: " With Onesimus, a faithful and belov-
ed brother, ivho is one of you'''
* Vido Benson's Dissertation, vol. 1, p. 318 of his works, edit
1756
156 HOEiE PAULINiE.
Observe how it may be made out that Onesimus was a
Colossian. Turn to the epistle to Philemon, and you will
find that Onesimus was the servant or slave of Philemon.
The question, therefore, wiU be, to w^hat city Philemon be-
longed. In the epistle addressed to him this is not declared.
It appears only that he w^as of the same place, whatever
that place M^as, Mdth an eminent Christian named Archip
pus. "Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ, and Timothy ouj
brother, unto Philemon our dearly beloved, and felloAv-labor-
er, and to our beloved Apphia, and Archi2jpus our fellow-
soldier, and to the church in thy house." Now turn back
to the epistle to the Colossians, and you will find Archippus
saluted by name among the Christians of that church.
•' Say to Archippus, Take heed to the ministry which thou
hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil it." Chap. 4 : 17.
The necessary result is, that Onesimus also was of the same
city, agreeably to what is said of him, " he is one of you."
And this result is either the efi^ect of truth, which produces
consistency without the Avriter's thought or care, or of a con-
texture of forgeries confirming and falling in with one an-
other by a species of fortuity of which I know no. example.
The supposition of design, I think, is excluded, not only be-
cause the purpose to which the design must have been direct-
ed, namely, the verification of the passage in our epistle, in
which it is said concerning Onesimus, " he is one of you," is
a purpose which would be lost upon ninety-nine readers out
of a hundred ; but because the means made use of are too
circuitous to have been the subject of aflectation and con-
trivance. Would a forger, who had this purpose in view,
havo left his readers to hunt it out, by going forward and
backward from one epistle to another, in order to connect
Onesimus with Philemon, Philemon with Archippus, and
Archippus with Colosse ? all which he must do befoi-e he
arrives at his discovery, that it was truly said of Onesimus,
he is one of you."
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THE SS ALONI ANS. 157
CHAPTER IX.
THE FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALONIANS.
I. It is known to every reader of Scripture that the lirsl
epistle to the Thessalonians speaks of the coming of Christ
in terms which indicate an expectation of his speedy appear-
ance : " For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord,
that ice which are alive and remain unto the coming of the
Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the
Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with
the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God : and
the dead in Christ shall rise first : then ive ivhich are alivt
and remain shall be caught up together with them in the
clouds. But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day
should overtake you as a thief" Chap. 4 : 15-17 ; 5 : 4.
Whatever other construction these texts may hear, the
idea they leave upon the mind of an ordinary reader, is that
of the author of the epistle looking for the day of judgment
to take place in his own time, or near to it. Now the use
wh)ch I make of this circumstance is, to deduce from it a
proof that the epistle itself was not the production of a sub-
eequent age. Would an impostor have given this expecta-
tion to St. Paul, after experience had proved it to be errone-
ous ? or would he have put into the apostle's mouth, or,
which is the same thing, into writings purporting to come
from his hand, expressions, if not necessarily conveying, at
least easily interpreted to convey, an opinion which was then
known to be founded in mistake ? I state this as an argu-
ment to show that the epistle was contemporary with St
Paul, which is little less than to show that it actually pro-
ceeded from his pen. For I question whether any ancient
forgeries were executed in the difetime of the person whose
name they bear ; nor was the primitive situation of the
fihurch likely to give birth to such an attempt.
IfiS EORM PAULIKiE.
II. Our epistle concludes with a direction that it should
be publicly read in the church to which it was addressed :
" I charge you by the Lord that this epistle be read unto all
the holy brethren." The existence of this clause in the
body of the epistle is an evidence of its authenticity ; because
to produce a letter purporting to have been publicly read in
the church of Thessalonica, when no such letter in truth
had been read or heard of in that church, would be to pro-
duce an imposture destructive of itself. At least, it seems
unlikely that the author of an imposture Avould voluntarily
and even officiously afford a handle to so plain an objection
Either the epistle was publicly read in the church of Thes-
salonica during St. Paul's lifetime, or it was not. If it was,
10 publication could be more authentic, no species of notori-
;ty more unquestionable, no method of preserving the integ-
rity of the copy more secure. If it was not, the clause we
jroduce would remain a standing condemnation of the for-
gery, and one would suppose, an invincible impediment to
its success.
If we connect this article with the preceding, we shall
perceive that they combine into one strong proof of the gen-
uineness of the epistle. The preceding article carries up the
date of the epistle to the time of St. Paul ; the prepcnt
article fixes the publication of it to the church of TLu.^sa-
lonica. Either therefore the church of Thessalonica was
imposed upon by a false epistle, which in St. Paul's life-
time they received and read pubhcly as his, carrying on a
communication with him all the while, and the epistle refer-
ring to the continuance of that communication ; or other
Christian churches, in the same lifetime of the apostle, re-
ceived an epistle purporting to have been publicly read in
the church of Thessalonica, which nevertheless had not been
heard of in that church ; or lastly, the conclusion remains,
that the epistle now in our hands is genuine.
III. Between our epistle and the history the accordancj
in many points is circumstantial and complete. The historj
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSALUNIANS. 159
relates that, after Paul and Silas had been beaten with
many stripes at Philippi, shut up in the inner prison, and
their feet made fast in the stocks, as soon as they were dis-
charged from their confmement they departed from thence.
and, when they had passed through Amphipolis and Apolla-
nia, came to Thessalonica, where Paul opened and alleged
that Jesus was the Christ, Acts 16, 17. The epistle writ-
ten in the name of Paul and Silvanus, i. e. Silas, and of
Timotheus, who also appears to have been along with them
at Philippi, (vide Philippians, No. IV.,) speaks to the church
of Thessalonica thus : " Even after that we had suffered be-
fore, and were shamefully entreated, as ye know, at Philippi,
we were bold in our God to speak unto you the gospel of
God with much contention." Chap. 2 : 2.
The history relates, that after they had been some time at
Thessalonica, " the Jews which beheved not set all the
city on an uproar, and assaulted the house of Jason," where
Paul and Silas were, " and sought to bring them out to the
people." Acts 17:5. The epistle declares, " When we were
with you, we told you before that we should suffer tribulation ;
even as it came to pass, arul ye knoio.'" Chap. 3 : 4.
The history brings Paul and Silas and Timothy together at
Corinth, soon after the preaching of the gospel at Thessaloni-
ca : "And when Silas and Timotheus were come from Mace-
donia" to Corinth, " Paul was pressed in spirit." Acts 18 : 5.
The epistle is written in the name of these three persons, who
consequently must have been together at the time, and speaks
throughout of their ministry at Thessalonica as a recent trans-
action : " We, brethren, being taken from you for a short
time in presence, not in heart, endeavored the more abun-
dantly to see your face with great desire." Chap. 2:17.
The harmony is indubitable; but the points of histor*;
in which it consists are so expressly set forth in the narra-
tive, and so directly referred to in the epistle, that it beccnes
necessary for us to show that the facts in one writing were
tot copied from the other. Now, amid some minuter dis-
160 liORTE PAULINiE.
crepaiicies, which will be noticed below, there is one c ircum-
stance which mixes itself with all the allusions in the epis-
tle, but does not appear in the history anywhere ; a?id that is
of a visit which St. Paul had intended to pay to the Thessa-
lonians during the time of his residing at Corinth : "Where-
fore we would have come unto you, even I Paul, once and
again; but Satan hindered us." Chap. 2:18. "Night
and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face,
and might perfect that which is lacking in your faith. Now
God himself and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ,
direct our way unto you." Chap. 3: 10, 11. Concerning
a design which was not executed, although the person him-
self, who was conscious of his own purpose, should make
mention in his letters, nothing is more probable than that
his historian should be silent, if not ignorant. The author
of the epistle could not, however, have learned this circum-
stance from the history, for it is not there to be met with ;
nor, if the historian had drawn his materials from the epis-
tle, is it likely that he would have passed over a circum-
stance which is among the most obvious and prominent oi
the facts to be collected from that source of information.
lY. Chap. 3 : 1, 6, 7 : " Wherefore, when w^e could no
longer forbear, we thought it good to be left at Atheiis alone;
and sent Timotheus, our brother, and minister of God, and
our fellow-laborer in the gospel of Christ, to establish you,
and to comfort you concerning your faith. But now, when
Timotheus came from you unto us, and brought us good
tidings of your faith and charity, .... we were comforted
over you in all our affliction and distress by your faith."
The history relates, that when Paul came out of Mace-
donia to Athens, Silas and Timothy stayed behind at Berea.
" The brethren sent away Paul, to go as it were to the sea ;
but Silas and Timotheus abode there still. And they that
conducted Paul brought him unto Athens." Acts 17:14, 15.
The history further relates, that after Paul had tarried some
time at Athens, and had proceeded from thence to Corinth,
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THE SSA LONIANS . IGl
Vvliiie he was exercising his ministry In that city, Silas and
Timothy came to him from Macedonia. Acts 18 : 5. But
to reconcile the history with the clause in the epistle which
makes St. Paul say, " I thought it good to be left at Athens
alone, and to send Timothy unto you,'" it is necessary to sup-
pose that Timothy had come up with St. Paul at Athens —
a circumstance which the history does not mention. I re-
mark, therefore, that although the history does not expressly
notice this arrival, yet it contains intimations which render
it extremely probable that the fact took place. First, as
soon as Paul had reached Athens, he sent a message back to
Silas and Timothy, "for to come to him with all speed."
Acts 17 : 15. Secondly, his stay at Athens was on purpose
that they might join him there. " Now, while Paul waited
for them at Athe?is, his spirit was stirred in him." Acts
17 : 16. Thirdly, his departure from Athens docs not appear
to have been in any sort hastened or abrupt. It is said,
" after these things," namely, his disputation with the Jews,
his conferences wdth the philosophers, his discourse at Are-
opagus, and the gaining of some converts, " he departed from
Athens, and came to Corinth." It is not hinted that he
quitted Athens before the time that he had intended to leave
it ; it is not suggested that he was driven from thence, as
he was from many cities, by tumults or persecutions, r-r be-
cause his life was no longer safe. Observe then the partic-
ulars which the history does notice — that Paul had ordered
Timothy to follow him without delay, that he waited at
Athens on purpose that Timothy might come up with him,
that he stayed there as long as his own choice led him to
continue. Laying these circumstances which the history
does disclose together, it is highly probable that Timothy
3ame to the apostle at Athens ; a fact which the epistle.
we have seen, virtually asserts, when it makes Paul send
Timothy back from Athens to Thessalonica. The sending
back of Timothy iiito Macedonia accounts also for his not
coming to Corinth till after Paul had been fixed in that city
22*
162 HORJE PAULINiE.
for some considerable time. Paul had found out Aquila and
Priscilla, abode with them and wrought, being of the s&me
craft ; and reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath-day,
and persuaded the Jews and the Greeks. Acts 18 ■ 1—5
All this passed at Corinth before Silas and TimotheuL were
come from Macedonia. Acts 18 : 5. If this was the first
time of their coming up with him after their separation at
Berea, there is nothing to account for a delay so contrary to
what appears from the history itself to have been St. Paul's
plan and expectation. This is a conformity of a peculiar
species. The epistle discloses a fact which is not preserved
in the history, but which makes what is said in the history
more significant, probable, and consistent. The history bears
marks of an omission ; the epistle by reference furnishes a
circumstance which supplies that omission.
V. Chap. 2 : 14 : " For ye, brethren, became followers of
the churches of God which in Judea are in Christ Jesus ;
for ye also have suffered like things of your own country-
men, even as they have of the Jews."
To a reader of the Acts of the Apostles it might seem, at
first sight, that the persecutions which the preachers and
converts of Christianity underwent, were suffered at the
hands of their old adversaries the Jews. But if we attend
carefully to the accounts there delivered, we shall observe
that, though the opposition made to the gospel usually orig-
inated from the enmity of the Jews, yet, in almost all places,
the Jews went about to accomplish their purpose by stirring
up the Gentile inhabitants against their converted country-
men. Out of Judea they had not power to do much mischief
in any other way. This was the case at Thessalonica in
particular : " The Jews which believed not, moved with
envy, set all the city in an uproar." Acts 17 : 5. It was
the same a short time afterwards at Berea : "• When the
Jews of Thessalonica had knowledge that the word of God
was preached of Paul at Berea, they came thither also, and
stirred up the people." Acts 17 : 13. And before this, oiu
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THESSAL. NIAN S. 163
apostle had met with a like species of persecution, in his
progress through the Lesser Asia : in every city " the unbe-
lieving Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made their minds
evil-aflected against the brethren." Acts 14:2. The epis-
tle therefore represents the case accurately as the history
states it. It was the Jews always who set on foot the per-
eecutions against the apostles and their followers. He speaks
truly therefore of them, when he says in the epistle, they
" both killed the Lord Jesus and their own prophets, and
have 'persecuted us; forbidding us to speak unto the Gen-
tiles." Chap. 2 : 15, 16. But out of Judea it was at the
hands of the Gentiles, it was " of their own countrymen,"
that the injuries they underwent w^ere immediately sustain-
ed : "Ye have suffered like things of your own countrymen,
even as they have of the Jews."
VL The apparent discrepancies between our epistle and
the history, though of magnitude sufficient to repel the im-
putation of confederacy or transcription — in which view they
form a part of our argument — are neither numerous nor
very difficult to reconcile.
One of these may be observed in the ninth and tenth
verses of the second chapter : "For ye remember, brethren,
our labor and travail : for laboring night and day, because
we would not be chargeable unto any of you, we preached
unto you the gospel of God. Ye are witnesses, and God
also, how holily, and justly, and unblamably we behaved
ourselves among you that believe." A person who reads
this passage is naturally led by it to suppose that the writer
had dwelt at Thessalonica for some considerable time ; yet
of St. Paul's ministry in that city the history gives no other
account than the following : that " he came to Thessalonica,
where was a synagogue of the Jews ;" that, " as his man-
ner was," he " went in unto them, and three Sabbath-days
reasoned with them out of the Scriptures ;" that "some ol
them believed, and consorted with Paul and Silas." The
history then proceeds to tell us that the Jews which believ-
164 hOU.^ PAULl-^TiE
ed not set the city in an uproar, and assaulted the house of
Jason, where Paul and his companions lodged ; that the
consequence of this outrage was, that " the brethren imme-
diately sent away Paul and Silas by night unto Berea."
Acts 17 : 1-10. From the mention of his preaching three
Sabbath-days in the Jewish synagogue, and from the want
of any further specification of his ministry, it has usually
Dccn taken for granted that Paul did not continue at Thes-
salonica more than three weeks. This, however, is inferred
without necessity. It appears to have been St. Paul's prac-
tice, in almost every place that he came to, upon his first
arrival to repair to the synagogue. He thought himself
bound to propose the gospel to the Jews first, agreeably to
what he declared at Antioch in Pisidia : " It Avas necessary
that the word of God should first have been spoken to you."
Acts 13 : 46. If the Jews rejected his ministry, he quitted
the synagogue and betook himself to a Gentile audience.
