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NATURAL THEOLOGY

AND

TRACTS.

BY
WILLIAM PALEY, D. D.

ARCHDEACON OF CARLISLE,

NEW-YORK:
‘ PUBLISHED BY S. KING, 136 WILLIAM-STREEP,

sonestese
1824,

Bequest
Albert Adsit Clemons
Aug. 24,1938
(Not available for exchange)

Jotnstone & Van Norden, Printers.

ee eS a et em. ~~

To THE ,

HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND | :
= SHUTE BARRINGTON, L. L. D.

LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

My Loro,

Tue following Work was undertaken at your
Lordship’s recommendation, and, amongst other
motives, for the purpose of making the most ac-

ceptable return that I could, for a great and impor-
tant benefit conferred upon me.

It may be unnecessary, yet not perhaps quite imi-
pertinent to state to your Lordship, and to the
veader, the several inducements that have led me —
once more to the press. The favour of my first
and ever-honoured Patron had put me in possession
of so liberal a provision in the Church, as abun-
dantly to satisfy my wants, and much to exceed my

retensions. Your Lordship’s munificence in con-
junction with that of some other excellent Prelates,
who regarded my services with the partiality with
which your Lordship was pleased to consider them,
hath since placed me in ecclesiastical situations,
more than adequate to every object of reasonable
ambition. In the mean time, a weak, and, of late;
a painful state of health, deprived me of the power
of discharging the duties of my station in a manner
at all suitable, either to my sense of those duties,

; ;
, - :
:
» 2»
- " .
” I» :
ee eT a Pe a ee ee ee en! ae a ae

iv DEDICATION.

of tomy most anxious wishes concerning them.
My inability for the public functions of my profes-
sion, amongst other consequences, left me much at
leisure. That leisure was not to be lost. It was
only in my study that I could repair my deficiencies
in the church: it"was only through the press that
{ could speak. These circumstances entitled your
Lordship in particular to call upon me for the only
species of exertion of which I was capable, and
disposed me without hesitation to obey the call in
the best manner that I could. In-the choice of a
subject, I had no place left for doubt: in saying —
which, I do not so much refer, either to the su-

preme importance of the subject, or to any scepti-
cism concerning it with which the present times
are charged, as I do to its connexion with the sub-

jects treated of in my former publications. The
following discussion alone was wanted to make up
my works into a system: in which works, such as
they are, the public have now before them, the evi-
dences of Natural Religion, the evidences of Re-
yealed Religion, and an account of the duties that
result from both. It is of small importance that
they have been written in an order the very reverse
of that in which they ought to be read. I com-

mend, therefore, the present volume to your Lord-

ship’s protection, not only as, in all probability,

my last labour, but as the completion of a regular
and comprehensive design. ;

Hitherto, my Lord, I have been s eaking of my-
self, and not of my Patron. Your Lordship wants
not the testimony of a Dedication; nor any testi-
mony from me: I consult therefore the impulse of
my own mind alone when I declare, that in no re-
spect has my intercourse with your Lordship been
more gratifying to me, than in the opportunities
which it has afforded me, of observing your earnest,
active, and unwearied solicitude, for the advance-
ment of substantial Christianity ; a solicitude, ne-
vertheless, accompanied with that candour of mind,
which suffers no subordinate differences of opinion,
when there is a coincidence in the main intention
and object, to produce any alienation of esteem, or
diminution of favour. Ut is fortunate for acountry,

DEDICATION. . ag ae

and honourable to its government, when qualities
and dispositions like these are placed in high and
influencing stations. Such is the sincere judgment
which I have formed of your Lordship’s character, ©
and of its public value: my personal obligations I
can never forget. Under a due sense of both these
considerations, I beg leave to subscribe myself,
with great respect and gratitude,

My Lorp,
Your Lordship’s faithful
And most devoted servant

WILLIAM PALEY.

Bishop-Wearmouth,
July, 1802.

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NATURAL THEOLOGY.

CHAP. I.
Siate of the argument.

in crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot
against a stone, and were asked how the stone
came to be there : J 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 thisanswer. But suppose
I had found a wefch 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, asin the first? For this reason, |

and for no other, viz. that, when we come to in-
spect 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 different parts had
been differently shaped from what they are, of a
different size from what they are, or placed after
any other manner, or in any other order, than that
in which they are placed, either no motion at all
would have been carried on in the machine, or none
which would have answered the use that is now
served by it. To reckon up a few of the plainest
of these parts, and of their offices, all tending to
one result :—We see a cylindrical box containing a
coiled elastic spring, which, by its endeavour to
relax itself, turns round the box. We next observe
a flexible chain sar, | wrought for the sake of

— se a.

Fe ee ee a te ee ae ee ee eee. ey

10 STATE OF

flexure,) communicating the action of the spring
from the box to the fusee. We then find a series
of wheels, the teeth of which catch in, and apply to
each other, conducting the motion from the fusee to
the balance, and from the balance to the pointer ;
and at the same time, by the size and shape of those
wheels so regulating that motion, as to terminate
m 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 ma-
terial 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 hourcould not beseen
without opening the case. This mechanism being |
observed, (it requires indeed an examination of the :
instrument, and perhaps some previous knowledge :
of the subject, to perceive and understand it; but
heing once, as we have said, observed and under-
stood,) 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 cr
other, an artificer or artificers, who formed it for
the purpose which we find it actually to answer;
who comprehended its construction, and designed
its use.
I. Nor would it, I apprehend, weaken the con-
- clusion, that we had never seen a watch made ;
that we had never known an artist capable of making
one : that we were altogether incapable of execu-
ting such a piece of workmanship ourselves, or of
understanding in what manner it was performed ;
all this being no more than what is true of some
exquisite remains of ancient art, of some lost arts,
Baty to the generality of mankind, of the more cu-
rious productions of modern manufacture. Does
one man in a million know how oval frames are
turned? Jgnorance of this kind exalts our opinion
of the unseen and unknown artist’s skill, if be
mmseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in our
_ minds of the existence and agency ofsuch an arist,
at some former time, and in some place or other.
Nor can I perceive that it varies at all the inference,

THE ARGUMENT. il

whether the question arise concerning a human
agent, or concerning an agent of a different species,
or an agent possessing, in some respects, a different
nature. - .
II. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our
conclusion, that the watch sometimes went wrong,
or that it seldom wentexactly right. The purpose
of the machinery, the design and the designer
might be evident, and in the case supposed woul
be evident, in whatever way we accounted for the
irregularity of the movement, or whether we could

account for it or not. It is not necessary that a ma--

chine be perfect, in order to show with what design
it was made; still less necessary, where the only
peices is, whether it were made with any design
at all. — |

Ilf. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertainty
into the argument, if there were a few parts of the
watch, concerning which we could not discover, or
had not yet discovered, in what manner they con-
ducted to the general effect ; or even some parts,
concerning which we could not ascertain, whether
they conducted to that effect in any manner what-
ever. For, as to the first branch of the case; if by
the loss, or disorder, or decay, of the parts in ques-
tion, the movement of the watch were found in fact
to be stopped, or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt
would remain in dur minds as to the utility or in-
tention of these parts, although we should be una-

ble to investigate the manner according to which,
or the connexion by which, the ultimate effect de-

pended upon their action or assistance; and the
more complex is the machine, the more likely is
this obscurity to arise. Then, as to the second
thing supposed, namely, that there were parts
which aught be spared, without prejudice to the
movement of the watch, and that we had proved this
by experiment,—these superfluous parts, even if
we were completely assured that they were such,
would not vacate the reasoning which we had in-
stituted concerning otherparts. The indication of
contrivance remained, with respect to them, nearly
as it was before. | |

IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses
think the existence of the watch, with its various

i2" STATE OF

machinery, accounted for, by being told that it was
one out of possible combinations of material forms ;
that whatever he had found in the place where he
found the watch, must have contained some inter-
nal configuration or other ; and that this configura-
tion might be the structure now exhibited, viz. of
the works of a watch, as well as a different struc-
ture.

V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more
satisfaction to be answered, that there existed in
things a principle of order, which had disposed the
parts of the watch into their present form and situa-
tion. He never knew a watch made by the princi-
ple 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 mechanism of the watch was no proof of contri-
vance, only a motive to induce the mind tothinkso.

VII. And not less surprised to be informed, that
the watch im his hand was nothing more than the
result of the laws of metallic nature. It isa perver-
sion 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.
Without this agent, without this power, which are
both distinct from itself, the law does nothing; is
nothing. The expression, “the law of metallic na-
ture,” 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 as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion
of agency and power; or when it is substituted into
the place of these.

VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be
driven out of his conclusion, or from his confidence
in its truth, by being told that he knows nothing at
all about the matter. He knows enough for his ar-
gument: 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

——__oe oe |

THE ARGUMENT. 13

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

CHAP. IL.

- State of the argument continued.

Supprosk, in the next place, that the person who
found the watch, should, after some time, discover
that, in addition to all the properties which he had
hitherto observed in it, it possessed the unexpect-
ed property of producing, in the course of its move-
ment, another watch like itself; (the thing is con-
ceivable ;) that it contained within it a mechanism,
a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a com-
plex adjustment of lathes, files, and other tools, evi-
dently and separately calculated for this purpose ;
let us inquire, what effect ought such a discovery
to have upon his former conclusion.