At Corinth, upon his first coming there, he reasoned in the
synagogue every Sabbath; "but when the Jews opposed
themselves, and blasphemed," he departed thence, expressly
telling them, " From henceforth I will go unto the Gentiles ;"
and he remained in that city "a year and six months."
Acts 18 : 6-11. At Ephesus, in hke manner, for the space oi
three months he went into the synagogue ; but " when divers
were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way
before the multitude, he departed from them, and separated
the disciples, disputing daily in the school of one Tyrannus.
And this continued by the space of two years." Acts 19:9,
10. Upon inspecting the history, I see nothing in it which
negatives the supposition that St. Paul pursued the same
plan at Thessalonica which he adopted in other places ; and
that, though he resorted to the synagogue only three Sabbath-
days, yet he remained in the city and in the exercise of his
ministry among the Gentile citizens much longer ; and until
the success of his preaching had provoked the Jews to excite
the tumult and insurrection by which he was driven away
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE THE SS ALONl ANS. ! Go
Another &eeming discrepancy is found in the ninth verse
of the first chapter of the epistle : " For they themselves
show of us what manner of entering in we had unto you,
and how yc turned to God from idols, to serve the living
and true God." This text contains au assertion that, by
means of St. Paul's ministry at Thessalonica, many idola
trous Gentiles had been brought over to Christianity. Yet
the history, in describing the effects of that ministry, only
says, that " some of them," the Jews, " believed, and con-
sorted with Paul and Silas ; and of the devout Greeks a
great multitude, and of the chief women not a few." Chap
17 : 4. The devout Greeks were those who already worship-
ped the one true God ; and therefore could not be said, by
embracing Christianity, " to be turned to God from idols."
This is the difficulty. The answer may be assisted by
the following observations. The Alexandrine a'nd Cam-
bridge manuscripts read, for tCjv oej3o(ih'o)v 'ETJJjvuv ■no7.v '7r?Jj-&og^
Tuv GEl3o(xevuv Kut 'EX7i7jV(jv TToTiv TTlTj^og- in which reading they
are also confirmed by the Vulgate Latin. And this reading
is, in my opinion, strongly supported by the considerations,
first, that ol ceiSofievoi alone, that is, without 'F2A?/ve^, is used
in tiiis sense in the same chapter — Paul being r.ome to
Athens, dieTiiyEro ev ry ovvajuyy rolg ^lovdatoig km Tolg oejSofxsvotr ;
secondly, that ae^ofiivot and 'EAA/>£f nowhere come together.
The expression is redundant. The ol cie;3o[i£voc must be
'E7il?/veg. Thirdly, that the ical is much more likely to have
been left out, incurid nianiis, than to have been put in.
Or, after all, if we be not allowed to change the present
reading, which is undoubtedly retained by a great plurahty
of copies, may not the passage in the history be considered
as describing only the effects of St. Paul's discourses during
the three Sabbath-days in which he preached in the syna-
gogue ? And may it not be true, as we have remarked
above, that his apphcation to the Gentiles at large, and \\u
success among them, were posterior to tbia '^
166 HOR^ 1 AULxKJi.
CHAPTER X.
T1I2 £ECONI) EPISTLE TO THE THE SS AT-ONIAN S
I. It may seem odd to allege obscurity itself as an ar-
gimieiit, or to draw a proof in favor of a writing from that
which is naturally considered as the principal defect in its
composition. The present epistle, however, furnishes a pas
sage hitherto unexplained, and probably inexplicable by us,
the existence of which, under the darkness and difficulties
that attend it, can be accounted for only by the supposition
of the epistle being genume ; and upon that supposition is
accounted for with great ease. The passage which I allude
to is found in the second chapter : " That day shall not
come, except there come a falling away first, and that man
of sin be revealed, the son of perdition ; who opposeth and
exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is
worshipped ; so that he, as God, sitteth in the temple of
God, showing himself that he is God. Remember ye not,
that W^HEN I WAS YET WITH YOU, I TOLD YOU THESE THINGS?
And noiu ye know what luithholdeth that he might be re-
'vealed in his time. For the mystery of iniquity doth already
work : only he who noiv letteth will let, until he be taken
out of the u'ay. And then shall that Wicked be revealed,
whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth,
and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming." It
were superfluous to prove, because it is in vain to deny,
that this passage is involved in great obscurity, more espec-
ially the clauses distinguished by italics, Now the obser
vation I have to offer is founded upon this, that the passage
expressly refers to a conversation which the author had pre-
viously holden with the Thessalonians upon the same sub-
ject: "Remember ye not, that when I was yet with you,
I told you these things? And now ye know what with-
holdeth." If such conversation actually passed — if, while
*' he was yet with them, he told them those things," then
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE THESSALONIAN S 167
it follows that the epistle is authentic. And of the reality
of this conversation it appears to be a proof, that what is
paid in the epistle might be understood by those who had
been present at such conversation, and yet be incapable of
being explained by any other. JNTo man writes unintelligibly
on purpose. But it may easily happen, that a part of a
letter which relates to a subject upon which the parties had
conversed together before, which refers to what had been
before said, which is in truth a portion or continuation of a
former discourse, may be utterly without meaning to a
stranger who should pick up the letter upon the road, and
yet be perfectly clear to the person to whom it is directed,
and with whom the previous communication had passed.
And if, in a letter which thus accidentally fell into my
hands, I found a passage expressly referring to a former
conversation, and difficult to be explained without knowing
that conversation, I should consider this very difficulty as a
proof that the conversation had actually passed, and conse-
quently that the letter contained the real correspondence of
real persons.
II. Chap. 3 : 8, 9 : " Neither did we eat any man's bread
for naught ; but wrought with labor and travail night and
day, that we might not be chargeable to any of you : not
because we have not power, but to make ourselves an en
sample unto you to follow us."
In a letter purporting to have been written to another of
the Macedonian churches, we find the followang declaration
" Now ye Philippians, know also, that in the beginning
of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, qio church
commu?iicated ivith me, as concerning giving anxl rcceiv
i7ig, hut ye only.'*'
The conformity between these two passages is strong and
plain. They confine the transaction to the same period.
The epistle to the Philippians refers to what passed "in the
beginning of the gospel,"' that is to say, during the first
preaching of the gospel on that side of the ^gean sea
168 nORM PALTHNJJ.
The epistle to the Thessalonians speaks ot" tlie apostle's con
duct in that city upon, "his first entrance in unto them,'"
which the history informs us was in the course of his first
visit to the peninsula of Greece
As St. Paul tells the Philippians, that "no church com-
municated with him, as concerning giving- and receiving,
but they only," he could not, consistently with the truth of
this declaration, have received any thing from the neighbor-
ing church of Thessaloniea. What thus appears by general
implication in an epistle to another church, when he writes
to the Thessalonians themselves, is noticed expressly and
particularly : " Neither did we eat any man's bread for
naught ; but wrought night and day, that we might not be
chargeable to any of you."
The texts here cited further also exhibit a mark of con-
formity with what St. Paul is made to say of himself in the
Acts of the Apostles, The apostle not only reminds the
Thessalonians that he had not been chargeable to any of
them, but he states likewise the motive which dictated thii:
reserve : "Not because v/e have not power, but to make our-
selves an ensample unto you to follow us." Chap. 3 : 9.
This conduct, and what is much more precise, the end
which he had in view by it, was the very same as that
which the history attributes to St. Paul in a discourse which
it represents him to have addressed to the elders of the
church of Ephesus : "Yea, ye yourselves know, that these
hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that
were v/ith me. I have shoiccd you all things, how that so
laboring ye ought to siqjj^ort the iceakr Acts 20 : 34. The
sentiment in the epistle and in the speech is in both parts
of it so much alike, and yet the words which convey it show
so little of imitation or even of resemblance, that the agree-
ment cannot well be explained without supposing the speech
and the letter to have really proceeded from the same person.
III. Our reader remembers the passage in the first
epistle to the Thessalonians, in which St. Paul spoke of the
■SLCOND EnSTLP- TO THE THESSiV LONl ANS. 109
coming of" Christ : " This we say unto you by the word of
the Lord, that we which arc ahve and remain unto the
coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are
asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven,
.... and the dead in Christ shall rise first : then we
which are alive and remain shall be caught up together
with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air ; and
so shall we ever be with the Lord. But ye, brethren, are
not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a
thief." 1 Thess. 4 : 15-17 ; 5 : 4. It should seem that the
Thessalonians, or some however among them, had from this
passage conceived an opinion — and that not very unnatural-
ly— that the coming of Christ was to take place instantly,
oTL hv£aT7]K£v ;* and that this persuasion had produced, as it well
might, much agitation in the church. The apostle therefore
now writes, among other purposes, to quiet this alarm and
to rectify the misconstruction that had been put upon his
words : "Now we beseech you, brethren, by the coming oi
our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together unto
him, that ye be not soon shaken in mind, or be troubled,
neither by spirit, nor by word, 7i07' by letter as from us, as
that the day of Christ is at hand." If the allusion which
we contend for be admitted, namely, if it be admitted that
the passage in the second epistle relates to the passage in
the first, it amounts to a considerable proof of the genuine-
ness of both epistles. I have no conception, because I know
no example, of such a device in a forgery, as first to frame an
ambiguous passage in a letter, then to represent the persons
to wdiom the letter is addressed as mistaking the meaning
of the passage, and lastly, to write a second letter in order
to correct this mistake.
I have said that this argument arises out of the text, ij
* ""On h'£aTj]Kev, nempe hoc anno," namely, in this year, says
Grotius ; '■'• hecTTjKev hie dicitur de re praesenti, ut E^om. 8 : 38; 1 Cor.
3 : 22; Gal. 1:4; Heb. 9 : 9" — it is here used in reference to some-
thing present, as in Rora. 8 : 38, etc.
8
170 llORAl PAULINA.
the allusion be admitted; for I am not ignorant that many
expositors understand the passage in the second epistle as
referring to some forged letters which had been produced in
St. Paul's name, and in which the apostle had been made to
say that the coming of Christ was then at hand. In defence,
however, of the explanation which we propose, the reader :s
desired to observe,
1. The strong fact, that there exists a passage in the
first epistle to which that in the second is capable of being
referred, that is, which accounts for the error the writer is
solicitous to remove. Had no other epistle than the second
been extant, and had it under these circumstances come to
be considered, whether the text before us related to a forged
epistle or to some misconstruction of a true one, many con-
jectures and many probabilities might have been admitted in
the inquiry, which can have little v»^eight when an epistle is
produced containing the very sort of passage we were seek-
ing, that is, a passage liable to the misinterpretation which
the apostle protests against.
2. That the clause which introduces the passages in the
second epistle bears a particular affinity to what is found in
the passage cited from the first epistle. The clause is this :
" We beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus
Christ, and by our gathering together ttnto him.'' Now, in
the first epistle the description of the coming of Christ is
accompanied with the mention of this very circumstance of
his saints being collected round him : " The Lord himself
shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of
the archangel, and with the trump of God ; and the dead
in Christ shall rise first : then we which are alive and re-
main shall be caught up together with them in the clouds,
to meet the Lord in the air." 1 Thess. 4:16, 17. This
I suppose to be the "gathering together unto him," intended
in the second epistle ; and that the author, when he used
these words, retained in his thoughts what he had written
on the subject before.
SECOND EPISTLE TO THE THE SS ALONIANS. 171
3. The second epistle is written in the joint name of
Paul, Silvanus, and Timotheus, and it cautions the Thessa-
lonians against being misled "by letter as from us," ur 6i'
fffjLuv. Do not these words, 6C jy/zajv, appropriate the reference
to some writing which bore the name of these three teach-
ers ? Now this circumstance, which is a very close oiie,
belongs to the epistle at present in our hands ; for the epis-
tle which we call the First Epistle to the Thessalonians con-
tains these names in its superscription.
4. The Avords in the original, as far as they are material
to be stated, are these : elg to fiy raxeuc oakev-drivaL vfiug a~b tov
uoog, fiTjTE ■&podadac, fir^Te 5lu irvEVjJ.arog, //f/re 6lu loyov^ ftrjre 6l' krciaTO-
A//f, o)q di' rjnuv^ ug on kvEGTTjKtv ?) r^fiEpa tov XpiGTOv. Under the
weight of the preceding observations, may not the words
uTjTe 6iaX6yov,fiT/TE 6l' t7naTo?S/g, ug 6t' iiucov, be construed to signify
quasi noz quid tale aut dixerinvus aut scripserimus,'^ inti-
mating that their words had been mistaken, and that they
had in truth said or written no such thing ?
* Should a contrary interpretation be preferred, I do not think that
it implies the conclusion that a false epistle had then been published
in the apostle's name. It will completely satisfy the allusion in the
text to allow, that some one or other at Thessalonica had pretended
to have been told by St. Paul and his companions, or to have seen a
letter from them, in which they had said that the day of Christ wa?
at hand. In like manner as, Acts 15 : 1, 24, it is recorded, that some
had pretended to have received instructions from the church of Je-
rusalem, which had been received, "to whom they gave no such
commandment." And thus Dr. Benson interpreted the passage fiTjTe
■&QOEl(r&aL, {if/TE 6td. 'nvivfiaTOC, ^tjte 6ixl J^byav^ fiTjTE 6C k-KiaTolfj^ wf 6l'
lfj(iibv^ "nor be dismayed by any revelation, or discourse, or epistlo,
which any one shall pretend to have heard or received from us."
172 HORiE PAULINA.
CHAPTEU XI.
THE riRST EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY.
From the third verse of the first chapter, " As I besought
thee to abide stiU at Ephesus, when I went into Macedonia,"
it is evident that this epistle was written soon after St. Paul
had gone to Macedonia from Ephesus. Dr. Benson fixes its
date to the time of St. Paul's journey recorded in the begin-
ning of the twentieth chapter of the Acts : "And after the
uproar" excited by Demetrius at Ephesus " was ceased, Paul
called unto him the disciples, and embraced them, and de-
parted for to go into Macedonia." And in this opinion Dr.
Benson is followed by Michaelis, as he was preceded by the
greater part of the commentators who have considered the
question. There is, however, one objection to the hypothesis,
which these learned men appear to me to have overlooked ;
and it is no other than this, that the superscription of the
second epistle to the Corinthians seems to prove, that at
the time St. Paul is supposed by them to have written this
epistle to Timothy, Timothy in truth was with St. Paul in
Macedonia. Paul, as it is related in the Acts, left Ephesus
" for to go into Macedonia." When he had got into Mace-
donia he wrote his second epistle to the Corinthians. Con-
cerning this point there exists Httle variety of opinion. It
is plainly indicated by the contents of the epistle. It is also
strongly implied, that the epistle was written soon after the
apostle's arrival in Macedonia ; for he begins his letter by a
train of reflection, referring to his persecutions in Asia as to
recent transactions, as to dangers from which he had lately
been delivered. But in the salutation with which the epis-
tle opens, Timothy teas joined luith St. Paul, and conse-
quently could not at that time be "left behind at Ephesus."