I. The first effect would be to increase his admi-
ration of the contrivance, and his conviction of the
consummate skill of the contriver. Whether he
regarded the object of the contrivance, the distinct
apparatus, the intricate, yet in many parts intelli-
gible mechanism, by which it was carried on, he

would perceive, in this new observation, nothing

but an additional reason for doing what he had al-
‘ready done—for referring the construction of the
watch to design, and to supreme art. If that con-

struction without this property, or, which is the:

same thing, before this property had been noticed,
proved intention and art to have been employed
about it; still more strong would the proof ap-
pear, when he came to the knowledge of this far-
ther property, the crown and perfection of all the
rest.

II. He would reflect, that though the watch be-
fore him were, in some sense, the maker of the watch
which was fabricated in the course.of its move-
ments, yet it was in avery different sense from
that in which a carpenter, for instance, is the
maker of achair; the author of its contrivance, the
cause of the relation of its parts to their use. With

ES et

4 STATE OF THE

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 and order, either of
the parts which the new watch contained, or of the
parts by the aid and instrumentality of which it
was produced. We might possibly say, but with
great latitude of expression, that a stream of wa-
ter preued corn; but no latitude of expression
would allow us to say, no stretch of conjecture
could lead us to think, that the stream of water
built the mill, though it were too ancient for us to
know who the builder was. What the stream of
water does in the affair, is neither more nor less
than this; by the application of an unintelligent
impulse to a mechanism previously arranged, ar-
ranged independently of it, and arranged by intelli-
gence, anefiect is produced, viz. the corn is ground.
But the effect results from the arrangement. The
force of the stream cannot be said to be the cause
or author of the effect, still less of the arrangement.
Understanding and plan in the formation of the
mill were not the less necessary, for any
which the water has in grinding the corn; yet is
this share the same as that which the watch would
have contributed to the production of the new
Watch, upon the supposition assumed in the last
section. Therefore,

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

net be design without a designer; contrivan

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. Ld

without a contriver ; order, without choice; ar
rangement, without any thing capable of arrang
ing; subserviency and relation to a purpose, with-
out that which could. intend a purpose; means
suitable to an end, and executing their office in ac-
complishing that end, without the end ever having
been contemplated, or the means accommodated to
it. Arrangement, disposition of parts, subservien-
cy 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 me-
chanism we so much admire in it ;—could be truly
said to have constructed the instrument, disposed
its parts, assigned their office, determined their or-
der, action, and mutual dependency, combined their
several motions into one result, and that also a re-
sult connected with the utilities of other beings.
All these properties, therefore, are as much unac-
counted for as they were before.
IV. Nor is any thing gained by running the dif-
ficulty farther back, 7. e. by supposing the watch
before us to have been produced from another
watch, that from a former, and so on indefinitely.
Our going back ever so far, brings us no nearer to
the least degree of satisfaction upon the subject.
Contrivance is still unaccounted for. We still want
acontriver. A designing mind is neither supplied
by this supposition, nor dispensed with. If the.
difficulty were diminished the farther we went back,
by going back indefinitely we might exhaust it.
And this is the only case to which this sort of rea-
soning applies. Where there is a tendency, or, as
we increase the number of terms, a continual ap-
proach 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 asto the point in question, (whatever
there may be as to many points,) between one se-
ries and another; between a series which is finite
and a series which is infinite. A chain composed
of an infinite number of links, can no more support

16 _ STATE OF THE

itself, than a chain composed of a finite number of
links. And of this we are assured, (though we
never can have tried the experiment,) because, by
increasing the number of links, from ten for in-
stance toa hundred, from a hundred to a thousand,
&c. we make not the smallest approach, we observe
not the smallest tendency, towards self-support.
There is no difference in this respect (yet there
may be a great difference in several respects) be-
tween a chain of a greater or less length, between
one chain and another, between one that_ is finite
and one that is infinite. This very much resem-
bles the case before us. The machine which we
are inspecting demonstrates, by its construction,
contrivance and design. Contrivance must have
had a contriver: design, a designer; whether the
machine immediately proceeded from another ma-
chine 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; contrivance must have had a
contriver. ‘That former one from one preceding it:
no alteration still; a contriver is still necessary.
No tendency is perceived, no approach towards a
diminution of this necessity. It is the same with
any and every succession of these machines; a suc-
cession 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 what-
ever other respects they may differ, in-this they do
not. In all equally, contrivance and design are un-
accounted 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 provideacause.
This, perhaps, would have been nearly the state of
the question, if nothing had been before us but an
unorganized, unmechanized substance, withou
mark or indication of contrivance. It might be
difficult to show that such substance could not
existed from eternity, either in suecession (if it
were possible, which I think it is not, for unorgan-

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 17

ized bodies to spring from one another,) or by in-
dividual 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 astone. As it is, the metaphysics of that ques-
tion have no place; for, in the watch which we are
examining, are seen contrivance, design; an end,
a purpose ; means for the end, adaptation to the
purpose. And the question which irresistibly
presses upon our thoughts, is, whence this contri-
vance and design ? The thing required is the in-
tending mind, the adapting hand, the intelligence
by which that hand was directed. This question,
this demand, is not shaken off, by increasing a
number er 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 an-
other 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, viz. the watch
from which it proceeded. I deny, that for the de-
sign, the contrivance, the suitableness of means to
an end, the adaptation of instruments to a use, (al!
which we discover in the watch,) we have any
cause whatever. It is in vain, therefore, to assign
a series of such.causes, or to allege that a series
may be carried back to infinity; for I do not admit
that we have yet any cause at all of the phenome-
na, still less any series of causes,gj finite or in--
finite. Here is contrivance, Q contriver;
proofs of design, but no designer.

VY. Our observer would farther also reflect, that
the maker of the watch before him, was, in truth
and reality, the maker of every watch produced
from it; there being no difference, except that the
latter manifests a more exquisite skill between the
making of another watch with his own hands, by
the mediation of files, lathes, chisels, &c. and the
disposing, fixing, and inserting, of these instru-
ments, or of others equivalent to them, in the body
of the watch already made, in such a manner as to
form a new watch in the course of the movements
which he had given tothe old one. It is only work-
ing by one set of tools instead of another, -

ee eal —"

18° APPLICATION OF

The conclusion which the first examination of the
watch, of its works, construction, and movement,
suggested, was, that it must have had for the cause
and author of that construction, an artificer, who
understood its mechanism, and designed its use.—
This conclusion is invincible. A second examini-
tion 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, se-
parately calculated for that purpose. What effect
would this discovery have, or ought it to have, upon
our former inference? What, as hath already been
said, but to increase, beyond measure, our admira
tion of the skill which had been employed in the
formation of such a machine? Or shall it, instead
of this, all at once turn us round to an opposite
conclusion, viz. that no art or skill whatever has
been concerned in the business, although all other
evidences of art and skill remain as they were, and
this last and supreme piece of art be now added to
the rest? Can this be maintained without absur-
dity 7 Yet this_is atheism. |

ona eee

CHAP. II.
Application of the argument.
THIs is ath i: for every indication of contri-
e

vance, every station of design, which existed
in the watch, exists in the works of nature; with
the difference, on the side of nature, of being great-
er and more, and that in a degree which exceeds
all computetion. I mean, that the contrivances of
nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the com-
plexity, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism ;
and still more, if possibie, do they go beyond them
jn number and variety ; yet, ina multitude of cases,
are not less evidently mechanical, not lous aeametly
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

THE ARGUMENT. 19

a subject, than that of comparing a single thing with
a single thing; an eye, for example with a tele-
scope. As far as the examination of the instru-
ment goes, there is precisely the same proof that
the eye was made for vision, as there is that the te-
lescope 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 refract-
ed by a more convex surface, than when it passes
out of air into the eye. Accordingly we find that
the eye of a fish, in that part of it called the crys-
talline lens, is much rounder than the eye of ter-
restrial 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 his principle, his
application to that knowledge, his suiting of his
means to his end; I will. not say to display the
compass or excellence of his skill and art, for in
these all comparison is indecorous, but to testify
counsel, choice, consideration, purpose ?