And as to the only solution of the difficulty which can be
thought of, namely, that Timothy, though he was left behind
at Ephesus upon St. Paul's departure from Asia, yet might
follow him so soon after as to come up with the apostle in
FIRST EPISTLE TO TlilOTHY. 173
Macedonia, before he wrote his epistle to the Coriuthia:is,
that supposition is inconsistent with the terms and tenor of
the epistle throughout ; for the writer speaks unifbrriily of
his intention to return to Timothy at Ephesus, and not of
his expecting Timothy to come to him in Macedonia*
"These things write I unto thee, hojnng to come unto thee
slwrtly: but if I tarry long, that thou may est know how
Ihou oughtest to behave thyself in ihe house of God." Chap.
3 : 14, 15. " Till I come, give attendance to reading, to
exhortation, to doctrine." Chap. 4 : 13.
Since, therefore, the leaving of Timothy beliind at Ephc'
sus when Paul went into Macedonia, suits not with any
journey into Macedonia recorded in the Acts, I concur with
Bishop Pearson in placing the date of this epistle and the
journey referred to in it, at a period subsequent to St. Paul's
first imprisonment at Rome, and consequently subsequent to
the era up to which the Acts of the Apostles brings his his-
tory. The only difficulty which attends our opinion is, that
St. Paul must, according to us, have come to Ephesus after
his liberation at Rome, contrary, as it should seem, to what
he foretold to the Ephesian elders, that " they should see his
face no more." And it is to save the infallibility of this
prediction,- and for no other reason of weight, that an earlier
date is assigned to this epistle. The prediction itself, how-
ever, when considered in connection with the circumstances
under which it was delivered, does not seem to demand so
much anxiety. The words in question are found in tho
twenty-fifth verse of the twentieth chapter of the Acts :
"And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I
have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face
no more." In the twenty-second and twenty-third verses
of the same chapter, that is, two verses before, the apostle
makes this declaration: "And now, behold, I go bound in
the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall
befall me there : save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth iu
every city, saying, that bonds and afflictions abide me." This
174 ■ HO'RJE PAULINiE.
"witnessing of the Holy Ghost" was undoubtedly prophetic
and supernatural. But it went no further than to foretell
that bonds and afflictions awaited him. And I can ygt'j
well conceive, that this might be all which was communi-
cated to the apostle by extraordinary revelation, and that
the rest was the conclusion of his own mind, the desponding
inference which he drew from strong and repeated intima-
tions of approaching danger. And the expression '• I know,"
which St. Paul here uses, does not perhaps, when applied
to future events affecting himself, convey an assertion so
positive and absolute as we may at first sight apprehend.
In the first chapter of the episttS to the Philippians, and the
twenty-fifth verse, " I know," says he, '* that I shall abide
and continue with you all for your furtherance and joy of
faith." Notwithstanding this strong declaration, in the sec-
ond chapter and twenty-third and twenty-fourth verses of
this same epistle, and speaking also of the very same event,
he is content to use a language of some doubt and uncer-
tainty : " Him therefore I hope to send presently, so soon as
I shall see hoiv it icill go icith 77ie. But I trust in the
Lord that I also myself shall come shortly." And a few
verses preceding these, he not only seems to doubt of his
safety, but almost to despair ; to contemplate the possibility
at least of his condemnation and martyrdom : " Yea, and if
I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, T
joy and rejoice with you all."
I. But can we show that St. Paul visited Ephesus after
his liberation at PLome ; or rather, can we collect any hints
from his other letters which make it probable that he did ?
If we can, then we have a coi7icidence ; if we cannot, we
have only an unauthorized supposition, to which the exi-
gency of the case compels us to resort. Noav, for this pur-
pose, let us examine the epistle to the Philippians and the
epistle to Philemon. These two epistles purport to be writ-
ten while St. Paul Avas yet a prisoner at Home. To the
Philippians he writes as follows : " I trust in the Lord tliat
FIUST EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 175
I also myself shall come shortly." To Philemon, who was a
Colossian, he gives this direction : " But withal prepare me
also a lodging : for I trust that througli your prayers 1 shall
be given unto you." An inspection of the map will show
us that Colosse was a city of the Lesser Asia, lying eastward
and at no great distance from Ephesus. Philippi was on
ihe other, that is, the western side of the yEgean sea. If
the apostle executed his purpose — if, in pursuance of the
intention expressed in his letter to Philemon, he came to
Colosse soon after he was set at liberty at Rome, it is very
improbable that he would omit to visit Ephesus, which lay
so near to it, and w^iere he had spent three years of his min-
istry. As he was also under a promise to the church of
Philippi to see them "shortly," if he passed from Colosse to
Philippi, or from Philippi to Colosse, he could hardly avoid
taking Ephesus in his way.
11'. Chap. 5:9: "Let not a widow be taken into the
number under threescore years old "
This accords with the account delivered in the sixth
chapter of the Acts : "And in those days, when the number
of the disciples was multiplied, there arose a murmuring ol
the Grecians against the Hebrews, because their widowit
ivere neglected in the daily ministration.'''' It appears thai
from the first formation of the Christian church, provision
was made out of the public funds of the society for the indi-
gent widoivs who belonged to it. The history, we have
seen, distinctly records the existence of such an institution
at Jerusalem a few years after our Lord's ascension, and is
led to the mention of it very incidentally ; namely, by a dis
pute of wdiich it was the occasion, and w^hich produced im.
portant consequences to the Christian community The
epistle, without being suspected of borrowing from the his
tory, refers, briefly indeed, but decisively, to a similar estab-
lishment subsisting some years afterwards at Ephesus. This
agreement indicates that both writings were founded upon
teal circumstances
176 HOE.^ PAULINA.
But in this article, the material thing to be noticed if
the mode of expression, "Let not a widow be taken mto the
number." No previous account or explanation is given, to
which these words, "into the number," can refer; but the
direction comes concisely and unpreparedly, "Let not a
widow be taken into the number." Now, this is the w^ay
in which a man writes who is conscious that he is writing
to persons already acquainted with the subject of his letter,
and who he knows will readily apprehend and apply what
he says by virtue of their being so acquainted ; but it is not
the way in which a man writes upon any other occasion,
and least of all, in which a man w^ould draw up a feigned
letter, or introduce a supposititious fact.*
^ It is not altogether unconnected with our general purpose t'..
remark, in the passage befoie us, the selection and reserve which St.
Paul recommends to the governors of the church of Ephesus in the
bestowing relief upon the poor, because it refutes a calumny which
has been insinuated, that the liberality of the first Christians was an
artifice to catch converts, or one of the temptations, however, by
which the idle and mendicant were drawai into this societv: "Let not
a widow be taken into the number under threescore years old. having
been the wife of one man, well reported of for good works ; if she have
brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she have washed
%e saints' feet, if she have relieved the afEicted, if she have dil; gently
dlowed every good work. But the younger widows refuse." Ch. .1 : 9,
10, 11. And in another place, "If any man or woman that believ .tb
have widows, let them relieve them, and let not the church be charged;
that it may relieve them that are widows indeed." And to the same
effect, or rather more to our present purpose, the apostle writes in the
second epistle to the Thessalonians, "Even when we were with you,
this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should
he eat," that is, at the public expense. "For we hear that there are
6ome which walk among you disorderly, working not at all^ but are
busybodies. Now them that are such we command and exhort by
our Lord Jesus Christ, that with quietness they work, and eat theii
own bread." Could a designing or dissolute poor take advantage ol
bounty regulated with so much caution; or could the mind which dic-
tated those sober and prudent directions be influenced, in his recom-
mendations of public charity, by any other than properest mot'vea o<
beneficence ?
FIRST EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 177
III. Chap. 3 : 2, 3 : "A bishop then must be blameless,
the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behavior,
given to hospitality, apt to teach ; not given to wine, no
striker, not greedy of filthy lucre ; but patient ; not a brav^^l-
e\\ not covetous ; one that ruleth well his own house."
"No striker:" that is the article which I single out
from the collection, as evincing the antiquity at least, if not
the genuineness of the epistle, because it is an article which
no man would have made the subject of caution who lived
in an advanced era of the church. It agreed with the in-
fancy of the society, and with no other state of it. After the
government of the church had acquired the dignified form
which it soon and naturally assumed, this injunction could
have no place. Would a person who lived under a hierar-
chy, such as the Christian hierarchy became when it had
settled into a regular establishment, have thought it neces-
sary to prescribe concerning the qualification of a bishop,
that "he should be no striker?" And this injunction would
be equally alien from the imagination of the writer, whethei
he wrote in his own character, or personated that of an
apostle.
IV. Chap. 5 : 23 : " Drink no longer water, but use a
little wine for thy stomach's sake, and thine often infirmi
ties."
Imagine an impostor sitting down to forge an epistle in
the name of St. Paul. Is it credible that it should come
into his head to give such a direction as this ; so remote
from every thing of doctrine or discipline, every thing of
public concern to the religion or the church, or to any sect,
order, or party in it, and from every purpose wdth which
§u?.h an epistle could be written? It seems to me, that
nothing but reality, that is, the real valetudinary situation
of a real person, could have suggested a thought of so domes-
tic a nature.
But if the peculiarity of the advice be observable, the
place in which it stands is more so. The context is this:
How Paul. 23 *
178 RORJE PAULINA.
''Lay hands suddenly on no man, neither be partaker of
other men's sins : keep thyself pure. Drink no longer water,
hut use a little wine for thy stomach's sake, and thine often
infirmities. Some men's sins are open beforehand, going
before to judgment ; and some men they follow after." The
direction to Timothy about his diet stands between two sen-
tences, as wide from the subject as possible. The train of
thought seems to be broken to let it in. Now, when does
this happen ? It happens when a man writes as he remem-
bers; when he puts down an article the moment that it
occurs, lest he should afterwards forget it. Of this, the pas
sage before us bears strongly the appearance. In actual
letters, in the negligence of real correspondence, examples
of this kind frequently take place ; seldom, I believe, in any
other production. For, the moment a man regards what
he writes as a composition, which the author of a forgery
would of all writers be the first to do, notions of order in the
arrangement and succession of his thoughts present them
selves to his judgment and guide his pen.
V. Chap. 1 : 15, 16: "This is a faithful saying, and
worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the
world to save sinners ; of whom I am chief Howbeit, for
this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ
might show forth all long-sufTering, for a pattern to them
which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting."
What was the mercy which St. Paul here commemo-
rates, and what was the crime of which he accuses himself,
is apparent from the verses immediately preceding : ** I
thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that
he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry ; ivho
was before a blasphemer, and a jiersccutor , and injurious:
but I obtained Tiiercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbe-
lief" Ver. 12, 13. The whole quotation plainly refers to
St. Paul's original enmity to the Christian name, the inter-
position of Providence in his conversion, and his subsequent
designation to the ministry of the gospel ; and by this refer
FIRST EPISTLE TU TIMOTHY. 170
jnce affirms indeed the substance of the apostle's history
>lelivered in the Acts. But what in the passage strikes my
aiind most powerfully, is the observation that is raised out
of the fact : " For this cause I obtained mercy, that in me
first Jesus Christ might show forth all long-suffering, for a
pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life
everlasting." It is a just and solemn reflection, springing
from the circumstances of the author's conversion, or rather
from the impression which that great event had left upcn
his memory. It will be said, perhaps, that an impostor
acquainted with St, Paul's history may have put such a
sentiment into his mouth ; or, what is the same thing, into
a letter drawn up in his name. But where, we may ask,
is such an impostor to be found? The piety, the truth, the
benevolence of the thought ought to protect it from this
imputation. For though we should allow that one of the
great masters of the ancient tragedy could have given to his
scene a sentiment as virtuous and as elevated as this is, and
at the same time as appropriate, and as well suited to the
particular situation of the person who delivers it ; yet who-
ever is conversant in these inquiries will acknowledge, that
to do this in a fictitious production is beyond the reach oi
the understandings whiah h?ve been employed upon any
fabricatwns that have ome dovT: to us under Christian
names.
[BO llORM PAULINiE.
CHAPTER XII.
THE SECOND EPISTLE TO TIMOTHIJ
1 It was the uniform tradition of the primitive church,
that St. Paul visited Rome twice, and tAvice there suffered
imprisonment ; and that he was put to death at Rome at
the conclusion of his second imprisonment. This opinion
concerning St. Paul's two journeys to Rome is confirmed hy
a great variety of hints and allusions in the epistle hefore us,
compared with v/hat fell from the apostle's pen in other let-
ters purporting to have been written from Rome. That our
present epistle was written while St. Paul was a priso?ter,
is distinctly intimated by the eighth verse of the first chap-
ter: " Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our
Lord, nor of me his prisoner." And while he was a prisoner
at Rome, by the sixteenth and seventeenth verses of the
same chapter : "The Lord give mercy unto the house of
Onesiphorus ; for he oft refreshed me, and was not ashamed
of my chain : but, when he was in Rome, he sought me out
very diligently, and found me." Since it appears from the
former quotation that St. Paul wrote this epistle in confine-
ment, it will hardly admit of doubt that the word chai?t, in
the latter quotation, refers to that confinem-ent — the chain
by which he was then bound, the custody in which he was
the?i kept. And if the word " chain " designate the author's
confinement at the time of writing the epistle, the next words
determine it to have been written from Rome : " He was net
ashamed of my chain : but, when he was in Rome, he sought
me out very diligently." Now that it was not written dur-
ing the apostle's first imprisonment at Rome, or during the
lame imprisonment in which the epistles to the Ephesian*
the Colossians, the Philippians, and Philemon were written,
may be gathered, with considerable evidence, from a compar-
ison of these several epistles with the present.
1 In the former epistles, the author confidently looked
SECONr EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 181
tbrward to his liberation from confinement, and his speedy
departure from Rome. He tells the Philippians, chap. 2 : 21,
*' I trust in the Lord that I also myself shall come shortly."
Philemon he bids to prepare for him a lodging ; " for I trust,"
says he, "that through your prayers I shall be given unto
you." Ver. 22. In the epistle before us, he holds a lan-
guage extremely diflerent : "I am now ready to be ofTercd,
and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a
good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith :
henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that
day." Chap. 4 : 6-8.
2. When the former epistles w^ere written from Rome,
Timothy was with St. Paul ; and is joined with him in writ-
ing to the Colossians, the Philippians, and to Philemon. The
present epistle implies that he was absent.
3. Li the former epistles, Demas was with St. Paul at
Rome : " Luke, the beloved physician, and Demas greet
you." In the epistle now before us : " Demas hath forsaken
me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto
Thessalonica."
4. In the former epistles, Mark was with St. Paul, and
joins in saluting the Colossians. In the present epistle,
Timothy is ordered to bring him with him, " for he is prof-
itable to me for the ministry." Chap 4:11.
The case of Timothy and of Mark might be very well
accounted for, by supposing the present epistle to have been
written before the others ; so that Timothy, who is hero
exhorted "to come shortly unto him," chap. 4:9, might
have arrived, and that Mark, " whom he was to bring with
him," chap. 4:11, might have also reached Rome in suffi-
cient time to have been wuth St. Paul when the four epistl'.^s
were written ; but then such a supposition is inconsistent
with what is said of Demas, by which the posteriority of this
to the other epistles is strongly indicated : for in the other
epistles Demas was with St. Paul ; in the present he has
182 HOR^ PAULINA.
" forsaken him, and is gone to Thessalonica." The opposi-
tioa also of sentiment, with respect to the event of the per-
secution, is hardly reconcilable to the same imprisonment.
The two following considerations, which were first sug-
gested upon tliis question by Ludovicus Capellus, are still
more conclusive :
1. In the twentieth verse of the fourth chapter, St. Paul
informs Timothy, that " Erastus abode at Corinth," 'Bpaaroi
£/xeivei' ev Koplvdu. The form of expression implies, that Eras-
tus had stayed behind at Corinth w^hen St. Paul left it
But this could not be meant of any journey from Corinth
which St. Paul took prior to his first imprisonment at Rome ;
for when Paul departed from Corinth, as related in the
twentieth chapter of the Acts, Timothy was with him : and
this was the last time the apostle left Corinth before his
coming to Rom.e, because he left it to proceed on his way to
Jerusalem ; soon after his arrival at which place he was
taken into custody, and continued in that custody till he was
"arried to Cesar's tribunal. There could be no need, there-
fore, to inform Timothy that "Erastus stayed behind at Cor-
inth" upon this occasion, because if the fact were so, it must
have been known to Timothy, who was present, as well as
to St. Paul.
2. In the same verse our epistle also states the follow ing
article : " Trophimus have I left at Miletum sick." When
St. Paul passed through Miletum on his way to Jerusalem,
as related Acts 20, 21, Trophimus was not left behind, but
accompanied him to that city. He was indeed the occasion
of the uproar at Jerusalem in consequence of which St. Paul
was apprehended ; " for they had seen," says the historian,
" before with him in the city Trophimus an Ephesian, whom
they supposed that Paul had brought into the temple"
This was evidently the last time of Paul's being at Miletus
before his first imprisomnent ; for, as has been said, after
his apprehension at Jerusalem, he remained in custody till
he was sent to Rome.
SECOND EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 183
In these two articles we have a journey referred to,
which must have taken place suhsequently to the conclusion
of St. Luke's history, and of course after St. Paul's liberation
from his first imprisonment. The epistle, therefore, which
contains this reference, since it appears from other parts oi
it to have been written while St. Paul was a prisoner at
Rome, proves that he had returned to that city again, and
undergone there a second imprisonment.
I do not produce these particulars for the sake of the
support which they lend to the testimony of the fathers con-
cerning St. Paul's second imprisonment, but to remark their
consistency and agreement with one another. They are al)
resolvable into one supposition ; and although the supposi-
tion itself be in some sort only negative, namely, that the
epistle was not written during St. Paul's first residence at
Rome, but in some future imprisonment in that city, yet is
the consistency not less worthy of observation ; for the epis-
tle touches upon names and circumstances connected with
the date and with the history of the first imprisonment, and
mentioned in letters WTitten during that imprisonment, and
so touches upon them as to leave what is said of one con-
sistent wdth what is said of others, and consistent also wdth
what is said of them in different epistles. Had one of these
circumstances been so described as to have fixed the date of
the epistle to the first imprisonment, it would have involved
the rest in contradiction. And when the number and par-
ticularity of the articles which have been brought together
under this head are considered, and when it is considered
also that the comparisons we have formed among them were
in all probability neither provided for, nor thought of, by the
writer of the epistle, it will be deemed something very like
the effect of truth, that no invincible repugnancy is perceived
between them.
11. In the Acts of the Apostles, in the sixteenth chaptei
and at the first verse, we are told that Paul " came to Derbe
and Lystra: and behold, a certain disciple was there, named
,'84 HOR^ PAULlNiE.
Timotheus, the son of a certain woman which wi.b a Jew
ess, and beheved, but his father was a Greek." In the
epistle before us, in the first chapter and at the fourth and
tifth verses, St. Paul writes to Timothy thus : "Greatly de-
siring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears, that I may be
filled with joy ; when I call to remembrance the unfeigned
faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother
Lois, and thy mother Eimice ; and I am persuaded that in
thee also." Here we have a fair unforced example of coin-
cidence. In the history, Timothy was the " son of a Jewess
that believed :" in the epistle, St. Paul applauds "the faith
which dwelt in his mother Eunice." In the history it is
said of the mother, that she "was a Jewess, and believed;"
of the father, that he "was a Greek." Now when it i&
said of the mother alone, that she "believed," the fathei
being nevertheless mentioned in the same sentence, we are
led to suppose of the father that he did not believe, that is,
either that he was dead, or that he remained unconverted.
Agreeably hereunto, while praise is bestowed in the epistle
upon one parent, and upon her sincerity in the faith, no no-
tice is taken of the other. The mention of the grandmother
is the addition of a circumstance not found in the history ;
but it is a circumstance which, as well as the names of the
parties, might naturally be expected to be known to the
apostle, though overlooked by his historian.
HI. Chap. 3 : 15 : "And that from a child thou hast
known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make thee
wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus."
This verse discloses a circumstance which agrees exactly
with what is intimated in the quotation from the Acts, ad-
duced in the last number. In that quotation it is recorded
of Timothy's mother, that she "was a Jewess." This de-
scription is virtually, though, I am satisfied, undesignedly,
recognized in the epistle, when Tim.othy is reminded in it,
"that from a child he had known the holy Scriptures."
♦The holy Scriptures" undoubtedly meant the Scriptures oi
SECOND EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 16^
me Old Testament. The expression bears that sense in
every place in which it occurs. Those of the New had not
yet acquired the name ; not to mention, that in Timothy's
childhood probably none of them existed. In what man-
ner then could Timothy have known "from a child" the
Jewish Scriptures, had he not been born, on one side or on
both, of Jewish parentage ? Perhaps he was not less likely
to be carefully instructed in them, for that his mother alone
professed that religion.
IV. Chap. 2:22: "Flee also youthful lusts; but fol-
low righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call
on the Lord out of a pure heart."
^^ Flee also youthful lusts." The suitableness of this
precept to the age of the person to whom it is addressed, is
gathered from 1 Timothy, 4 : 12 : "Let no man despise thy
youth." Nor do I deem the less of this coincidence because
the propriety resides in a single epithet, or because this one
precept is joined with, and followed by a train of others
not more applicable to Timothy than to any ordinary con-
vert. It is on these transient and cursory allusions that the
argument is best founded. When a writer dwells and rests
upon a point in which some coincidence is discerned, it may
be doubted whether he himself had not fabricated the con-
formity, and was endeavoring to display and set it off". But
when the reference is contained in a single word, unobserved
perhaps by most readers, the writer passing on to other sub-
jects, as unconscious that he had hit upon a correspondency,
or unsolicitous w^hether it were remarked or not, we may be
pretty well assured that no fraud was exercised, no imposi-
tion intended.
V. Chap. 3 : 10, 11 : "But thou hast fully known my
doctrine, manner of life, purpose, faith, long-suHering, char-
ity, patience, persecutions, afflictions, which came unto me
at Antioch, at Iconium, at Lystra ; what persecutions I
endured : but out of them all the Lord delivered me."
The Antioch here mentioned was not Antioch the capital
23*
186 HORJE PAULINA.
of Syria, where Paul and Barnabas resided "a long time,"
but Antioch in Pisidia, to which place Paul and Barnabas
came in their first apostolic progress, and where Paul deliv-
ered a memorable discourse, which is preserved in the thir-
teenth chapter of the Acts. At this Antioch the history re*
lates, that "the Jews stirred up the devout and honorable
women, and the chief men of the city, and raised persecu-
tion against Paul and Barnabas, and expelled them out
of their coasts. But they shook off the dust of their feet
against them, and came unto Iconiuni And it came
to pass in Iconium, that they went both together into the
synagogue of the Jews, and so spake, that a great multitude
both of the Jews and also of the Greeks believed. But the
unbelieving Jews stirred up the Gentiles, and made their
minds evil-afiected against the brethren. Long time there-
fore abode they, speaking boldly in the Lord, which gave
testimony unto the word of his grace, and granted signs and
wonders to be done by their hands. But the multitude of
the city was divided ; and part held with the Jews, and
part with the apostles. And when there was an assault
made both of the Gentiles, and also of the Jews with theii
rulers, to use them despitefully and to stone them, they
were aware of it, and fled unto Lystra and Derbe, cities oi
Lycaonia, and unto the region that lieth round about; and
there they preached the gospel And there came
thither certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who per-
suaded the people, and having stoned Paul, drew him out of
the city, supposing he had been dead. Howbeit, as the dis-
ciples stood round about him, he rose up, and came into the
city ; and the next day he departed with Barnabas to Derbe.
i\.nd when they had preached the gospel to that city, and
had taught many, they returned again to Lystra, and to Ico-
nium, and to Antioch." This account comprises the period
to which the allusion in the epistle is to be referred. We
have so far, therefore, a conformity between the history and
the epistle, that St. Paul is asserted in the history to have
SECOND EPISTLE TO TIMOTHY. 187
suffered persecutions in the three cities, his persecutions at
which are appealed to in the epistle ; and not only so, but
to have suffered these persecutions both in immediate suc-
cession, and in the order in which the cities are mentioned
in the epistle. The conformity also extends to another cir-
cumstance. In the apostolic history, Lystra and Derbe are
commonly mentioned together : in the quotation from the
epistle, Lystra is mentioned, and not Derbe. And the dis-
tinction will appear on this occasion to be accurate, for St.
Paul is here enumerating his persecutions : and although he
underwent grievous persecutions in each of the three cities
through which he passed to Derbe, at Derbe itself he met
with none : "The next day he departed," says the historian,
"to Derbe; and when they had preached the gospel to that
city, and had taught many, they returned again to Lystra."
The epistle, therefore, in the names of the cities, in the order
in which they are enumerated, and in the place at which the
enumeration stops, corresponds exactly with the history.
But a second question remains, namely, how these per-
secutions were "known" to Timothy, or why the apostle
should recall these in particular to his remembrance, rather
than many other persecutions with which his ministry had
been attended. When some time, probably three year?
afterwards, (vide Pearson's "Annales Paulinas,") St. Paul
made a second journey through the same country, "in order
to go again and visit the brethren in every city where he
had preached the word of the Lord," we read. Acts 16:1,
that when "he came to Derbe and Lystra, behold, a certain
disciple was there, named Timotheus." One or other, there-
fore, of these cities Avas the place of Timothy's abode. We
read; moreover, that he was well reported of by the brethren
that were at Lystra and Iconium ; so that he must have
been well acquainted with these places. Also again, when
Paul came to Derbe and Lystra, Timothy was already a
disciple: "Behold, a certain disciple was there, named
Timotheus." He must therefore have been converted be
188 HORiE PAULINjE.
fore. But since it is expressly stated in the epistle, that
Timothy was converted by St. Paul himself, that he was
"his own son in the faith," it follows that he must have
been converted by him upon his former journey into those
parts, which was the very time when the apostle underwent
the persecutions referred to in the epistle. Upon the whole,
then, persecutions at the several cities named in the epistle
are expressly recorded in the Acts ; and Timothy's know-
ledge of this part of St. Paul's history, tvhich knowledge is
appealed to in the epistle, is fairly deduced from the place of
his abode and the time of his conversion. It may further
be observed, that it is probable from this account, that St,
Paul was in the midst of those persecutions when Timothy
became knowft' to him. No w^onder then that the apostle,
though in a letter written long afterwards, should remind
his favorite convert of those scenes of affliction and distress
under which they first met.
Although this coincidence, as to the names of the cities,
be more .specific and direct than many which we have
pointed out, yet I apprehend that there is no just reason for
thinking it to be artificial ; for had the writer of the epistle
sought a coincidence with the history upon this head, and
searched the Acts of the Apostles for the purpose, I conceive
he would have sent us at once to Philippi and Thessalonica,
where Paul suffered persecution, and where, from what is
stated, it may easily be gathered that Timothy accompanied
him, rather than have appealed to persecutions as known to
Timothy, in the account of which persecutions Timothy's
presence is not mentioned ; it not being till after one entire
chapter, and in the history of a journey three years future
to this, that Timothy's name occurs in the Act? «f the Apos*
ties for the first time.
EPISTLE TO TITUS. 189
CHAPTER XIII.
THE EPISTLE TO TITUS.
I. A VERY characteristic circumstance in this epistle is
the quotation from Epimenides, chap. 1:12: " One of them-
selves, even a prophet of their own, said, The Cretiaus are
always liars, evil beasts, slow belHes."
KprjTsg ael ipevarai, kcku, ■dripta, yacTipeg apyai.
I call this quotation characteristic, because no writer in
the New Testament, except St. Paul, appealed to heathen
testimony ; and because St. Paul repeatedly did so. In his
celebrated speech at Athens, preserved in the seventeenth
chapter of the Acts, he tells his audience that in God '* we
live, and move, and have our being ; as certain also of your
own poets have said, For we are also his offspring :"
— TOv yap Kal yivog eoftev.
The reader will perceive much similarity of manner in
these two passages. The reference in the speech is to a
heathen poet ; it is the same in the epistle. In the speech,
the apostle urges his hearers with the authority of a poet
of their own; in the epistle, he avails himself of the same
advantage. Yet there is a variation, which shows that the
hint of inserting a quotation in the epistle was not, as it
may be suspected, borrowed from seeing the like practice
attributed to St. Paul in the history ; and it is this, that in
the epistle the author cited is called a prophet, " one ol
themselves, even a propliet of their own." Whatever might
be the reason for calling Epimenides a prophet ; whether
the names of poet and prophet were occasionally converti-
ble ; whether Epimenides in particular had obtained that
title, as Grotius seems to have proved; or whether the
appellation was given to him, in this instance, as having
delivered a description of the Cretan character, which the
future state of morals among them verified : whatever was
the reason — and any of these reasons will account for the
100 HOU^ PAULINiE.
variation, supposing St. Paul to have been the author — one
point is plain, namely, if the epistle had been forged, and
the author had inserted a quotation in it merely from having
seen an example of the same kind in a speech ascribed to
St. Paul, he would so far have imitated his original as t3
have introduced his quotation in the same manner ; that is,
he would have given to Epimenides the title which he saw
there given to Aratus. The other side of the alternative
is, that the history took the bint from the epistle. But that
the author of the Acts of the Apostles had not the epistle
to Titus before him, at least that he did not use it as one of
the documents or materials of his narrative, is rendered
nearly certain by the observation that the name of Titus
does not once occur in his book.
It is well known, and was remarked by St. Jerome, thai
the apothegm in the fifteenth chapter of the Corinthians,
'•Evil communications corrupt good manners," is an iambic
of Menander's :
^dhpovaiv ?]drj XPV'^' GfuTuai KaKoi.
Here we have another unaffected instance of the same
turn and habit of composition. Probably there are some
hitherto unnoticed ; and more, which the loss of the original
authors renders impossible to be now ascertained.