To some it may appear a difierence sufficient to
destroy all similitude between the eye and the tele-
scope, that the one is a perceiving organ, the other
an unperceiving mstrument. 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. Itis necessary, in order to produce
distinct vision, that an image or picture of the ob-
ject be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence
this necessity arises, or how the picture is connect-
ed with the sensation, or contributes to it, it may
be difficult, nay, we will confess, if you please, im-
possible for us tosearch out. But the present ques-
tion 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

20 APPLICATION OF

then we come to something which is not mechanical,
or which is inscrutable. But this affects not the
certainty of our investigation, as far as we have
gone. ‘The difference between an animal and an
automatic statue, consists in this—that, in the ani-
mal, we trace the mechanism to a certain point,
and then we are stopped; either the mechanism be-
coming too subtile for our discernment, or some-
thing else beside the known laws of mechanism
taking place; whereas, in the automaton, for the
comparatively few motions of which it is capable,
we trace the mechanism throughout. But, up to’
the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in
the one case as intheother. Inthe example before
uS, it is a matter which experience and observation
demonstrate, that the formation of an image at the
bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision.—
The image itself can be shown. Whatever affects
the distinctness of the image, affects the distinct-
ness 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 ap-
paratus by which it is formed is constructed and
put together, not only with infinitely more art, but
upon the self-same principle of art, as in the tele-
scope or the camera obscura. The perception
arising from the image may be laid out of the ques-
tion; for the production of the image, there are in-
struments of the same kind. The end is the same;
the means are the same. The purpose in both is
alike; the contrivance for accomplishing that pur-
pose is in both alike. The lenses of the telescope,
and the humour of the eye, bear a complete resem-
blance to one another, in their figure, their position,
and in their power over the rays of light, viz. in
bringing each pencil toa point at the right distance
from the Jens; namely, in the eye, at the exact
place where the memhrane is spread to receive it.
How is it possible, under circumstances of such
close affinity, and under the operation of equal evi-
dence, to exclude contrivance from the one, yet to
acknowledge the proof of contrivance having been
employed, as the plainest and clearest of all propo-
sitions, in the other ? k
The resemblance hetween the two cases is still

THE ARGUMENT. 94

more accurate, and obtains in more points than we
have yet represented, or than we are, on the first
view of the subject, aware of. In dioptric tele-
scopes, there is an imperfection of this nature. Pen-
ceils of light, in passing through glass lenses, are
separated into different colours, thereby tinging the
object, especially the edges of it, as if 1t were view-
edthrougha prism. Tocorrect this inconvenience
had been long a desideratum in the art. At last it
came into the mind of a sagacious optician, to in-
quire how this matter was managed in the eye; in
which there was exactly the same difficulty to con-
tend with as in the telescope. His observation
taught him, that, in the eye, the evil was cured by
combining lenses composed of different substances,
z.e. of substances which possessed different refract-
ing powers. Our artist borrowed thence his hint;
and produced a correction of the defect, by imita-
ting, in glasses made from different materials, the
effects of the different humours through which the
rays of light pass before they reach the bottom of
the eye. . Could this be in the eye without purpose,
which suggested to the optician the only effectual
means of attaining that purpose ?

But farther ; 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 naked
eye, viz, from a few inches to as many miles.
These difficulties present not themselves to the
maker of the telescope. He wants all the light he
can get; and he never directs his instrument to
objects near at hand. In the eye, both these cases
were to be provided for; and for the purpose of
providing for them a subtile and appropriate me-
chanism is introduced :

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

‘

22 APPLICATION OF

scurer degrees of it, when no more can be had,
the hole or aperture in the eye, through which
the light enters, is so formed, as to contract or
dilate itself for the purpose of admitting a greater
or less number of rays at the sametime. The
chamber of the eye is a camera obscura, which,
when the light is too small, can enlarge its open-
ing ; 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-subject, to be observed, that this hole in the
eye which we call the pupil, under all its different
dimensions, retains its exact circular shape. This
is a@ structure extremely artificial. Let an artist
only try to execute the same; he will find that his
threads and strings must be disposed with great
consideration and contrivance, to make a circle,
which shall contiually change its diameter, yet
preserve its form. This is done in the eye by an
application of fibres, 2. e. of strings, similar, in
their position and action, to what an artist would
and must employ, if he had the same piece of
workmanship to perform.

Ii. The second difficulty which has been stated,
was the suiting of the same organ to the percep-
tion of objects that le near at hand, within a few
inches, we will suppose, of the eye, and of objects
which are placed at a considerable distance from
it, that, for example, of as many furlongs (I speak
in both cases of the distance at which distinct vi-
sion can be exercised.) Now this, aecording to
the principles of optics, that is, according to the
laws by which the transmission of light is regulat-
ed, (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. Rays issuing from
points placed at a small distance from the eye, and
which consequently must enter the eye ina spread-
ing or diverging order, cannot, by the optical in-
strument in the same state, be brought to a point,
i. e. be made to form an image, in the same place
with rays proceeding from objects situated at «

THE ARGUMENT. 25

much greater distance, and which rays arrive at
the eye in directions nearly (and physically speak.
ing) 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 confus-
ed; yet, other things remaining the same, this
point, by the immutable properties of Jight, is car-
ried farther back when the rays proceed from a
near object, than when they are sent from one that
is remote. A person who was using an optical in-
strument, would manage this matter by changing,
as the oceasion required, his lens or his telescope ;
r bye destin the distance of his glasses with his
hander s screw : but how is it to be managed in
the eye ? What the alteration was, or in what part
of the eye it took place, or by what means it was
effected, (for if the known laws which govern the
refraction of light be maintained, some alteration
in the state of the organ there must be,) had long
_ formed a subject of inquiry and conjecture. The
change, though sufficient for the purpose, is so mi-
nute as to elude ordinary observation. Some very
late discoveries, deduced from a laborious and
most accurate inspection of the structure and ope-
ration of the organ, seem at length to have ascer-
tained the mechanical alteration which the parts
of the eye undergo. It is found, that by the action
of certain muscles, called the straight muscles, and
which action is the most advantageous that could ~
be imagined for the purpose,—it is found, I say,
that whenever the eye is directed to a near object,
three changes are produced in it at the same time,
all severally contributing to the adjustment requir-
ed. ‘The cornea, or outermost coat of the eye, is
rendered more round and prominent ; the crystal-
line lens underneath is pushed forward; and the
axis of vision, as the depth of the eye is called, is
elongated.. These changes in the eye vary its
power over the rays of light in such a manner and
degree as to produce exactly the effect which is
wanted, viz. the formation of an image upon the
retina, whether the rays come to the eye in a state
of divergency, which is the case when the object is
near tothe eye, or come parallel to one another,
which is the case when the object is placed at a

24 APPLICATION OF

distance. Can any thing be more decisive of con-
trivance than this is? —The most secret laws of
optics must have been known tothe author of a
structure endowed with such a capacity of change.
It is as though an optician, when he had a nearer
object to view, should rectify his instrument by
putting in another glass, at the same time drawing
out also his tube to a different length.

Observe a new-born child first lifting up its eye-
lids. What does the opening of the curtain dis-
cover? The anterior part of the two pellucid

lobes, which, when they come to be examined, are |
ound to be constructed upon strict optiggl inci-
ples ; the self-same principles upon whic our-
selves construct optical instruments. We find them
perfect for the purpose of forming an image by re-
fraction ; composed of parts executing different of-
fices: one part having fulfilled its office upon the
pencil of light, delivering it over to the action of
another part; that to a third, and so onward; the
progressive action depending for its success upon
the nicest and minutest adjustment of the parts
concerned; yet these parts so in fact adjusted, as
to produce, not by a simple action or effect, but by
a combination of actions and effects, the result
which is ultimately wanted. And forasmuch as
this organ would have to operate under different -
circumstances, with strong degrees of light, and
with weak degrees, upon near objects, and 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 their distance
from the tablet, upon which the picture is delinea-
ted, should be shortened or lengthened : this. I say,
being the case, and the difficulty to which the eye
was to be adapted, we find its several parts capa-
ble of being occasionally changed, and a most arti-
ficial apparatus provided to produce that change.
This is far beyond the common regulator of a
watch, which requires the touch of a foreign hand
to set it; but it is not altogether unlike Harrison’s
contrivance for making a watch regulate itself, by

THE ARGUMENT. 20

inserting Within it a machinery, which, by the art-
ful use of the different expansion of metals, pre-
serves the equability of the motion under all the va-
rious temperatures of heat and cold in which the in-
strument may happen to be placed. The ingenui-
ty of this last contrivance has been justly praised.
Shall, therefore, a structure which differs from it,
chiefly by surpassing it, be accounted no contri-
vance at all? or, if it be a contrivance, that it is
without a contriver !
But this, though much, is not the whole: by dif-
ferent species of animals the faculty we are describ-
ing is possessed, in degrees suited to the different
range of vision which their mode of life, and of pro-
curing their food, requires. Birds, for instance, in
general, procure their food by means of their beak ;
and, the distance between the eye and the point of
the beak being small, it becomes necessary that
they should have the power of seeing very near ob-
jects distinctly. On the other hand, from being
often elevated much above the ground, living in air,
and moving through it with great velocity, they re-
quire, for their safety, as well as for assisting them
in deserying their prey, a power of seeing at &
great distance ; a power of which, in birds of ra-
pine, surprising examples are given. The fact ac-
cordingly is that two peculiarities are found in the
eyes of birds, both tending to facilitate 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 part, increases the ef-
fect 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 ad-
ditional 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 adjustment,
with more ease and readiness than the eyes of
other animals. . |
The eyes of fishes also, compared with those of
terrestrial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of

od

26 APPLICATION OF

structure, adapted to their state and element. We
have already observed upon the figure of the erystal-
line compensating by its roundness the density of
the medium through which their light passes. ‘To
which we have to add, that the eyes of fish, in their
naturaland indolent state, appear to be adjusted to
near objects, in this respect differing from the hu-
man eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds.
The ordinary shape of the fish’s eye being in a
much higher degree convex than that of land ani-
mals,a corresponding difference attends its muscu-
lar conformation, viz. that it is throughout calcula-
ted for flattening the eye.

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

In the eel, which has to work its head through
sand and gravel, the roughest and hardest substan-
ces, there is placed before the eye, and at some dis-
tance from it, a transparent, horny, convex case or
covering, which, without obstructing the sight, de-
fends 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 distine-
tions, one general plan laid down, and that plan va-
ried with the varying exigencies to which it is to be
applied.