II. There exists a visible affinity between the epistle to
Titus and the first epistle to Timothy. Both letters were
addressed to persons left by the writer to preside in their
respective churches during his absence. Both letters are
principally occupied in describing the quahfications to be
sought for in those whom they should appoint to offices in
the church ; and the ingredients of this description are in
both letters nearly the same. Timothy and Titus are like-
wise cautioned against the same prevailing corruptions, and
in particular against the same misdirection of their cares
and studies. This affinity obtains not only in the subject
of the letters, which, from the similarity of situation in tho
persons to whom they were addressed, might be expected to
EPISTLE TO TITUS. 191
be 60-mewhat alike, but extends, in a great variety of in
stances, to the phrases and expressions. The writer accosts
his two friends with the same salutation, and passes on to
the business of his letter by the same transition.
" Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith ; Grace,
mercy, and peace, from God our Father and Jesus Christ
oui Lord. As I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus,
vjhen I went into Macedonia^' etc. 1 Tim. 1 : 2, 3.
" To Titus, mine oivn son after the common faith :
grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father, and the
Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour. For this cause left I thee
in Crete:' Tit. 1 : 4, 5.
If Timothy was not to ''give heed to fables and endless
genealogies, which minister questions:' 1 Tim. 1 : 4, Titus
also was to " avoid foolish questions, and ge?tealogies, and
contentions," chap. 3:9, and was to " rebuke them sharply,
7tot givi?ig heed to Jeioish fables:' Chap. 1 : 13, 14. li
Timothy was to be a pattern, tvtxo^, 1 Tim. 4 : 12, so was
Titus. Chap. 2:7. If Timothy was to "let no man de-
spise his youth," 1 Tim. 4 : 12, Titus also was to "let tio
man despise him." Chap. 2 : 15. This verbal consent is
also observable in some very peculiar expressions, which
have no relation to the particular character of Timothy or
Titus.
The phrase, " it is a faithful saying," maToq 6 lojog, made
use of to preface some sentence upon which the writer lays
a more than ordinary stress, occurs three times in the first
epistle to Timothy, once in the second, and once in the epistle
before us, and in no other part of St. Paul's writings ; and
it is remarkable that these three epistles were probably all
written towards the conclusion of his life ; and that they arc
the only epistles which were written after his first imprison-
ment at Rome.
The same observation belongs to another singularity oi
expression, and that is in the epithet " sound:' vyxaivm^ aa
applied to words or doctrine. It is thus used twice in tho
192 HOE.^ PAULINA.
first epistle to Timothy, tAvice in the second, and three tunes
in the epistle to Titus, besides two cognate expressions, iryud-
vovrac ry irtoret, and /.oyov vyiTj-^ and it is found, in the same
sense, in no other part of the New Testament.
The phrase, " God our Saviour," stands in nearly the
same predicament. It is repeated three times in the first
epistle to Timothy, as many in the epistle to Titus, and in
110 other book of the New Testament occurs at all, except
once in the epistle of Jude.
Similar terms, intermixed indeed with others, are em-
ployed in the two epistles, in enumerating the qualifications
required in those who should be advanced to stations of au-
thority in the church.
"A bishop then must be blameless, the husband of one
ivife, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, given to hosjntality,
apt to teach ; Qiot given to icine, no striker, not greedy oj
filthy lucre ; but patient ; not a brawler, not covetous ; one
that ruleth well his own house, having his children in sub-
jection with all gravity."* ] Tim. 3 : 2-4.
" If any be blameless, the husband of one loife, having
faithful children, not accused of riot, or unruly. For a
bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God : not self-
willed, not soon angry, 7iot given to ivine, no striker, not
given to filthy lucre; but a lover of hospitality, a lover c.l
good men, sober, just, holy, temperate."! Titus 1 : 6-8.
The most natural account which can be given of thest
resemblances, is to suppose that the two epistles were writ-
ten nearly at the same time, and while the same ideas and
* " A£4 ovv Tov tTTLGKOnOV aveni7i,T]TZTov slvac, fiLug yvvaiKog 'avdpa.
vri<l>akLOV, Gclxppova, koo/iiov, (ptTiO^evov, didaKTiKov, /i^ TvdpoLVOv, iirj ttTitjk-
r7]v^ jiT] alaxpoKepdr/ • d?J?J eTTLetKrj, 'afiaxov, cKpiXapyvpov • rov Idiov oiKOt
KG/lcif Tcpoiardfiei'ov, rcKva sxo''^'''^^ ^^ virorayi) fisTu nuarjg GeuvorrjTog.'"
t " 'El rig egtIv uveyKhjrog, fxiug yvvaiKog dvrjp, TEKva 1;^"^ -nLcrd, fir;
h KaTTjyopla uGuriac, tj dvvTCOTaKTa. Aa yap rbv eniGKOTrov uvEyiilTjToy
dvac, (l)g Qeov oi.Kovofiov, ft?) avdad?], /j.v opyiTiov, (irj rcapoivov, [jt] tt'/.tjkttjv.
(j^ aiGxpoKepSrj- ukTid (^lTiO^cvov, (})c?Jiya^ov, GCj(f)pova, ilKacov, ogiqv, iy
EPISTLE TO TITUS. 11)3
phrases dwelt in the writer's mind. Let us inquire, there-
fore, whether the notes of time extant in the two epistles
in any manner favor this supposition.
We have seen that it was necessary to refer the first
epistle to Timothy to a date subsequent to St. Paul's (^rsl
imprisonment at Rome, because there was no journey nito
Macedonia prior to that event, which accorded with the cir-
cumstance of leaving Timothy behind at Ephesus. The
journey of St. Paul from Crete, alluded to in the epistle be-
fore us, and in which Titus " was left in Crete to set in order
the things that were wanting," must, in like manner, be
carried to the period which intervened between his first and
second imprisonment. For the history, which reaches, we
know, to the time of St. Paul's first imprisonment, contains
no account of his going to Crete, except upon his voyage as
a prisoner to Rome ; and that this could not be the occasion
referred to in our epistle is evident from hence, that when
St. Paul wrote this epistle, he appears to have been at lib-
erty ; whereas after that voyage, he continued for two years
at least in confinement. Again, it is agreed that St. Paul
wrote his first epistle to Timothy from Macedonia : " As I
besought thee to abide still at Ephesus, when I went," or
came, " into Macedonia." And that he was in these parts,
that is, in this peninsula, when he wrote the epistle to Titus,
is rendered probable by his directing Titus to come to him to
Nicopolis : " When I shall send Artemas unto thee, or Tych-
icus, be diligent," make haste, " to come unto me to Nicopo-
lis; for I have determined there to winter." The most noted
city of that name was in Epirus, near to Actium. And I
think the form of speaking, as well as the nature of the case,
renders it probable that the writer was at Nicopolis, or in
the neighborhood thereof, when he dictated this direction to
Titus.
Upon the whole, if we may be allowed to suppose tliat
St. Paul, after his liberation at Rome, sailed into Asia, taking
Crete in his way ; that from Asia aimd from Ephesus, the
9
194 HOR^ PAULINA.
capital of that countrj', he proceeded into Macedonia, and
crossing the peninsula in his progress, came into the neigh-
borhood of Nicopolis, we have a route which falls in with
every thing. It executes the intention expressed by the
apostle of visiting Colosse and Philippi, as soon as he should
be set at liberty at Rome. It allows him to leave Titus at
Crete, and Timothy at Ephesus, as he w^ent into Macedonia ;
and to write to both not long after from the peninsula of
Greece, and probably the neighborhood of Nicopolis ; thus
bringing together the dates of these two letters, and thereby
accounting for that affinity between them, both in subject
and language, which our remarks have pointed out. I con-
fess that the journey which we have thus traced out for St.
Paul is, in a great measure, hypothetic ; but it should be
observed, that it is a species of consistency which seldom
belongs to falsehood, to admit of an hypothesis which in-
cludes a great number of independent circjumstances withora
contradiction.
EPISTLE TO PHILEMON. 195
CHAPTER XIY.
THE EPISTLE TO PHILEMON.
I. The singular correspondency between this epistle anii
that to the Colossians has been remarked already. An as-
Bciti Dn in the epistle to the Colossians, namely, that " Oncs-
imus was one of them," is verified, not by any mention of
Colosse, any the most distant intimation concerning the
place of Philemon's abode, but singly by stating Onesimus
to be Philemon's servant, and by joining in the salutation
Philemon with Archippus ; for this Archippas, when we go
back to the epistle to the Colossians, appears to have been
an inhabitant of that city, and, as it should seem, to have
held an office of authority in that church. The case stands
thus. Take the epistle to the Colossians alone, and no cir-
cumstance is discoverable which makes out the assertion,
that Onesimus was " one of them." Take the epistle to
Philemon alone, and nothing at all appears concerning the
place to which Philemon or his servant Onesimus belonged.
For any thing that is said in the epistle, Philemon might
as well have been a Thessalonian, a Philippian, or an Ephe-
sian, as a Colossian. Put the two epistles together, and the
matter is clear. The reader perceives ^junction of circum-
tjtances, which ascertains the conclusion at once. Now all
that is necessary to be added in this place is, that this cor-
respondency evinces the genuineness of one epistle, as well as
of the other. It is like comparing the two parts of a cloven
tally. Coincidence proves the authenticity of both.
II. And this coincidence is perfect ; not only in the main
article, of showing, by implication, Onesimus to be a Colos-
gian, but in many dependent circumstances.
1. " I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, .... whom I
have sent again " Verses 10-12. It appears from the epis-
tle to the Colossians, that in truth Onesimus was sent at
that time to Colosse : " All my state shall Tychicus declare
196 HOR^ PAULINiE.
unto you, .... whom I have sent unto you for the same
purpose, . . with Onesimus, a faithful and beloved broth
er." Colos. 4 : 7-9.
2. " I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, ichom I have
hegotten in my honcUr Ver. 10. It appears from the pre
ceding quotation, that Onesimus was with St. Paul when ht.
WTote the epistle to the Colossians ; and that he wrote that
epistle in imprisonment^ is evident from his declaration in
the fourth chapter and third verse : " Praying also for us,
that God would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak
the mystery of Christ, for which I am also in bonch'^
3. St. Paul bids Philemon prepare for him a lodging
" For I trust," says he, " that through your prayers I shall
be given unto you." This agrees with the expectation of
speedy deliverance which he expressed in another epistle,
written during the same imprisonment : " Him," Timothy,
*' I hope to send presently, so soon as I shall see how it will
go with me. But I trust in the Lord tlmt I also myselj
shall come shortly.''' Phil. 2 : 23 : 24.
4. As the letter to Philemon and that to the Coiossians
were written at the same time and sent by the same mes-
senger, the one to a particular inhabitant, the other to the
church of Colosse, it may be expected that the same or
nearly the same persons would be about St. Paul, and join
with him, as was the practice, in the salutations of the epis-
tle. Accordingly we find the names of Aristarchus, Marcus,
Epaphras, Luke, and Demas, in both epistles. Timothy,
who is joined with St. Paul in the superscription of the
epistle to the Colossians, is joined with him in this. Tych-
icus did not salute Philemon, because he accompanied the
epistle to Colosse, and would undoubtedly there see him.
Yet the reader of the epistle to Philemon will remark one
considerable diversity in the catalogue of saluting friends,
and which shows that the catalogue was not copied from
that to the Colossians. In the epistle to the Colossians,
Aristarchus is called b\ St. Paul his fellow-prisoner, Colos
EPISTLE TO PHILEMON. 197
1:10; in the epistle to Philemon, Aristarchus is mentione»l
without any addition, and the title of fellow-prisoner is given
to Epaphras.*
And let it also he observed, that notwithstanding the
close and circumstantial agreement between the two epis-
tles, this is not the case of an opening left in a genuine
■writing, which an impostor is induced to fill up ; nor of a
reference to some writing not extant, which sets a sophist at
work to supply the loss, in like manner as, because St. Paul
was supposed, Coios. 4 : 16, to allude to an epistle written
by him to the Laodiceans, some person has from thence
taken the hint of uttering a forgery under that title. The
present, I say, is not the case ; for Philemon's name is not
mentioned in the epistle to the Colossians; Onesimus' servile
condition is nowhere hinted at, any more than his crime, his
flight, or the place or time of his conversion. The story
therefore of the epistle, if it be a fiction, is a fiction to which
the author could not have been guided by any thing he had
read in St. Paul's genuine writings.
III. Ver. 4, 5 : "I thank my God, making mention of
thee always in my prayers, hearing of thy love and faith,
which thou hast toward the Lord Jesus, and toward ail
saints."
" Hearing of thy love and faith'' This is the form
of speech which St. Paul was wont to use towards those
churches which he had not seen, or then visited. See Rom.
1:8; Ephes. 1:15; Col. 1 : 3, 4. Towards those churches
and persons with whom he was previously acquainted, iie
employed a different phrase; as, "I thank my God always
on your behalf," 1 Cor. 1:4; 2 Thess. 1:3; or, " upon
* Dr. Benson observes, and perhaps truly, that the appellation o/
fellow-prisoner, as applied by St. Paul to Epaphras, did not imply
ihat they were imprisoned together at the time ; any more than ycm
calling a person your fellow-traveller imports that you are then upon
your travels. If he had upon any former occasion travelled with you,
you might afterwards speak of him under that title. It is just so with
the term fellow-prisoner.
19H H0IIJ5 PAULINA.
every rem&nibrance of you," Phil. 1 : 3 ; 1 Thess. 1 : 2, 3 ,
2 Tim. 1:3; and never speaks q{ hearing of them. Yet,
I thiniv it must be concluded, from the nineteenth verse ol
this ejDistle, that Philemon had been converted by St. Paul
himself: '' Albeit, I do not say to thee how thou owest unto
mc even thine own self besides. ' Here then is a peculiarity.
Let us inquire whether the epistle supplies any circumstance
which will account for it. "VYe have seen that it may be
made out, not from the epistle itself, but from a comparison
of the epistle with that to the Colossians, that Philemon
was an inhabitant of Colosse ; and it further appears from
the epistle to the Colossians, that St. Paul had never been
in that city : "I would that ye knew what great conflict I
have for you and for them at Laodicea, and for as many as
have not seen my face in the flesh." Col. 2:1. Although,
therefore, St. Paul had formerly met with Philemon at some
other place, and had been the immediate instrument of his
conversion, yet Philemon's faith and conduct afterwards, inas-
much as he lived in a city which St. Paul had never visited,
could only be known to him by fame and reputation.
IV. The tenderness and delicacy of this epistle have Ion?
been admired : " Though I might be much bold in Christ
to enjoin thee that which is convenient, j^et for love's sake
I rather beseech thee, being such a one as Paul the aged,
and now also a prisoner of Jesus Christ ; I beseech thee for
my son Onesimus, whom I have begotten in my bonds."
There is something certainly very melting and persuasive
ui this and every part of the epistle. Yet, in my opinion,
the character of St. Paul prevails in it throughout. The
warm, aflectionate, authoritative teacher is interceding with
an absent friend for a beloved convert. He urges his suit
with an earnestness befitting perhaps not so much the occa-
sion, as the ardor and rensibiUty of his own mind. Here
also, as everywhere, he shows himself conscious of the weight
and dignity of his mission ; nor does he suffer Philemon foi
a moment to forget it ''I jnigkt be much bold in Chrisl
EPISTLE TO PHILEMON. I9<>
to enjoin thee thut which is convenient ' He is careful
al&o to TL-^call, though obliquely, to Philemon's memory, the
sacred obligation under which he had laid him, by bringing
to him the knowledge of Jesus Christ : "I do not say to
thee how thou owest unto me even thine own self besides."