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

In considering vision as achieved by the means
of an image formed at the bottom of the eye, we
‘can never reflect without wonder upon the smali-
ness, yet correctness, of the picture, the subtilty of
the touch, the fineness of the lines. A landscape

* The eye of the seal or sea-calf, E understand, is an, exception 4
Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 423,

THE ARGUMENT. 27

| of five or six square leagues is brought into a space
| of half an inch diameter; yet the multitude of ob-
| jects which it contains, are all preserved; are all
‘discriminated in their magnitudes, positions,
| figures, colours. The prospect from Hampstead-
hill is compressed into the compass of a sixpence,
yet circumstantially represented. A stage-coach,
travelling at its ordinary speed for half an hour,
passes, in the eye, only over one twelfth of an inch,
yet is this changeiof place in the image distinctly
perceived throughout the 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 this visual tablet compared with the extent
of vision, it is the reflection which the view of na-
ture leads us, every hour, to make, viz. that in the
hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing.
Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye
was acure for atheism. Besides that conformity
| to optical principles which its internal constitution
|: displays, and which alone amounts to a manifesta-
tion of intelligence having been exerted in the struc-
| ture ; besides this, which forms, no doubt, the lead-
|. ing character of the organ, there is to be seen, in
every thing belonging to it and about it, an extra-
ordinary degree of care, an anxiety for its preser- |
vation, due, if we may so speak, to its value and its |
tenderness. It is lodged ina 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 ceatimondi,t the orbit is rot
hony throughout; but whenever this is the case,
the upper, which is the deficient part, is supplied
by a cartilaginous ligament; a substitution which
shows the same care. Within this socket it is im-
bedded in fat, of all animal substances the best
adapted both to its repose and motion. It is shel-
tered by the eye-brows; an arch of hair, which,
like a thatched penthouse, prevents the sweat and
moisture of the forehead from running down into it.
But it is still better protected by its lid. Of the
superficial parts of the animal frame, I know none

ov

oo aneeateest

* Heister, sect. 89. ¢ Mem. R. Ac. Paris, p. 7,

Tw. eae te a

—-— (il eal

, > a 2

28 APPLICATION OF

which, in its office and structure, is more deserving
of attention than the eyelid. It defends the eye; it
wipes it; it closes itin sleep. Are there, in any

. work of art whatever, purposes more evident than

those which this organ fulfils ? or an apparatus for
executing those purposes more intelligible, more
appropriate, or more mechanical ? If it be overlook-
ed by the observer of nature, it can only be because
it is obvious and familiar. This is a tendency to be
guarded against. We pass by the plainest instan-
ces, whilst we are exploring those which are rare
and curious; by which conduct of the understand-
ing, we sometimes neglect the strongest observa-
tions, being taken up with others, which though
more recondite and scientific, are, as solid argu-
ments, entitled to much less consideration.

In order to keep the eye moist and clean (which
qualities are necessary to its brightness and its
use,) a wash is constantly supplied by a secretion
for the purpose; and the superfluous brine is con-
veyed to the nose through a perforation in the bone
as large as a goose-quill. When once the fluid has
entered the nose, it spreads itself upon the mside

-of the nostril, and is evaporated by the current of

warm air, which, in the course of respiration, is
continually passing over it. Can any pipe or out-
let, for carrying off the waste liquor from a die-
house or a distillery, be more mechanical than this
is 7? It is easily perceived, that the eye must want
moisture : but could the want of the eye generate
the gland which produces the tear, or bore the
hole by which it is discharged,—a hole through «
bone ?

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

It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as
a piece of mechanism, without noticing that most
exquisite of all contrivances, the nictitating mem-
brane, 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
jJachrymal humour; to defend it also from sudden
oe er f yet not totally, when drawn upon the pu-
pil, to shut out the light. The commodiousness

THE ARGUMENT. 29

with which it lies folded up in the upper corner of
the eye, ready for use and action, and the quickness
with which it executes its purpose, are properties
known and obvious to every observer: but what is
equally admirable, though not quite so obvious, is
the combination of two kinds of substance, muscular
and elastic, and of two different kinds of action, by
which the motion of this membrane is performed.
It is not, asin ordinary cases, by the action of two
antagonist muscles, one pulling forward and the
other backward, that a reciprocal change is effect-
ed; but it is thus: The membrane itself is an elas-
tic substance, capable of being drawn out by force
like a piece of elastic gum, and by its own elastici-
ty returning, when the force is removed, to its for-
mer position. Such being its nature, in order to
fit it up for its office, it is connected by a tendon or

- thread with a muscle in the back part of the eye:
this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine as
not to obstruct the sight, even when it passes
across it; and the muscle itself, being placed in the
back part of the eye, derives from its situation the
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,

- 1s instantly drawn over the fore-part of it. When
the muscular contraction (which is a positive, and
most probably a voluntary effort) ceases to be ex-
erted, the elasticity alone of the membrane brings
it back again to its position.* Doesnot this, if any
thing can do it, bespeak an artist, master of his
work, acquainted with his materials? ‘‘ Of a thou-
sand other things,” say the French academicians,
‘““ we perceive not the contrivance, because we un-
derstand them only by the effects, of which we
know not the causes: but we here treat of a ma-
chine, all the parts whereof are visible ; and whic}
need only be looked upon, to discover the reasons
of its motion and action.’’}

_

* Phil. Trans, 1796.
¥ Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals, by the Royal Aca-~

30 APPLICATION OF

In the configuration of the muscle which, though
placed behind the eye, draws the nictitating mem-
brane over the eye, there is, what the authors, just
now quoted, deservedly call a marvellous mechan-
ism. I suppose this structure to be found in other
animals; but, in the memoirs from which this ac-
count is taken, it is anatomically demonstrated only
in the cassowary. The muscle is passed through a
loop formed by another muscle ; and is there inflect-
ed, as if it were round a pulley. This is a pecu-
liarity ; and observe the advantage of it. A single

muscle with a straight tendon, which is the com-—

mon muscular form, would have been 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 ofthe eye. Therefore, in
order to have a greater length in a less compass,
the cord of the main muscle makesan angle. This,
so far, answers the end; but, still farther, it makes
and angle, not round a fixed pivot, but round a Joop
formed by, another muscle, which second muscle,
whenever it contracts, of course twitches the first
muscle at the point of inflection, and thereby as-
sists the action designed by both.

ONE question may possibly have dwelt in the
reader’s mind during the perusal of these observa-
tions, namely, Why should not the Deity have
ziven to the animal the faculty of vision at once?
Why this circuitous perception; the ministry of
30 many means; an element provided for the pur-
pose ; reflected from opaque substances, refracted

through transparent ones ; and both according to.

precise laws; then, a complex organ, an intricate
and artificial apparatus, in order, by the operation
of this element, and in conformity with the restric-
tions of these laws, to produce an image upon a
membrane communicating with the brain? Where-
fore all this ? Why make the difficulty in order to
surmount it 7 If to perceive objects by some other

ee

demy of Sciences at Paris, done into English by order of the Royal
Society, 1701, page 242.

THE ARGUMENT. 3k

mode than that of touch, or objects which lay out
of the reach of that sense, were the thing pro-
sep could not a simple volition of the Creator
lave communicated the capacity ? Why resort to
centrivance, where power is omnipotent? Contri-
vance, by its very definition and nature, is the re-
fuge of imperfection. To have recourse to expedi-
ents,implies difficulty, impediments, restraint, defect
of power. This question belongs to the other
senses, as well as to sight ; tothe general functions
of animal life, as nutrition, secretion, respiration ;
to the economy of vegetables ; and indeed to almost
all the operations of nature. The question, there-
fore, is of very wide extent; and amongst ‘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 existence, the agency, the wisdom, of the Deity,
could be testified to his rational creatures. Thisis
the scale by which we ascend to all the knowledge
of our Creator which we possess, so far as it de-
pends 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, Ged could have done without
the intervention of instruments or means ; but it is
in the construction of instruments, in the choice
and adaptation of means, that a creative intelli-
gence is seen. It is this which constitutes the or-
der 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 the na-
ture of these limits; its inertia, its reaction ; the
laws which govern the communication of motion,
the refraction and reflection of light, the constitu-
tion of fluids non-elastic and elastic, the transmis-
sion of sound through the latter ; the laws of mag-
netism, of electricity ; and probably others, yet un-
discovered. 'These are general laws; and whena
particular purpose is to be effected, it is not by
making a new law, nor by the suspension of the
old ones, nor by making them wind, and bend, and
yield to the occasion ; (for nature‘with great steadi-

32 APPLICATION OF

ness 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 lengthattamed. As we have
said, therefore, God prescribes limits to his power
that he may let in the exercise; and thereby ex-
hibit demonstrations of his wisdom. For then 2. e.
such laws and limitations being laid down, it is as
though one Being should have fixed certain rules ;
and, if we may so speak, provided certain materi-
als; and, afterward, have committed to another Be-
ing, out of these materials, and in subordination to
_°. these rules, the task of drawing forth a creation :
a supposition which evidently leaves room, and in-
duces indeed a necessity, for contrivance. Nay,
there may be many such agents, and many ranks
of these. We do not advance this asa 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 ge-
neral laws, will have the same consequences upon
our reasoning, as if he had prescribed these laws
toanother. [It has been said, that the problem of
creation was, “ attraction and matter being given,
to make a world out of them :” and, as above ex-
plained, this statement perhaps does not convey a
talse idea. :

WE have made choice of the eye as.an instance
upon which to rest the argument of this chapter.
Some single example was to be proposed : and the
eye offered itself under the advantage of admitting
of a strict comparison with optical instruments.
The ear, it is probable, is no less artificially and
mechanically adapted to its office, than the eye.
But we know less about it: we do not so well un-
derstand the action, the use, or the mutual depen-
dency, of its internal parts. Its general form, how-
ever, both external and internal, is sufficient to
show that it is an instrument adapted to the recep-
tion of sound ; that is to say, already knowing that
sound consists in pulses of the air, we perceive, in
the structure of the ear, a suitableness to receive
impressions from this species of action, and to pro-
pagate these impressions to the brain. For of

THE ARGUMENT. 30

what does this structure consist ? An external ear

(the concha,) calculated, like an ear-trumpet, to

catch and collect the pulses of which we have spo-

ken; in large quadrupeds, turning to the sound,

and possessing a configuration, as well as motion,

evidently fitted for the office : of a tube which leads

into the head, lying at the root of this outward ear,

the folds and sinuses thereof tending and conduct-

ing the air towards it : of a thin membrane, like the

pelt of a drum, stretched across this passage upon

a bony rim: of a chain of moveable, and infinitely

curious, bones, forming a communication, and the

only communication that.can be observed, between
the membrane last mentioned and the interior

channels and recesses of the skull: of cavities,

similar in shape and form to wind instruments. of
music, being spiral or portions of circles: of the

eustachian tube, like the hole in a drum, to let the

air pass freely into and out of the barrel of the ear,

as the covering membrane vibrates, or as the tem-

perature 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 appa-

ratus, plainly enough relative to the transmission.
of sound, or of the impulses received from sound,”
weeps to be lamented in not being better under-

stood.

The communication within, formed by the smal]
bones of the ear, is, to look upon, more like what
we are accustomed to call machinery, than any
thing Iam acquainted with in animal bodies. It
seems evidently designed to continue towards the
sensorium the tremulous motions which are excited
inthe membrane of the tympanum, or what is bet-
ter known by the name of the ‘‘ drum of the ear.”
The compages of bones consists of four, which are
so disposed, and so hinge upon one another, as
that if the membrane, the drum of the ear, vibrate,
allthe four are put in motion together; and, by
the result of their action, work the base of that
which is the last in the series, upon an aperture
which it closes, and upon which it plays, and

_which aperture opens into the tortuous canals that
lead to the brim. This last bone of the four is call-

34 APPLICATION OF

ed the stapes. The office of the drum of the ear is
to spread out an extended surface, capable of re-
ceiving the impressions of sound, and of being put
by them into a state of vibration. The office of the
stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It is a repeat-
ing frigate, stationed more within the line. From
which account of its action may be understood,
how the sensation of sound will be excited by any
thing which communicates a vibratory motion to
the stapes, though not, as in all ordinary cases,
through the intervention of the membrana tympani.
This is done by solid bodies applied to the bones
of the skull, as by a metal bar 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 great-
jy damaged. Either in the natural or preterna-
tural state of the organ, the use of the chain of
bones is to propagate the impulse in a direction to-
wards the brain, and to propagate it with the ad-
vantage of a lever ; whiel advantage consists in
increasing the force and strength of the vibration,
and at the same time diminishing the space through
which it oscillates ; both of which changes may
augment or facilitate the still deeper action of the
auditory nerves.

The benefit of the eustachian tube to the organ,
may be made out upon known pneumatic princi-
ples. Behind the drum of the ear is a second cavi-
ty, or barrel, called the tympanum. The eusta-
chian tube is a slender pipe, but sufficient forthe
passage of air, leading from this cavity into the
back part of the mouth. Now, it would not have
done to have had a vacuum in this cavity ; for, in
that case, the pressure of the atmosphere from
without would have burst the membrane which co-
veredit. Nor would it have done to have filled the
_eavity with lymph or any other secretion ; which
would necessarily have obstructed both the vibra-
tion of the membrane and the play of the smal!
bones. Nor, lastly, would it have done to have oc-
cupied the space with confined air, because the ex-
pansion of that air by heat, or its contraction by
cold, would have distended or relaxed the covering

_

>. ae
THE ARGUMENT. 30
membrane, in a degree inconsistent with the pur-
pose which it was assigned to execute. The only
remaining expedient, and that for which the euste-
chian tube sérves, is to open to this cavity a com-
munication with the external air. In one word ;
it exactly answers the purpose of the hole ina
drum. | "
The membrana tympani itself likewise, deserves
all the examination which can be made of it. It is
not found in the ears of fish, which furnishes ,an
additional proof of what indeed is indicated by
every thing about it, that it is appropriated to the
action of air, or of an elastic medium. It bears an
obvious resemblance to the pelt or head of a drum,
from which it takes its name. It resembles also a
drum-head inthis principal property, that its use
. depends upon its tension. Z'ension is the state es-
sential 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 purpose is p: ed for, more simply, but not
less mechanically, nor less successfully, by a dif-
ferent expedient, wiz. by the end of a bone (the
handle of the malleus) pressing upon itscentre. It
is only in very large animals that the texture of
this membrane can be discerned. In the Philoso-
phical Transactions for the year 1800, (vol. i.)
Mr. Everard Home has given some curious obser-
vations upon the ear, and the drum of the ear of an
elephant. We discovered in it, what he calls a ra-
diated muscle, that is, straight muscular fibres,
passing along the membrane from the circumfe-

ence to the centre; from the bony rim which sur-
rounds it towards the handle of the malleus to
which the central part is attached. This muscle
he supposes to be designed to bring. the membrane
into unison with different sounds: but then he also
discovered, that this muscle itself cannot act, un-
less the membrane be drawn to astretch, and kept
in a due state of tightness, by what may be called

a foreign force, viz. the action of the muscles of

_ the malleus. Supposing his explanation of the use

of the parts to be just, our author is well founded
in the reflection which he makes upon it, “ that

(eee

36 OF THE SUCCESSION OF

this mode of adapting the ear to different sounds, is
one of the most beautiful applications of muselesin
the body : the mechanism is so simple, and the variety
of effects so great.” ies eal gl sche

In another volume of the Transactions idle re-
ferred to, and of the same year, two most curious
cases are related, of persons who retained the sense
of hearing, not in a perfect, but in a very considerable
degree, notwithstanding the almost total loss of the
membrane we have been describing. In one of
these cases, the use here assigned to that mem-
brane, of modifying the impressions of sound by
change of tension, was attempted to be supplied by
straining the muscles of the outwardear. ‘“ The
external ear,’’ we are told, “‘ had acquired a distinct
motion upward and backward, whichwas observa-
ble whenever the patient listened to any thing
which he did not distinctly hear; when he was ad-
dressed in a whisper, the ear was seen immediate-
ly to move ; when the tonevof voice was louder, it
then remained altogether motionless.”, __ :

It appears probable from both these cases, that” |
a collateral, if not principal, use of the membrane,
is to cover and protect the barrel of the ear which
lies behind it. Both the

patients suffered from
cold: one, ‘(a great increase of deafness from
catching cold ;” the other, ‘‘ very considerable pain
from exposure to a stream of cold air.” Bad effects
therefore 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 ca-
pable, by its texture, of receiving vibrations from
sound, and, by its connexion with the interior parts, —
of transmitting those vibrations to the brain, they
use of the organ, so faras we can judge, must have
been entirely obstructed.

a
c .

@ CHAP. IV. —
Of the succession of plants and animals.

‘Tur generation of the animal no m e accounts
for the contrivance of the eye or ear, : , upon the
supposition stated in a preceding chapter, the pro-

¢ *

a ;
PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 37

¢
duction of a watch by the motion and mechanism
of a former watch, would account for the skill and
intention evidenced in the watch 80 produced ; than
it would account for the disposition of the wheels,
e catching of their teeth, the relation of the seve-
ral parts of the works to one another, and to their
common end; for the suitableness of their forms
and places to their offices, for their connexion, their
operation, and the useful result of that operation.
I do insist most strenuously upon the correctness
of this comparison; that it holds as to every mode
of specific propagation ; and that whatever was
true of the watch, under the hypothesis above men-
tioned, is true of plants and animals. :
I. To begin with the fructification of plants.
Can it be doubted but that the seed contains a par-
ticular organization 2? Whether a latent plantule
with the means oftemporary nutrition, or whatever
else it be, it incloses an organization suited to the
germination of a new plant. Has the plant which
produced the seed any thing more to do with that
“organization, than the watch would have had to do
with the structure of the watch which was produced
in the course of its mechanical movement ? I mean,
Has it any thing at all to do with the contrivance ?
The maker and contriver of one watch, when he
inserted within it a mechanism suited to the pro-
duction 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 inten-
tion: the art, to him as the artist: the collocation
of each part to his placing: the action, effect, and
use, to his counsel, intelligence, and workmanship.
In producing it by the intervention of a former
watch, he was only working by one set of tools in-
stead of another. So it is with the plant, and the
seed produced by it. Can any distinction be as-
signed between the two cases ; between the pro-
ducing watch, and the producing plant ; both pas-
sive, unconscious substances ; both, by the organi-
zation which was given to them, producing their
like, without understanding or design ; both, that is,
instruments ?
1]. From plants we may proceed to oviparous

ed i wad

38 OF THE SUCCESSION OF

animals; from seeds toeggs. 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 cannot alter it, or change a single feather
of the chick. She can neither foresee nor deter-
mine 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 apprised
of the effect. If there be concealed within that
smooth shell a provision and a preparation for the
production and nourishment of a new animal, they
are not of her providing or preparing: if there be
contrivance, it is none of hers. Although, there-
fore, there be the difference of life and perceptivity
between the animal and the plant, it is a difference
which enters not into the account: it is a foreign
circumstance: it is a difference of properties not
employed. The animal function and the vegetable
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 pro-
duces; the bird, with respect to its egg, is not
above the plant with respect to its seed. Neither
the one nor the other bears that sort of relation to
what proceeds from them, which a joiner does to
the chair which he makes. Now a cause, which
bears this relation to the effect, is what we want,
in order to account for the suitableness of means to
an end, the fitness and fitting of one thing to
another ; and thiscause the parent plant or animal
does not supply.