Without laying aside, therefore, the apostolic character, our
author softens the imperative style of his address by mixing
with it every sentiment and consideration that could move
the heart of his correspondent. Aged and in prison, he is
contented to supplicate and entreat. Onesnnus was rendered
dear to him by his conversion and his services : the child of
his affliction, and "ministering unto him in the bonds of the
gospel." This ought to recommend him, whatever had been
his fault, to Philemon's forgiveness: "Receive him as my-
stilf, as my own bowels." Every thing, however, should be
\oluntary. St. Paul was determined that Philemon's coni-
jtliance should flow from his own bounty: "Without thy
mind would I do nothing ; that thy benefit should not be as
it were of necessity, but willingly ;" trusting nevertheless to
his gratitude and attachment for the performance of all that
he requested, and for more : " Having confidence in thy
obedience, I wrote unto thee, knowing that thou wilt also
do more than I say."
St. Paul's discourse at Miletus ; his speech before Agrip
pa ; his epistle to the Romans, as has been remarked, No,
Vni. ; that to the Galatians, chap. 4 : 1 1-20 ; to the Phi-
lippians, chap. 1 : 29 ; 2:2; the second to the Corinthians,
chap. 6 : 1—13 ; and indeed some part or other of almost
every epistle, exhibit examples of a similar application to the
teelings and aflections of the persons whom he addresses.
And it is observable, that these pathetic effusions, drawn
for the most part from his own sufferings and situation, usu
ally precede a command, soften a rebuke, or mitigate the
harshness of some disagreeable truth.
200 HORJE PAULI"Nifi.
CHAPTER XV.
THE SUBSCRIPTIONS OF THE EPISTLES.
Six of these siibscrij^tions are false or improbable ; that
is, they are either absolutely contradicted by the contents of
the epistle, or are difficult to be reconciled with them.
I. The subscription of the first epistle to the Corinthians
Btates that it was written from Philippi, notwithstanding
that in the sixteenth chapter and the eighth verse of the
epistle, St. Paul informs the Corinthians that he will "tarry
at Ephesus until Pentecost ;" and notwithstanding that he
begins the salutations in the epistle by telling them, "the
churches of Asia salute you :" a pretty evident indication
that he himself Avas in Asia at this time.
II. The epistle to the Galatians is by the subscription
dated from Rome ; yet in the epistle itself St. Paul expresses
bis surprise "that they were so soon removing from him that
called them ;" whereas his journey to Rome was ten years
posterior to the conversion of the Galatians. And what, I
think, is more conclusive, the author, though speaking of
himself in this more than any other epistle, does not once
-nention his bonds, or call himself a prisoner ; which he had
not failed to do in every one of the four epistles written from
that city, and during that imprisonment.
III. The first epistle to the Thessalonians was written,
the subscription tells us, from Athens ; yet the epistle refers
expressly to the coming of Timotheus from Thessalonica,
chap. 3:6; and the history informs us, Acts 18:5, that
Timothy came out of Macedonia to St. Paul at Corhith.
IV. The second epistle to the Thessalonians is dated,
ftnd without any discoverable reason, from Athens also. II
t be truly the second — if it refer, as it appears to do, chap.
2 : 2, to the first, and the first was written from Corinth, the
place must be erroneously assigned, for the history does not
SUBSCRIPTIONS OF THE EPISTLES. 201
allow us to suppose that St. Paul, after lie had reached Cor-
inth, went back to Athens.
V. The first epistle to Timothy the subscription assertii
to have been sent from Laodicea ; yet when St. Paul writes,
" I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus," 7ropaj6[ievog ek
^aKsSovtav, "when I set out for Macedonia," the reader is
naturally led to conclude that he wrote the letter upon his
arrival in that country.
VI. The epistle to Titus is dated from Nicopolis in Mac-
edonia, w^hile no city of that nac'e is known to have existed
in that province.
The use, and the only use which I make of these obser-
vations, is to show how easily errors and contradictions steal
in, where the writer is not guided by original knowledge.
There are only eleven distinct assignments of date to St.
Paul's epistles — for the four written from Rome may be con-
sidered as plainly contemporary — and of these, six seem to
be erroneous. I do not attribute any authority to these sub-
scriptions. I believe them to have been conjectures founded
sometimes upon loose traditions, but more generally upon a
consideration of some particular text, without sufficiently
comparing it with other parts of the epistle, with different
epistles, or with the history. Suppose, then, that the sub-
scriptions had cooie down to us as authentic parts of the
epistles, there would have been more contrarieties and diffi-
cuhies arising out of these final verses than from all the rest
of the volume. Yet, if the epistles had been forged, the
whole must have been made up of the same elements as
those of which the subscriptions are composed, namely, tra-
dition, conjecture, and inference ; and it would have remaineii
to bo accounted for, how, while so many errors were crowded
int ) the concluding clauses of the letters, so much consis
tei'.cy should be preserved in other parts.
The same reflection arises from observing the ove;sighlH
and mistakes which learned men have committed, when
arguing upon alkisions which relate to time and place, or
FJcre l'»ul. 24 "^
:;02 HORiE PAULINA.
«vheu endeavoring to digest scattered, circumstances into a
continued story. It is indeed the same case ; for these sub-
scriptions must be regarded as ancient scholia, and as noth-
ing more. Of this liability to error I can present the reader
with a notable instance ; and which I bring forward for no
other purpose than that to which I apply the erroneous sub-
scriptions. Ludovicus Capellus, in that part of his " His-
torica Apostolica Illustrata," which is entitled De Ordine
Epist. Paul., writing upon the second epistle to the Corinthi
ans, triumphs unmercifully over the M^ant of sagacity in Ba-
ronius, who it seems makes St. Paul write his epistle to Titus
from Macedonia upon his second visit into that province ;
whereas it appears from the history, that Titus, instead of
being at Crete, where the epistle places him, was at that
time sent by the apostle from Macedonia to Corinth. " An-
imadvertere est,"" says Capellus, "■ magnam hominis ilius
u(3XEiluav, qui mdt Titum a Paulo in Cretam abductum,
illicque rclictum, cuon hide Nicopolivi navigaret, quern
tamen ag?ioscit a Paido ex Macedo7iia missum esse Coriyi-
tlium'' This probably will be thought a detection of incon-
sistency in Baronius. But what is the most remarkable is,
that in the same chapter in which he thus indulges his con-
tempt for Baronius' judgment, Capellus himself falls into an
error of the same kind, and more gross and palpable than
that which he reproves. For he begins the chapter by
stating the second epistle to the Corinthians and the first
epistle to Timothy to be nearly contemporary ; to have been
both written during the apostle's second visit into Macedo-
nia ; and that a doubt subsisted concerning the immediate
priority or their dates: ''Posterior ad eo&dem CorintJiios
Episiola, et prior ad Timotheum certant de prioritate, et
mb judice lis est ; utraque autem scripta est paulo post-
quam Paulus Epheso discessisset, adeoque diim Macedo-
niam peragraret, sed utra tempore pracedat, non liquet ^
Now, in the first place, it is highly improbable that the two
epistles should have been written either nearly together, or
SL^BSCHIPTIONS OF THE EPlSTLEb. 203
during the same journey through Macedonia ; for, in the
epistle to the Corinthians, Timothy appears to have been
ivith St. Paul ; in the epistle addressed to him, to have been
left behind at Ephesus, and not only left behind, but directed
to continue there till St. Paul should return to that city,
fn the second place, it is inconceivable that a question should
be proposed concerning the priority of date of the two epis'
ties ; for when St. Paul, in his epistle to Timothy, opens his
address to him by saying, " as I besought thee to abide still
at Ephesus when I went into Macedonia," no reader can
doubt but that he here refers to the last interview which
had passed between them ; that he had not seen him since :
whereas, if the epistle be posterior to that to the Corinthians,
yet written upon the same visit into Macedonia, this could
not be true ; for as Timothy was along with St. Paul when
he wrote to the Corinthians, he must, upon this supposition,
have passed over to St. Paul in Macedonia after he had been
left by him at Ephesus, and must have returned to Ephesus
again before the epistle was written. What misled Ludo-
vicus Capellus was simply this, that he had entirely over-
looked Timothy's name in the superscription of the second
epistle to the Corinthians. Which oversight appears not
only in the quotation we have given, but from his telling us
as he does, that Timothy came from Ephesus to St. Paul at
Corinth; whereas the superscription proves that Timothy
was already w4th St. Paul when he wrote to the Corintb/ans
from Macedonia.
204 HORiE PAULINiK.
CHAPTER XYI.
THE CONCLUSION.
In the outset of this inquiry, the reader was directed to
consider the Acts of the Apostles and the thirteen epistles
?f St. Paul as certain ancient manuscripts lately discovered
in the closet of some celebrated library. We have adhered
to this view of the subject. External evidence of every
kind has been removed out of sight ; and our endeavors
have been employed to collect the indications of truth and
authenticity which appeared to exist in the writings them-
selves, and to result from a comparison of their different
parts. It is not however necessary to continue this suppo-
sition longer. The testimony which other remains of con-
temporary, or the monuments of adjoining ages afford to the
reception, notoriety, and public estimation of a book, form,
no doubt, the first proof of its genuineness. And in no books
whatever is this proof more complete than in those at present
under our consideration. The inquiries of learned men, and,
above all, of the excellent Lardner, who never overstates a
point of evidence, and whose fidelity in citing his authori-
ties has in no one instance been impeached, have established,
concerning these writings, the following propositions :
I. That in the age immediately posterior to that in which
St. Paul lived, his letters were publicly read and acknowledged.
Some of them are quoted or alluded to by almost every
Christian writer that followed, by Clement of Rome, by
Ilermas, by Ignatius, by Polycarp, disciples or contempora-
ries of the apostles ; by Justin Martyr, by the churches of
Gaul, by Irenseus, by Athenagoras, by Theophilus, by Clem-
ent of Alexandria, by Hermias, by Tertullian, who occupied
the succeeding age. Now when we find a book quoted or
referred to by an ancient author, we are entitled to conclude
that it was read and received in the age and country in
which that author lived. And this conclusion does not, in
COiNCLUSiON. 205
any degree, rest upon the judgment oi character of the
author making such reference. Proceeding by this rule, we
have, concerning the first epistle to the Corinthians in par-
ticular, within forty years after the epistle was written, evi-
dence not only of its being extant at Corinth, but of its
being known and read at Rome, Clement, bishop of that
city, writing to the church of Corinth, uses these words :
" Take into your hands the epistle of the blessed Paul the
apostle. What did he at first write unto you in the begin-
ning of the gospel ? Verily he did by the Spirit admonish
you concerning himself, and Cephas, and ApoUos, because
that even then you did form parties. "=* This was written
at a time when probably some must have been living at
Corinth who remembered St. Paul's ministry there and the
receipt of the epistle. The testimony is still more valuable.
as it shows that the epistles were preserved in the churches
to which they were sent, and that they were spread and
propagated from them to the rest of the Christian commu-
nity. Agreeably to which natural mode and order of their
publication, TertuUian, a century afterwards, for proof of the
integrity and genuineness of the apostolic writings, bids " any
one, who is willing to exercise his curiosity profitably in the
business of their salvation, to visit the apostohcal churches,
in which their very authentic letters are recited — ipsae au-
thenticse literse eorum recitantur." Then he goes on : " I?
Achaia near you ? You have Corinth. If you are not fav
firom Macedonia, you have Philippi, you have Thessalonica.
If you can go to Asia, you have Ephesus ; but if you are
near to Italy, you have Ilome."t I adduce this passage to
show, that the distinct churches or Christian societies, to
which St. Paul's epistles were sent, subsisted for some agr?a
afterwards ; that his several epistles were all along resp(!C-
lively read in those churches ; that Christians at large re-
ceived them from those churches, and appealed to those
ftlmrches for their originality and authenticity.
* See Lardner, vol. 12, p. 22. t Lardner, vol. 2, p. nya
20G HORiE PAULlNiE.
Aro-uitio' ill like manner from citations and allusions, we
have, within the space of a hundred and fifty years from
the time that the first of St. Paul's epistles was written,
proofs of almost all of them being read in Palestine, Syria,
the countries of Asia Minor, in Egypt, in that part of Africa
which used the Latin tongue, in Greece, Italy, and Gaul*
I do not mean simply to assert, that within the space of a
hundred and fifty years St. Paul's epistles were read in those
countries, for I believe that they were read and circulated
from the beginning ; but that proofs of their being so read
occur within that period. And when it is considered how
few of the primitive Christians wrote, and of what was
written how much is lost, we are to account it extraordi-
narv, or rather as a sure proof of the extensiveness of th«
reputation of these writings, and of the general respect in
which they were held, that so many testimonies, and of such
antiquity, are still extant. "In the remaining works of
Irengeus, Clement of Alexandria, and Tertullian, there are
perhaps more and larger quotations of the small volume ot
the New Testament, than of all the works of Cicero in the
writings of all characters for several ages."t We must add,
that the epistles of Paul come in for their full share of this
observation; and that all the thirteen epistles, except that
to Philemon, which is not quoted by Irenseus or Clemeat,
and which probably escaped notice merely by its brevity,
are severally cited, and expressly recognized as St. Paul's by
each of these Christian writers. The Ebionites, an early,
though inconsiderable Christian sect, rejected St. Paul and
his epistles ;$ that is, they rejected these epistles not be-
cause they were not, but because they were St. Paul's ; and
because, adhering to the obligation of the Jewish law, they
chose to dispute his doctrine and authority. Their suilrage
as to the genuineness of the epistles does not contradict thai
of othar Christians. Marcion, a heretical writer in the fbr-
* See Lardner's EecapitulsLtion, vol. 12, p. 53. t Ibid.
X Lardner, vol. 2, p. 808.
COlsCLUSION. 207
mei [)art of the second century, is said by TertuUian to have
rejected three of the epistles which we now receive, namely,
the two epistles to Timothy and the epistle to Titus. It
appears to me not improbable, that Marcion might make
some such distinction as this : that no apostolic epistle was
to be admitted which was not read or attested by the church
to which it was sent ; for it is remarkable, that together
with these epistles to private persons, he rejected also the
catholic epistles. Now the catholic epistles and the epistles
to private persons agree in the circumstance of wanting this
particular species of attestation. Marcion, it seems, acknow-
ledged the epistle to Philemon, and is upbraided for his In-
consistency in doing so by Tertullian,* who asks, " Why,
when he received a letter written to a single person, he
should refuse two to Timothy and one to Titus, composed
upon the affairs of the church ?" This passage so far favors
our account of Marcion's objection, as it shows that the ob-
jection was supposed by TertuUian to have been founded in
something which belonged to the nature of a private letter.