It is farther observable concerning the propaga-
tion of plants and animals, that the apparatus em-
ployed exhibits no resemblance to the thing pro-
duced; in this respect holding an analogy with in-
struments and tools of art. The filaments, anthere,
and stigmata, of flowers, bear no more resemblance
to the young plant, or even to the seed, which is
formed by their iutervention, than a chisel ora

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 39

plane does to a table or chair. What then are the
filaments, anthere, and stigmata, of plants, but im-
_ struments 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, fromthe lowest to
the highest; from irrational to rational life, from’
brutes to the human species ; without perceiving,
as we proceed, any alteration whatever in the terms
of the comparison. The rational animal does not
produce its offspring with more certainty or success
than the irrational animal; a man than a quadru-
ed, a quadruped than a bird; nor (for we may fol-
ow 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. Ra-
tionality therefore has nothing todo in the business.
If an account must be given of the contrivance
which we observe: if it be demanded, whence arose.
either the contrivance by which the young animal
is produced, or the contrivance 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 ofthe tulip which
grows upon his parterre, and in no other. We ad-
mire the flower ;;we examine the plant; we per-
ceive the conduciveness of many of its parts to
their end and office ; we observe a provision for its
nourishment, growth, protection, and fecundity ;
but we never think of the gardener in all this. We
attribute nothing of this to his agency ; yet it may
still be true, that without the gardener, we should
not have had the tulip: just so it is with the suc-
cession of animals even of the highest order. For
the contrivance discovered in the structure of the
thing produced, we want a contriver. The parent
is not that contriver. His consciousness decides
that question. He is in total ignorance why that
which is produced took its present form rather than
any other. It is for him only to be astonished by
the effect. We can no inore look, therefore, to the
intelligence of the parent animal for what weare in -
search of, a cause of relation, and of subserviency

40. APPLICATION OF THE

of parts to their use, which relation and subser-
viency we see in the procreated body, than we can
refer the internal conformation of an acorn to the
intelligence of the oak from which it dropped, or
he structure of the watch to the intelligence of the
watch which produced it ; there being no difference,
as far as argument is concerned, between an intel-
hgence which is not exerted, and an intelligence
which does not exist.

CHAP V.
Application of the argument continued.

EVERY observation which was made in our first
chapter, concerning the watch, may be repeated
with strict propriety concerning the eye ; concern-
ing animals; concerning plants; concerning, in-
— , all the organized parts of the works of nature.

S,
_ I. When we are inquiring simply after the exist-
ence of an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccu-
racy, liability to disorder, occasional irregularities,
may subsist in a considerable degree, without in-
ducing any doubt into the question : just asa watch
may frequently go wrong, seldom perhaps exactly
right, may be faulty in some parts, defective in
some, without the smallest ground of suspicion
from thence arising that it was not a watch; not
made; or not made for the purpose ascribed to it.
When faults are pointed out, and when a question
is started concerning the skill of the artist, or dex-
terity with which the work is executed, then, in-
deed, in order to defend these qualities from accu-
sation, we must be able, either to expose some in-
tractableness and imperfection in the materials, or
point out some invincible difficulty 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 exist-
ence, in the case before him, of im or like
those which we have mentioned, although, what

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 41

from the nature of the case is very likely to ia? te
they be unknown and unperceived by him. This
we must do in order to vindicate the artist’s skill,
or, at least, the perfection of it: as we must also

judge of his intention, and of the provisions employ-

ed in fulfilling that intention, not from an instance
in which they fail, but from the great plurality of

instances in which they succeed. But, after all, -
these are different questions from the question of
the artist’s existence ; or, which is the same, whe-
ther the thing before us be a work of art or not:
and the questions ought always to be kept separate
in the mind. So likewise it is in the works of na-
ture. Irregularities and imperfections are of little —
or no weight in the consideration, when that con-.
sideration relates simply to the existence of a Crea-
tor. When the argument respects his attributes,
they are of weight; but are then to be taken in
conjunction (the attention is not to rest upon them,
but they are to be taken in conjunction) with the
unexceptionable evidences which we possess, of
skill, power, and benevolence, displaved in other

| stances: which evidences may, in strength, num-

ber, 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 igno-
rant of it, other than defect of knowledge or of be-
nevolence in the author. :

II. There may be also parts of plants and ani-
mals, as there were supposed to be of the watch, of
which, in some instances, the operation, in others,
the use, is unknown. These form different cases :
for the operation may be unknown, yet the use be
certain. Thus it is with the lungs of animals. It
does not, I think, appear, that we are acquainted
with the action of the air upon the blood, or in what
manner that action is communicated by the lungs;
yet we find that a very short suspension of their
office destroys the life of the animal. _ In this case,
therefore, we may be said to know the use, nay we
experience the necessity, of the organ, though we
be ignorant of its operation. Nearly the same
thing may be observed of what is called the lym-
phatic system. We suffer grievous inconveniences

ee ee ee |
43 APPLICATION OF THE

from its disorder, without being informed of the of-
fice which it sustains in the economy of our bodies.
There may possibly also be some few examples of
the second class in which not only the operation is —
unknown, but in which experiments may seem to —
prove that the part is not necessary; or may leave ©
a doubt, how far it is even useful to the plant or
animal in which it is found. This is said to be the —
ease with the spleen; which has been extracted
from dogs, without any sensible injury to their vital ©
functions. Instances of the former kind, namely, |
in which we cannot explain the operation, may be |
numerous; for they wi'l be so in proportion to our } ‘
ignorance. -They will be more or fewer to different —
persons, and in different stages of science. Every —
mprovement of knowledge diminishes their num- |
ber. There is hardly, perhaps, a year passes, that —
does not, in the works of nature, bring some ope- _
ration, or some mode of operation, to light, which |
was before undiscovered, probably unsuspected. In-
stances 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 never been submit-
ted to a trial and examination sufficiently accurate,
long enough continued, or often enough repeated.
No accounts which I have seen are satisfactory.—
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
vigour 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, viz. that these superfluous parts do not ne-
gative the reasoning which we instituted concern-
ing 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 obser-
vations upon the works of nature, and to the proofs

of a Deity which we think that we perceive in them, |

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 43

is to tel] us, that al] which we see must necessarily
have had some form, and that it might as well be
its present form as any other. Let us now apply
this answer to the eye, as we did before to the
watch. Something or other must have: occupied
that place in the animal’s head; must have filled
up, we will say, that socket: we will say also, that
it must have been of that sort of substance which
we call animal substance, as flesh, bone, membrane,
| cartilage, &c. But that it should have been an eye,
knowing as we do what an eye comprehends—viz.
that it should have consisted, first, of a series of
transparent lenses (very different, by the 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 ;) se-
| condly, of a black cloth or canvas (the only mem-
| brane of the body which is black) spread out be-
hind these lenses, so as to receive the image formed
| by pencils of light transmitted through them; and
placed at the precise geometrical distance at which
and at which alone, a distinct image could be
formed, namely, at the concourse of the refracted
rays: thirdly, of a large nerve communicating be-
tween this membrane and the brain ; without which,
the action of light upon the membrane, however
modified by the organ, would be lost to the purposes
of sensation :—that this fortunate conformation of
parts should have been the lot. not of one individual
out of many thousand individuals, like the great
prize in a lottery, or like some singularity in na-
ture, but the happy chance of a whole species ; nor
of one species out of many thousand species, with
which we are acquainted, but of by far the greatest
number of all that exist; and that under varieties,
not casual or capricious, but bearing marks of being
suited to their respective exigencies :—that this
should have taken place, merely because something
‘must have occupied those points in every animal’s
' forehead ;—or, that all this should be thought to be
accounted for, by the short answer, ‘‘ that whatever
‘was there, must have had some form or other,” is
‘too absurd to be made more so by any augmenta-
(tion, We are not contented with this answer; we

44 APPLICATION OF THE

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, petri-
fied bones, or other substances which bearthe ves-
tiges of animal or vegetable recrements, but which,
either in respect of utility, or of the situation in
which they are discovered, may seem accidental
enough. It is no way of accounting even for these
things, to say that the stone, for instance, which is
shown to us, (supposing the question to be concern-
ing a petrification,) must have contained some in-
ternal conformation or other. Nor does it mend the
answer to add, with respect to the singularity of the
conformation, that, after the évent, it is no longer
to be computed what the chances were against it.
This is always to be computed, when the question
is, whether a useful or imitative conformation be
the produce of chance or not: I desire no greater
certainty in reasoning, than that by which chance
is excluded from the present disposition of the na-
tural world. Universal experience is against it.
What does chance ever do for us? in the human
body, for instance, chance, 7. e. the operation of
causes without design, may produce a wen, a wart,
a mole, a pimple, but never an eye. Amongst in-
animate substances, a clod, a pebble, a liquid drop,
might be; but never was a watch, a telescope, an
organized body of any kind, answering a valuable
purpose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of
chance. In no assignable instance hath such a
thing existed without intention somewhere.

IV. There is another answer, which has the
same effect as the resolving of things into chance ;
which answer would persuade us to believe, that
the eye, the animal to which it belongs, every other
animal, every plant, indeed every organized body
— see, are only so many out of the possible
vari@ties and combinations of being, which the lapse
of infinjte ages has brought into existence ; that the
present world is the relict of that variety ; millions
of other bodily forms and other species having pe-
rished, being by the defect of their constitution in-
capable of proservation, or of coniinuance by gene-
ration. Now there is no foundation whatever for
this conjecture in any thing which we observe in

‘that which is here supposed, and w

THE ARGUMENT. 45

— ?
the works of nature; no such experiments are
going on at present; no such eoey operates, as

; ch ich. should be
constantly pushing into existence new varieties of
beings. Nor are there any appearances tosupport
an opinion, that every possible combination of

vegetable or animal structure has formerly been

tried. Multitudes of conformations, both of vege-
tables and animals, may be conceived capable of
existence and succession, which yet do not exist.
Perhaps almost as many forms of plants might
have been found in the fields, as figures of plants

can be delineated upon paper. A countless variety -

of animals mightshave existed, which do not exist.
Upon the supposition here stated, we should see
unicorns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs, the
fancies of painters, and the fables of poets, realized
by examples. Or,if it be alleged that these may
transgress the limits of possible life and pro-
pesotian, we might, at least, have nations of
uman 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. We may mo-

| dify any one species many different ways, all con-
| sistent withvlife, and with the actions necessary to
| preservation, although affording different degrees
| of conveniency and enjoyment to the animal. And

if we carry these modifications through the differ-
ent species which are known to subsist, their num-
ber would be incalculable. No reason can be given
why, if these deperdits ever existed, they have
now disappeared. Yet, if all possible existences
have been tried, they must have formed part of the

| catalogue,

But, moreover, the division of organized sub-
stances into animals and vegetables, and the dis-
‘ribution and sub-distribution of each into ge-
xera and species, which distribution is.not an arbi-
rary act of the mindy but founded in the order

| vhich prevails in external nature, appear to me ta.

| ntradict the supposition of the present world

cing the remains of an indefinite variety of exist-

46 :APPLICATION OF T

ences; of a variety which rejects all plan. The
hypothesis teaches, that every possible»variety of
being hath, at one time or other, found its way into
existence, (by whaticause or in what manner is not
said,) and that those which were badly formed,
perished ; but how or why those which survived
should be cast, as we see that plants and animals
are cast, into regular classes, the hypothesis does __
not explain; or rather the hypothesis is inconsist-
ent with this phenomenon. }
The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of ©
the consideration which we have given to it. What
should we think of a man who, because we had -
never ourselves seen watches, telescopes, stocking-
mills, steam-engines, &c. made, knew not how they
were made, or could prove by testimony when
they were made, or by whom,—would have us be-
lieve that these machines, instead of deriving their _
curious structures from the thought and design of |
their inventors and contrivers, in truth derive them
from no other origin than this ; viz. that a mass of
metals and other materials having run when melt-
ed into all possible figures, and combined them-
selves in all possible forms, and shapes, and pro-
portions, these things which we see, are what were
left from the accident, as best worth preserving ;
and, as such, are become the remaining stock of a
magazine, which, at one time or other, has by this
means, contained every mechanism, useful and use-
less, convenient and inconvenient, into which such
like materials could. be thrown? I cannot distin-
cuish the hypothesis as applied to the works of na-
ture, from this solution, which no one would accept,
as applied to a collection of machines. Be
V. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in
animal bodies, and to the argument deduced from
them, in proof of design, and ofa designing Creator,
this turn is sometimes attempted to be given,
namely, that the parts were not intended for the use,
’ but that the use arose out of the parts. This dis-
tinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his
mahogany with fish-skin ; yet it would be toomuch
to assert that the skin of ‘the dog-fish was made
rough and granulated on purpose for t polishing
-of wood, and the use of cabinet-makers. There-

:

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. . 47

fore the distinction is intelligible. But I think that
there is very little place for it in the works of na-
ture. When roundly and generally affirmed of
them, as it hath sometimes been, it amounts to
such another stretch of assertion, as it would be to
say, that all the implements of the cabinet-maker’s
work-shop, as well as his fish-skin, were substan-
ces accidentally configurated, which he had picked
up, and converted to his use; that his adzes, saws,
| planes, pnd gimblets, were not made, as we sup-
pose, to hew, cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood
with ; but that, these things being made, no matter

maker perceived that they were applicable to his
purpose, and turned them to account.
But again. So far as this solution is attempted to

which does not depend upon the will of the animal,
it is fraught with stil! more evident absurdity. Is
it possible to believe that the eye was formed with-
| out any regard te vision; that it was the animal
itself which found out, that though formed with no
such intention, it would serve tosee 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 fun-
damentally depend upon the election of the animal ;
consequently neither upon his sagacity, nor his ex-
perience. It is the impression which objects make
upon them, that constitutes their use. Under that
impression, he is passive. He may bring objects
to the sense, or within its reach; he may select
these objects: but over the impression itself he
has no power, or very little; and that properly is
the sense.

_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. Ifwe apply the solution to the hu-
|: man body, for instance, it forms itself into questions,
|: upon which no reasonable mind can doubt ; such
|); a8, whether the teeth were made expressly for the
| Mastication of food, the feet for walking, the hands

with what design, or whether with any, the cabinet- _
gn, y>

be applied to those parts of animals, the action of

Secondly, There are many parts of animal

:
|
|

48 APPLICATION OF THE

for holding ? or whether, these things being as they
are, being in fact in the animal’s possession, his own
ingenuity taught him that they. were convertible to
these purposes, though no such purposes were con-
templated in their formation?
All that there is of the appearance of reason in
this way of considering the subject is, that in some
cases the organization seems to determine the habits
of the animal, and its choice, to a particular mode
of life; which, in a certain sense, may be called
“ the use arising out of the part.”’? Now to all the
instances, in which there is any place for this sug-
gestion, it may be replied, that the organization de-
termines the animal] to habits beneficial and saluta-
ry to itself; and that this effect would not be seen
so regularly to follow, if the several organizations
did not bear a concerted and contrived relation to
the substance by which the animal was surrounded.
They would, otherwise, be capacities without ob-
jects ; powers without employment. The web-foot
determines, you say, the duck to swim; but what
would that avail, if there were no water to swim
in? 'The strong, hooked bill, and sharp talons, of
one species of bird, determine it to prey upon ani- |
mals; 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 sustenance of the birds, if animal bodies and
vegetable seeds did not lie within their reach. The
peculiar conformation of the bill and tongue and
claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird to
search for his food amongst the insects lodged be-
hind the bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees : but
what should this profit him, if there.-were no trees,
no decayed trees, no insects lodged under their
bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis with which
the bee is furnished, determines him to seek for
honey: but what would that signify, if flowers sup-
plied none? Faculties thrown down upon animals
.at random, and. without reference to the objects
amidst which tbey are placed, would not produce
to them the services and benefits which we see ;
and if there be that »reference, then there is in-
tention. : Pe

«Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied

a

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 49

to plants. The parts of plants answer their uses,
without any concurrence from the will or choice of

| the plant.

VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to a
principle of order innature. A principle of order is
the word : but what is meant by a principle of or-

| der, as different from an intelligent Creator, has

not been explained either by definition or example ;

| and, without such explanation, it should seem to be

a mere substitution of words for reasons, names for

| causes. Order itself is only the adaptation of

means to an end: a principle of order, therefore,

ean only signify the mind and intention which se -

adapts them. Or, were it capable of being explain-
ed in any other sense, is there any experience, any
analogy, to sustain it? Wasa watch ever pro-

| duced 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 ;

j nor indiscriminate, which it would be, if it issued
| from an unintelligent principle. Where order is
| Wauted, there we find it; where order is not want-
| ed, 2. e. where, if it prevailed, it would be useless,

| there we do not findit. 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 moun-

| tains, in the lines which bound the coasts of conti-
| nents and islands, inthe shape of bays and promon-

tories, no order whatever is perceived, because it

| would have been superfluous. No useful purpose
| would have arisen from moulding rocks and moun-

|

tains 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

|
,

Buclid’s Elements, or Simpson’s Conic Sections.