Nothing of the works of Marcion remains. Probably he
was, after all, a rash, arbitrary, licentious critic — if he de-
served indeed the name of critic — and who offered no reason
lor his determination. What St. Jerome says of him inti-
mates this, and is besides founded in good sense : speaking
of him and Basilides, " If they assigned any reason," says
he, " why they did not reckon these epistles," namely, the
first and second to Timothy and the epistle to Titus, " to be
the apostle's, we would have endeavored to answer them,
and perhaps might have satisfied the reader ; but wdien the^
take upon them, by their own authority, to pronounce one
epistle to be Paul's, and another not, they can only be replit.-<?
tc in the same manner."! Let it be remembered, however,
that Marcion received ten of these epistles. His authority,
therefore, even if his credit had been better than it is, forms
q, very small exception to the uniformity of the evidence. Of
* Lardner, vol. 14, p. ^Ti.'^. t Ibid, p -158.
208 KORM PAULINA.
Basilides we know still less than we do of Marcion. Tho
same observation, however, belongs to him, namely, that his
objection, as far as appears from this passage of St. Jerome,
was confined to the three private epistles. Yet is this the
only opinion which can be said to disturb the consent of the
first two centuries of the Christian era ; for as to Tatian, who
is reported by Jerome alone to have rejected some of St.
Paul's epistles, the extravagant or rather delirious notions
into which he fell, take away all weight and credit from his
judgment. If, indeed, Jerome's account of this circumstance
be correct ; for it appears from much older writers than Je-
rome, that Tatian owned and used many of these epistles.*
II. They who in those ages disputed about so many
other points, agreed in acknowledging tlie Scriptures now
before us. Contending sects appealed to them in their con-
troversies, with equal and unreserved submission. AYhen
they were urged by one side, however they might be inter-
preted or misinterpreted by the other, their authority wa?
not questioned. '' Reliqui omnes,'' says Irenaeus, speaking
of Marcion, "faUo scienticB oiomine inflati, Scripturaii
quidem confitentur, interpretationes vero convertunt."-f
III. When the genuineness of some other writings which
were in circulation, and even of a fev/ v/hich are now re-
ceived into the canon, was contested, these were never called
into dispute. "Whatever was the objection, or whether in
truth there ever was any real objection to the authenticity
of the second epistle of Peter, the second and third of John,
the epistle of James, or that of Jude, or to the book of the
Revelation of St. John, the doubts that appear to have been
€:ntertained concerning them exceedingly strengthen the force
of the testimony as to those writings about which there wag
no doubt ; because it shows, that the matter was a subject,
* Lardner, vol. 1, p. 313.
t Iren. adver.s. Hser. quoted by Lardner, vol, 15, p. 425. " All iws
rest, inflatod with a false pretence of knowledge, racogtiize the Scrip
lures, but wrest their interpretation."
THE CONCLUSIOJN". 209
ftiiiong the early Christians, of examination and discussion ;
and that where there was any room to doubt, they did doubt.
What Eusebius has left upon the subject is directly to
the purpose of this observation. Eusebius, it is well known,
divided the ecclesiastical writings which were extant in his
time into three classes: the "avavn/6/^7?ra, uncontradicted," as
he calls them in one chapter, or, "scriptures universally
acknowledged," as he calls them in another; the "contro-
verted, yet well knowai and approved by many;" and the
"spurious." What were the shades of difference in the
books of the second, or of those in the third class, or what
it was precisely that he meant by the term sjjurious, it is
not necessary in this place to inquire. It is sufficient for us
to find, that the thirteen epistles of St. Paul are placed by hini
in the first class, without any sort of hesitation or doubt.
It is further also to be collected from the chapter in which
this distinction is laid down, that the method made use of by
Eusebius, and by the Christians of his time, namely, the close
of the third century, in judging concerning the sacred author
ity of any books, was to inquire after and consider the tes
timony of those who lived near the age of the apostles.*
IV. That no ancient writing which is attested as these
epistles are, has had its authenticity disproved, or is in fact
questioned. The controversies which have been moved con-
cerning suspected writings, as the epistles, for instance, of
Phalaris, or the eighteen epistles of Cicero, begin by show-
ing that this attestation is wanting. That being proved, the
question is thrown back upon internal marks of spuriousness or
authenticity ; and in these the dispute is occupied. In which
disputes it is to be observed, that the contested writings are
commonly attacked by arguments drawn from some opposition
which they betray to " authentic history," to "true ep'st^.es,''
to the "real sentiments or circumstances of the author whom
they personate;"! which authentic history, which true epis-
* Lardner, vol. 8, p. 106.
t See tracts by Tunstal and Middleton, upon certain suspected epis-
tles ascribed to Cicero
24*
210 HOR^ PAULIN.E.
ties, which real sentiments themselves, are no other than wi-
cient documents, whose early existence and reception can be
proved, in the roanner in which the writings before us are tra-
ced up to the age of their reputed author, or to ages near to his.
A modern who sits down to compose the history of some an-
cient period, has no stronger evidence to appeal to for the most
confident assertion, or the most undisputed fact that he deliv*
ers, than writings whose genuineness is proved by the sama
medium through which we evince the authenticity of ours.
Nor, while he can have recourse to such authorities as these,
does he apprehend any uncertainty in his accounts, from the
FMspicion of spuriousness or imposture in his materials.
V. It cannot be shown that any forgeries, properly so
called,* that is, w^ritings published under the name of the
person who did not compose them, made their appearance in
the first century of the Christian era, in which century these
epistles undoubtedly existed. I shall set down under this
proposition the guarded words of Lardner himself: "There
are no quotations of any books of them — spurious and apoc-
ryphal books — in the apostolical fathers, by whom I mean
Barnabas, Clem.ent of Rome, Hernias, Ignatius, and Poly-
carp, whose WTitings reach from the year of our Lord 70 to
the year 108. I say this confidently, because I think it
has been proved." Lardner, vol. 12, p. 158.
Nor when they did appear were they much used by the
primitive Christians. "Irenseus quotes not any of these
books. He mentions some of them, but he never quotes
them. The same may be said of TertuUian : he has men-
tioned a book called ' Acts of Paul and Thecla,' but it is
only to condemn it. Clement of Alexandria and Origen
have mentioned and quoted several such books, but never as
authDrity, and sometimes with express marks of dislike.
Eusebius quoted no such books in any of his works. He
^ I believe that there is a great deal of truth in Dr. Lardner's ob-
servation, that comparatively few of those books which we call apoc-
ryphal wei-e stri(-tly and originally forgeries. Lardner, vol. 12, p. 167
THE CONCLUSIO:n\ 211
has mentioned them, indeed; but how? Not Dy way of
approbation, but to show that they were of httle or no
value, and that they never were received by the sounder
part of Christians." Now, if with this, which is advanced
after the most minute and diUgent examination, we comparn
what the same cautious writer had before said of our re-
ceived Scriptures, "that in the works of three only of th»',
above-mentioned fathers, there are more and larger quota-
tions of the small volume of the New Testament than of
all the w^orks of Cicero in the writings of all characters for
several ages ;" and if with the marks of obscurity or con-
demnation which accompanied the mention of the several
apocryphal Christian writings, when they happened to be
mentioned at all, we contrast what Dr. Lardner's work com-
pletely and in detail makes out concernnig the writings
which we defend, and what, having so made out, he thought
himself authorized in his conclusion to asse^^., that these
books were not only received from the beginning, but re-
ceived with the greatest respect ; have been publicly and
solemnly read in the assemblies of Christian? throughout
the world, in every age from that time to this ; early trans-
lated into the languages of divers countries and people ;
commentaries written to explain and illustrate them ; quoted
by way of proof in all arguments of a religious nature ; rec
ommended to the perusal of unbelievers, as containing the
authentic account of the Christian doctrine : when we
attend, I say, to this representation, we perceive in it not
only full proof of the early notoriety of these books, but a
clear and sensible hne of discrimination, which separate.*
these from the pretensions of any others.
The epistles of St. Paul stand particularly free of any
doubt or confusion that might arise from this source. Until
the conclusion of the fourth century, no intimation appears
of any attempt w^hatever being made to counterfeit these
writings ; and then it appears only of a single and obs(5uro
instance. Jerome, who flourished in the year 392, has this
212 HOE-^ PAULINA.
expression: '' Legimt quidam et ad Laodicetises ; sed j,b
minibus exjjloditur,'' there is also an epistle to the Laodi-
ceans, but it is rejected by every body * Theodoret, who
wrote in the year 423, speaks of this epistle in the same
terms.! Besides these, I know not whether any ancient
writer mentions it. It was certainly unnoticed during the
first three centuries of the church ; and when it came after-
wards to be mentioned, it was mentioned only to show that,
though such a writing did exist, it obtained no credit. It is
probable that the forgery to which Jerome alludes, is the
epistle which we now have under that title. If so, as has
been already observed, it is nothing more than a collection
of sentences from the genuine epistles ; and was perhaps, at
first, rather the exercise of some idle pen, than any serious
attempt to impose a forgery upon the public. Of an epistle
to the Corinthians under St. Paul's name, which was brought
into Europe in the present century, antiquity is entirely silent.
It was unheard offer sixteen centuries ; and at this day, though
it be extant, and was first found in the Armenian language
it is not, by the Christians of that country, received into thei)
Scriptures. I hope, after this, that there is no reader who wili
think there is any competition of credit, or of external proof,
between these and the received epistles ; or rather, who will
not acknowledge the evidence of authenticity to be confirmed
by the want of success which attended imposture.
"When we take into our hands the letters which the suf-
frage and consent of antiquity has thus transmitted to us,
the first thing that strikes our attention is the air of reality
and business, as well as of seriousness and conviction which
pervades the whole. Let the sceptic read them. If he bo
not sensible of these qualities in them, the argument can
have no weight with him. If he be, if he perceive in almost
every page the language of a mind actuated by real occa-
sions and operating upon real circumstances, I would wish
it to be observed, that the proof which arises from this per
* Lardner, vol. 10, p. 103. t Ibid, vol 11, p. 88-
CONCLUSION. 213
ecptioii is not to be deemed occult or imaginary, because it
IS incapable of being drawn out in words, or of being con-
veyed to the apprehension of the reader in any other way
than by sending him to the books themselves.
And here, in its proper place, comes in the argument
which it has been the office of these pages to unfold. St-
Paul's epistles are connected with the history by their par-
ticularity, and by the numerous circumstances which are
found in them. When we descend to an examination and
comparison of these circumstances, we not only observe the
history and the epistles to be independent documents un-
known to, or at least unconsulted by each other, but we find
the substance and oftentimes minute articles of the history
recognized in the epistles, by allusions and references which
can neither be imputed to design, nor, without a foundation
in truth, be accounted for by accident ; by hints and expres-
s'ons and single words, dropping as it were fortuitously from
the pen of the WTiter, or drawn forth each by some occasion
proper to the place in which it occurs, but widely removed
from any view to consistency or agreement. These we know
are effects which reality naturally produces, but which, with-
out reality at the bottom, can hardly be conceived to exist.
When, therefore, with a body of external evidence which
is relied upon, and which experience proves may safely be
relied upon, in appreciating the credit of ancient writings,
we combine characters of genuineness and originality which
are not found, and which, in the nature and order of things,
cannot be expected to be found in spurious compositions,
whatever difficulties we may meet with in other topics of
the Christian evidence, we can have little in yielding our
assent to the following conclusions : that there was such a
person as St. Paul ; that he lived in the age which we
ascribe to him ; that he went about preaching the religion
of which Jesus Christ was the founder ; and that the letters
which we now read were actually written by him upon the
subject, and in the course of that his ministry.
214 RORM PAULINA.
And if it be true that we are in possession of the very
letters which St. Paul wrote, let us consider what confirma-
tion they afford to the Christian history. In my opinion
they substantiate the whole transaction. The great object
of modern research is to come at the epistolary correspond-
ence of the times. Amid the obscurities, the silence, or the
contradictions of history, if a letter can be found, we regard
it as the discovery of a landmark — as that by which we can
correct, adjust, or supply the imperfections and uncertainties
of other accounts. One cause of the superior credit which
is attributed to letters is this, that the facts which they dis-
^lose generally come out incide^itally , and therefore without
design to mislead the public by false or exaggerated accounts.
This reason may be applied to St. Paul's epistles with as
much justice as to any letters whatever. Nothing could be
further from the intention of the writer than to record any
part of his history. That his history was in fact made
public by these letters, and has by the same means been
transmitted to future ages, is a secondary and unthought-oi
efTect. The sincerity, therefore, of the apostle's declarations
cannot reasonably be disputed ; at least, we are sure that it
was not vitiated by any desire of setting himself off to the
public at large. But these letters form a part of the muni-
ments of Christianity, as much to be valued for their contents
as for their originality. A more inestimable treasure the
care of antiquity could not have sent down to us. Besides
the proof they afibrd of the general reality of St. Paul's his-
tory, of the knowledge which the author of the Acts of the
A.postles had obtained of that history, and the consequent prob-
ability that he was, what he professes himself to have been,
a companion of the apostle's — besides the support they lend to
tliese important inferences, th<^y meet specially some of the
principal objections upon which the adversaries of Christian-
ity have thought proper to rely. In particular they show,
I. That Christianity M^as not a stoiy set on foot amid the
confusions which attended and immediately preceded the
CONCLUSIOI^. 2l»1
destruction of Jerusalem ; when many extravagant reports
were circulated., when men's minds were broken by terror
and distress, when amid the tumults that surrounded then)
mquiry was impracticable. These letters show incontesta
bly, that the religion had fixed and established itself before
this state of things took place.
II, Whereas it has been insinuated that our gospels may
have been made up of reports and stories which were current
at the time, we may observe that, with respect to the epistles,
this is impossible, A man cannot write the history of his own
life from reports ; nor, what is the same thing, be led by re-
ports to refer to passages and transactions in which he states
himself to have been immediately present and active. I do
not allow that this insinuation is applied to the historical part
of the New Testament with any color of justice or probabili
ty ; but I say, that to the epistles it is not applicable at all,
III, These letters prove that the converts to Christianity
were not drawn from the barbarous, the mean, or the igno-
rant set of men which the representations of infidelity would
sometimes make them, V/e learn from letters the charac-
ter, not only of the writer, but, in some measure, of the per-
sons to whom they are written. To suppose that these let-
ters were addressed to a rude tribe, incapable of thought or
reflection, is just as reasonable as to suppose Locke's Essay
on the Human Understanding to have been written for the
instruction of savages. Whatever may be thought of these
letters in other respects, either of diction or argument, they
are certainly removed as far as possible from the habits and
comprehension of a barbarous people,
IV, St. Paul's history, I mean so much of it as may be
collected from his letters, is so implicated with that of the
other apostles, and with the substance, indeed, of the Chris-
tian history itself, that I apprehend it will be found impos-
sible to admit St, Paul's story — I do not speak of the mirac-
ulous part of it — to be true, and yet to reject the rest as fab-
ulous. For instance, can any one believe that there was
216 HOK^ PAULINiK.
such a man as Paul, a preacher of Christianity, in the age
which M^e assign to him, and not beheve that there was also
at the same time such a man as Peter and James, and other
apostles, who had been companions of Christ during his life,
and who after his death published and avowed the same things
concerning him which Paul taught ? Judea, and especially
Jerusalem, was the scene of Christ's ministry. The fatness-
es of his miracles lived there. St. Paul, by his own account,
as well as that of his historian, appears to have frequently vis-
ited that city ; to have carried on a communication with the
church there ; to have associated with the rulers and elders
of that church, who were some of them apostles ; to have
acted, as occasions ofiered, in correspondence, and sometimes
in conjunction with them. Can it, after this, be doubted, but
that the religion and the general facts relating to it, which
St. Paul appears by his letters to have delivered to the sev-
eral churches which he established at a distance, were at the
same time taught and published at Jerusalem itself, the place
where the business was transacted ; and taught and published
by those who had attended the founder of the institution in
his miraculous, or pretendedly miraculous, ministry ?
It is observable, for so it appears both in the epistles and
from the Acts of the Apostles, that Jerusalem, and the soci-
ety of believers in that city, long continued the centre from
which the missionaries of the religion issued, with which all
other churches maintained a correspondence and coimection,
to which they referred their doubts, and to Avhose relief, in
times of public distress, they remitted their charitable assist-
ance. This observation I think material, because it proves
that this was not the case of giving our accounts in one
country of what is transacted in another, without affording
the hearers an opportunity of knowing whether the things
related were credited by any, or even published, in the place
where they are reported to have passed.
Y. St. Paul's letters furnish evidence — and what better
evidence than a man's o^vn letters can be desired? — -of the
CONCLi/SlON. 217
soundness and sobriety of his judgment. His caution in dis-
tinguishing between the occasional suggestions of inspiration,
and the ordinary exercise of his natural understanding, is
without example in the history of human enthusiasm. His
morality is everywhere calm, pure, and rational ; adapted to
the condition, the activity, and the business of social life anj
of its various relations ; free from the over-scrupulousness
and austerities of superstition, and from what v\'as more per-
haps to be apprehended, the abstractions of quietism and the
soarings and extravagances of fanaticism. His judgment
concerning a hesitating conscience ; his opinion of the moral
indifferency of many actions, yet of the prudence and even
the duty of compliance, where non-compliance would produce
evil efiects upon the minds of the persons who observed it, is
as correct and just as the most liberal and enlightened mor-
alist could form at this day. The accuracy of modern ethics
has found nothing to amend in these determinations.
Yv'hat Lord Lyttelton has remarked of the preference
ascribed by St. Paul to inward rectitude of principle above
every other religious accomplishment, is very material to our
present purpose. " In his first epistle to the Corinthians,
chap. 13 : 1-3, St. Paul has these words : Though I t^pcak
with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not
charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinlding cym-
bal. And though I have the gift of 'pro'phccy , and under-
staiul all mysteries, and all knowledge ; and though 1
have all faith, so that I could remove mountai^is, arid
have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestotv
all my goods to feed the 'poor, and though I give my body
to be burned, and have not charity, it jwofdeth me 7iothing.
Is this the language of enthusiasm ? Did ever enthusiast
prefer that universal benevolence which comprehendeth all
moral virtues, and which, as appeareth by the following
veraes, is meant by charity here ? did ever enthusiast, I say,
prefer that benevolence," which, we may add, is attainable
by every man, "to faith and to miracles, to those religions
10
218 HOR^ PAULINA.
opinions which he had embraced, and to those supeniatura]
graces and gifts which he imagined he had acquired ; nay,
even to the merit of martyrdom ? Is it not the genius oi
enthusiasm to set moral virtues infinitely below the merit
of faith ; and of all moral virtues to value that least which
IS most particularly enforced by St. Paul — a spirit of candor,
moderation, and peace ? Certainly, neither the temper nor
the opinions of a man subject to fanatic delusions are to be
found in this passage." Lord Lyttelton's Considerations on
the Conversion, etc.
I see no reason, therefore, to question the integrity of his
understanding. To call him a visionary because he ap-
pealed to visions, or an enthusiast because he pretended to
inspiration, is to take the whole question for granted. It is to
hake for granted that no such visions or inspirations existed ;
.it least, it is to assume, contrary to his own assertions, that
^e had no other proofs than these to offer of his mission, oi
af the truth of his relations.
One thing I allow, that his letters everywhere discovei
great zeal and earnestness in the cause in which he was
engaged ; that is to say, he was convinced of the truth of
what he taught ; he was deeply impressed, but not more so
than the occasion merited, with a sense of its importance.
This produces a corresponding animation and solicitude in
\he exercise of his ministry. But would not these consider-
ations, supposing them to be well founded, have holden the
same place, and produced the same effect in a mind the
strongest and the most sedate ?
VI. These letters are decisive as to the sufferings of the
author ; also as to the distressed state of the Christian
church, and the dangers which attended the preaching oi
tlie gospel.
" Whereof I Paul am made a minister ; who now re-
joice in my sufferings for you, and fill up that wliich is
behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh, for his body's
Bake, which is the church." Col. 1 : 23, 24.
CONCLUSION. 219
"If in this liib only we have hope in Christ, we are of
all men most miserable." 1 Cor. 15 : 19.
" Why stand Ave in jeopardy every hour ? I protest by
your rejoicing which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, 1 die
daily. If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts
at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not ?"
1 Cor. 15 : 30-32.
" If children, then heirs : heirs of God, and joint-heirs
with Christ ; if so be that we sufler wath him, that we may
be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings
of this present time are not worthy to be compared Avith the
glory which shall be revealed in us." Rom. 8 : 17, IS.
'' Who shall separate us from the love of Christ ? shall
tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or naked-
ness, or peril, or sword ? As it is written. For thy sake we
are killed all the day long ; we are accounted as sheep for
the slaughter." Rom. 8 : 35, 36.
"Rejoicing in hope ; patient in tribulation ; continuing
instant in prayer." Rom. 12 : 12.
" Now concerning virgins, I have no commandment of
the Lord : yet I give my judgment as one that hath obtained
mercy of the Lord to be faithful. I suppose, therefore, that
this is good for the present distress ; I say, that it is good
for a man so to be." 1 Cor, 7 : 25, 26.
" For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not
only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake ; hav-
ing the same conflict which ye saw in me, and now hear to
be in me." Phil. 1 : 29, 30.
"God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our
Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me,
and I unto the world." " From henceforth let no man
trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of tlie Lord
Jesus." Gal. 6 : 14, 17.
"Ye became follov/crs of us, and of the Lord, naving
received the word in much affliction, with joy of tho Hcly
Ghost." 1 Thess. 1 : 6.
220 HOR^ PAULINA.
"We ourselves glory in you in the churches of God, foi
your patience and faith in all your persecutions and tribula-
tions that ye endure." 2 Thess. 1 : 4.
We may seem to have accumulated texts unnecessarily ,
but besides that the point which they are brought to prove
is of great importance, there is this also to be remarked in
every one of the passages cited, that the allusion is drawn
from the writer by the argument or the occasion — that the
notice which is taken of his sufferings, and of the suffering
condition of Christianity, is perfectly incidental, and is dic-
tated by no design of stating the facts themselves. Indeed,
they are not stated at all : they may rather be said to be
assumed. This is a distinction upon which we have relied
a good deal in former parts of this treatise ; and where the
writer's information cannot be doubted, it always, in my opin
ion, adds greatly to the value and credit of the testimony.
If any reader require from the apostle more direct and
exphcit assertions of the same thing, he will receive full
satisfaction in the following quotations :
"Are they ministers of Christ? (I speak as a fool,) I am
more ; in labors more abundant, in stripes above measure,
in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft. Of the Jews five
times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten
with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a
night and a day I have been in the deep ; in journeyings
often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by
mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in
the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in
perils among false brethren ; in weariness and painfulness ;
in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often,
in cold and nakedness." 2 Cor. 11 : 23-27.
Can it be necessary to add more? "I think that God
hath s'3t forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed t'j
death ; for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to
angels, and to men. Even unto this present hour we both
hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and ar^ buffeted, and have
CONCLUSION. 221
no certain dwelling-place ; and labor, working with our own
hands. Being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we sutler
it • being defamed, we entreat : we are made as the filth o{
the world, and are the offscouring of all things unto this day.*'
1 Oor. i : 9-13. I subjoin this passage to the former, because
it extends to the other apostles of Christianity much of that
which St. Paul declared concerning himself
In the following quotations, the reference to the author's
sufferings is accompanied with a specification of time and
place, and Avith an appeal for the truth of what he declares
to the knowledge of the persons whom he addresses : " Even
after that we had suffered before, and were shamefully en-
treated, as ye knoiv, at PJiilij)2)i, we were bold in our God
to speak unto you the gospel of God v/ith much contention."
1 Thess. 2 : 2.
"But thou hast fully known my doctrine, manner of
life, purpose, faith, long-suifering, persecutions, afflictions,
which came unto me at A?itioch, at Iconiinn, at Lystra ;
what persecutions I endured : but out of them all the Lord
delivered me." 2 Tim. 3 : 10, 11.
I apprehend that to this point, as far as the testimony of
St. Paul is credited, the evidence from his letters is completo
and full. It appears under every form m which it could
appear, by occasional allusions and by direct assertions, by
general declarations and by specific examples.
YII. St. Paul in these letters asserts, in positive and un-
equivocal terms, his performance of miracles strictly and
properly so called.
"He therefore that ministereth to you the Spirit, and
worketh miracles, evepyuv dwu/inr, among you, doeth he it by
the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith ?" Gal. 3 : 5.
" For I will not dare to speak of any of those things which
Christ hath not wrought by me,^ to make the Gentiles obe-
* Tliat is, "I will speak of nothing but M^iat Christ hath wrought
by mc;" or, as Grotius interprets it, "Christ hath wrought so great
things by me, that I will not dare to say what he hath not wrought "
222 HOUiE PAULINiE.
dient, by word and deed, through mighty signs and wonders,
kv (hva/iei oTjue'iov kul reparojv, by the power of the Spirit of God ;
so that from Jerusalem, and round about unto Ulyricum, 1
have fully preached the gospel of Christ." K.om. 15 : 18, 19.
" Truly the signs of an apostle were wrought among you
in all patience, in signs, and wonders, and mighty deeds,"
iv •.rjueioig kul ripaat kul dwufzeau* 2 Cor. 12 : 12.
These words, signs, wonders, and mighty deeds, arjfieia, koi
Tepara, teat dwauecc, are the specific appropriate term.s through-
out the New Testament, em.ployed when public sensible
miracles are intended to be expressed. This will appear by
consulting, among other places, the texts referred to in the
note ;t and it cannot be shown that they are ever employed
to express any thing else.
Secondly, these words not only denote miracles as op
posed to natural effects, but they denote visible, and what
may be called external miracles, as distinguished,
First, from inspiration. If St. Paul had meant to refe,
only to secret illuminations of his understanding, or secret in
fluences upon his will or affections, he could not, with truth
have represented them as " signs and wonders ivroicght b)
* To these may be added the following indirect allusions, which —
though if they had stood alone, that is, without plainer texts in the
same writings, they might have been accounted dubious : yet, when
considered in conjunction with the passage.5 already cited — can hardly
receive any other interpretation than that which we give them.
"My speech and my preaching was not with enticing words ol
man's wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: that
your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power ol
God." 1 Cor. 2 : 4, 5.
"The gospel, whereof I was made a minister, accordmg to the gift
of the grace of God given unto nie by the eflectual working of bis
power." Ephes. 3 : 6, 7.
"For he that wrought effectually in Peter to the apostleship of the cir-
cumcision, the same was mighty in me toward the Gentiles." G al. 2 : 8.
"For our gospel cam.e not unto you in word only, but also in power,
and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance." 1 Thess. 1 : 5.
tMarkl6:20; Luke23:8; John2 : 11-23 , 3 : 2; 4:48-54; 11.49,
5:12; 6:8; 7: 16; 14:3; 15: 12; Heb. 2:4.
CONCLUSION. 223
him," of "signs and wonders and mighty deeds wrought
among them."
Secondly, from visions. These would not by any means
satisfy the force of the terms, "signs, wonders, and mighty
deeds :" still less could they be said to be ''ivrought by him,"
or "wrought among them;" nor are these terms and ex-
pressions anywhere applied to visions. When our author
alludes to the supernatural communications which he had
received, either by vision or otherwise, he uses expressions
suited to the nature of the subject, but very difTerent from the
words which we have quoted. He calls them revelations, but
never signs, wonders, or mighty deeds. " I will come," says he,
"to visions and revelations of the Lord ;" and then proceeds
to describe a particular instance, and afterwards adds, "Lest
I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of
the revelations, there was given me a thorn in the flesh."
Upon the whole, the matter admits of no softening qual-
ification, or ambiguity whatever. If St. Paul did not work
actual, sensible, public miracles, he has knowingly, in these
letters, borne his testimony to a falsehood. I need not add,
that, in two also of the quotations, he has advanced his
assertion in the face of those persons among whom he de-
clares the miracles to have been wrought.
Let it be remembered, that the Acts of the Apostles de
scribed various particular miracles wrought by St. Paul
which in their nature answer to the terms and exjjresslon?
which we have seen to be used by St. Paul himself
Here, then, we have a man of liberal attainments, and
in other points, of sound judgment, who had addicted his life
to the service of the gospel. We see him, in the prosecution
of his purpose, travelhng from country to country, enduring
every species of hardship encountering every extremity of
danger, assaulted by the populace, punished by the magis-
trates, scourged, beat, stoned, left for dead ; expecting,
wherever he came, a renewal of the same treatment and
the same dangers, yet, when driven from one city, preaching
224 HOR^ PAULINiE.
in the next ; spending his whole time in the employment
Bacrificing to it his pleasures, his ease, his safety ; persisting
in this course to old age, unaltered by the experience of per-
verseness, mgratitude, prejudice, desertion ; unsubdued by
anxiety, want, labor, persecutions ; unwearied by long con-
finement, undismayed by the prospect of death. Such was
St. Paul. We have his letters in our hands ; we have also
a history purporting to be written by one of his fellow-trav-
ellers, and appearing, by a comparison with these letters,
certainly to have been written by some person well ac-
quainted with the transactions of his life. From the letters,
as well as from the history, we gather not only the account
which we have stated of him, but that he was one out of
many who acted and suffered in the same manner ; and that
of those who did so, several had been the companions of
Christ's ministry, the ocular witnesses, or pretending to be
such, of his miracles, and of his resurrection, "VVe moreover
find this same person referring in his letters to his super-
natural conversion, the particulars and accompanying cir-
cumstances of which are related in the history, and which
accompanying circumstances, if all or any of them be true,
render it impossible to have been a delusion. We also find
him positively, and in appropriate terms, asserting that he
nimself worked miracles, strictly and properly so called, in
support of the mission which he executed ; the history
meanwhile recording various passages of his ministry, which
come up to the extent of this assertion. The question is,
whether falsehood was ever attested by evidence like this.
Falsehoods, we know, have found their way into reports,
into tradition, into books ; but is an example to be met with,
of a man voluntarily undertaking a life of want and pain, of
incessant fatigue, of continual peril ; submitting to the loss
of his home and country, to stripes and stoning, to tedious im-
prisonment, and the constant expectation of a violent death,
for the sake of carrying about a story of what was false, and
of what, if false, he must have known to be so '^
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