VII. Lastly, The confidence which we place in
our observations upon the works of nature, in the
marks which we discover of contrivance, choice,
and design, and in our reasoning upon the proof
afforded us, ought not to be shaken, as it is some-

| mes attempted to be “ey by bringing forward to

50 APPLICATION, &c.

our view our own ignorance, or rather the general
imperfection 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 suffering 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.
tf 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 evident
and certain, (and I can mention nothing which is
more so,) ought it to prejudice the inference which
we draw from these premises, that we cannot ex-
plain the use of the spleen? Nay, more: if there
be parts of the eye, viz. the cornea, the crystalline,
the retina, in their substance, figure, and position,
manifestly suited to the formation of an image by
the refraction of rays of light, at least, as manifest-
ly as the glasses and tubes of a dioptric telescope '
are suited to that purpose; it concerns not the
proof which these afford of design, and of a de-
signer, that there may perhaps be other parts, cer-
tain muscles for instance, or nerves im the same
eye, of the agency or effect of which we can give
no account ; any more than we should be inclined
to doubt, or ought to doubt, about the construction
of a telescope, viz. for what purpose it was con-
structed, or whether it were constructed at all, be-
eause 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 ofinfusing doubts and
scruples into the mind, to recur to its own igno-
rance, its own imbecility : totell us that upon these
subjects we know little ; that little imperfectly ; or
rather, that we know nothing properly about the
matter. These suggestions so fall in with our con-
sciousness, aS sometimes to produce a general dis-
trust of our faculties and our conclusions. But this
is an unfounded jealousy. The uncertainty of one
thing does not necessarily affect the certainty of
another thing. Our ignorance of many points need
not suspend our assurance of a few. Before we

_

THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 5!

yield, in any particular instance, to the scepticism
which this sort of insinuation would induce, we
ought accurately to ascertain, whether our igno-
rance or doubt concern those precise points upon
which our conclusion rests. Other points are
nothing. Our ignorance of other points may be of
no consequence to these, though they be points, in
various respects, of great importance. A just rea-
soner removes from his consideration, not only what
he knows, but what he does not know, touching
matters not ‘strictly connected with his argument,
2. e. not forming the very steps of his deduction ;
beyond these, his knowledge and his ignorance are
alike relative.

CHAP. VI.

The argument cumulative.

_ WeRrE there no example in the world, of contri-

vance, except that of the eye, it would be alone suf-
ficient to support the conclusion wiich we draw
from it, as to the necessity of an intelligent Crea-
tor. It could never be got rid of ; because it could
not be accounted for by any other supposition,
which did not contradict all the principles we pos-
sess of knowledge; the principles according to
which, things do, as often as they can be brought
to the test of experience, turn out to be true or
false. Its coats and humours, constructed, as the
lenses of a telescope are constructed, for the re-
fraction of rays of light to 1 point, which forms the
proper action of the organ: the provision in its
muscular tendons for turning its pupil to the ob-
ject, similar to that which is given to the telescope

y screws, and upon which power of direction in
the eye, the exercise of its office as an optical in-
strument depends ; the farther provision for its de-
fence, for its constant lubricity and moisture,
which we see in its socket and its lids, in its gland
for the secretion of the matter of tears, its outlet or
communication with the nose for carrying off the
liquid after the eye is washed with it; these. pro-
visions compose altogether an apparatus, a system

52 THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

of parts, a preparation of means, so manifest in
their design, So exquisite in their contrivance, so
successful in their issue, so precarious, and so in-
finitely 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
present 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 confusion, the vali-
dity of this example would remain the same. If
there were but one watch in the world, it would not
be less certain that it hadamaker. If we had
never in our lives seen any but one single kind of
hydraulic machine, yet, if of that one kind we un-
derstood 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 draw-
ing 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 evi-
dences of a Divine agency. ‘The proof is not a con-
elusion which lies at the end of a chain of reason-
ing, 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. Anerror in stating an
example, affects only thatexample. The argument
is cumulative, in the fullest sense of that term. The
eye proves it without the ear; the ear without the
eye. The proof in each example is complete ; for
when the design of the part, and the conducive-
ness of its structure to that design, is shown, the
mind may set itself at rest; no future considera-
tion can detract any thing from the force of the ex-
ample. |

[ 33 ]

CHAP. VII.

Of the mechanical and immechanical parts and func-
tions of animals and vegetables.

Ir is not that every part of an animal or vegeta-
ble has not proceeded from acontriving mind; or
that every part is not constructed with a view to
its proper end and purpose, according to the laws
belonging to and governing the substance or the
action made-use of in that part ; or that each part
is not so constructed as ffectuate its purpose
whilst it operates according to these laws ; but it.
is because these laws themselves are not in all
cases equally understood ; or, what amounts to
nearly the same thing, are not equally exemplified

_im more simple processes, and more simple ma-
chines ; that we lay down the distinction, here pro-
posed, between the mechanical parts‘and other
parts of animals and vegetables.

For instance: The principle of muscular motion,
viz. upon what cause the swelling of the belly of
the muscle, and consequent contraction of its ten-
dons, either by an act of the will, or by involuntary
irritation, depends, is wholly unknown tous. The
substance employed, whether it be fluid, gaseous,
elastic, electrical, or none of these, or nothing re-
sembling these, is also unknown to us: of course,
the laws belonging to that substance, and which
regulate its action, are unknown tous. We see
nothing similar to this contraction in any machine
which we can make, or any process which we can
execute. So far (it is confessed) we are in igno-
rance, 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 ap-
plication of the power, is mechanical , and is as in-
telligible as the adjustment of the wires and strings
by which a puppet is moved. We see, therefore,
as far as respects the subject before us, what is not
mechanical in the animal frame, and what is. The
nervous influence (for we are often obliged to give
names to things which we know little about)—I
say the nervous influence, by which the belly, or

54 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL

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 produ-
ced, we do not. But obscurity as to the origin of

muscular motion, brings no doubtfulness into our

observations upon the sequel] of the process : which
observations relate, Ist, To the constitution of the
muscle ; in consequence of which constitution, the
swelling of the belly or middle part is necessarily
and mechanically followed by a contraction of the
tendons: 2dly, ‘To the number and variety of the

muscles, and the correspe nding number and variety »

of useful powers which they supply to the animal;
which is astonishingly great: 3dly, To the judi-
cious (if we may be permitted to use that term, in
speaking ofthe Author, or of the works, of nature,)
to the wise and well-contrived disposition of each
muscle for its specific purpose; for moving the
joint this way, and that way, and the other way;
for pulling and drawing the part to which it is at-
tached, ina determinate and particular direction ‘
which is a mechanical operation, exemplified ina
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 arope ina
ship is carried over a block or round a stay, in
order to make it pull in the direction which is want-
ed. All this, as we have said, is mechanical; and
is as accessible to inspection, as capable of being
ascertained, as the mechanism of the automaton in
the Strand. Suppose the automaton to be put in
motion by a magnet, (which is probable,) it will
supply us with a comparison very apt for our pre-
sent purpose. Of the magnetic effluvium, we know
perhaps as little as we do of the nervous fiuid.
But, magnetic attraction being assumed, (it signi-
fies nothing from what cause it proceeds,) we can
trace, or there can be pointed out to us, with per-
fect clearness and certainty, the mechanism, viz.
the steel bars, the wheels, the joints, the wires, by
which the motion so much admired is communica-
ted to the fingers of the image: and to make any
ebscurity, or difficulty, or controversy, in the doc-

PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, & 55

trine of magnetism, n objection to our Hopes
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
ef nervous agency, or even of the substance and
structure of the nerves themselves, a ground of
question or suspicion as to, the reasoning which
we institute concerning the mechanical part of our
frame. That an animal isa machine, is a proposi-
tion neither 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 wherein it fails.
And whether the distinction be thought of impor-
tance or not, it is certainly of importance to re-
member, that there is neither truth nor justice in
endeavouring to bring a cloud over our understand-
ings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this
subject, by suggesting that we know nothing of
voluntary motion, of irritability, of the principle of
life, of sensation, of animal heat, upen all which
the animal functions depend ; for, our ignorance of
these parts of the animai frame concerns not at all
our knowledge of the mechanical parts of the same
frame. I contend, therefore, that there is mechan-
ism in animals; that this mechanism is as properly
such, as it is in machines made by art ; that this
mechanism is intelligible and certain; that it is
not the less so, because it often begins or terminates
with something which is not mechanical ; that
whenever it is intelligible and certain, it demon-
Strates intention and contrivance, as well in the
works of nature as in those of art; and that it is
the best demonstration which either can afford.

But whilst I contend for these propositions, I do
not exclude myself from asserting, that there may
be, and that there are, other cases, in which, al-
though we cannot exhibit mechanism, or prove in-
deed that mechanism is employed, we want not
sufficient evidence to conduct us to the same con-
clusion.

There is what may be called the chymical part
of our frame ; of which, by reason of the imper-
fection of our chymistry. we can attain to no dis-

56 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL

tinct knowledge ; I mean, mot to a knowledge,
elther in degree or kind, similar to that which we
possess of the mechanical part of our frame. It
does not, therefore, afford the same species of ar-
gument as that which mechanism affords; and yet
it may afford an argument in a high degree satis-
factory. The gastric juice, or the liquor which
digests the food in the stomachs of animals, is of
this class. Of all menstrua, it is the most active,
the most universal. In the human stomach, for
instance, consider what a variety of strange sub-
stances, 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 plants; the
roots, and stalks, and leaves, of many, hard and
tough as they are, yield to its powerful pervasion.
The change wrought by it is different from an
chymical solution which we can produce, or wit
which we are acquainted, in this respect as well
as many others, that, in our chymistry, particular
menstrua act only upon particular substances.
Consider moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its
operation than a caustic alkali or mineral acid,
than red precipitate, or aqua-fortis itself, is never
theless as mild, and bland, and inoffensive to the
touch or taste, as saliva or gum-water, which it
much resembles. Consider, I say, these several
properties of the digestive organ, and of the juice
with which it is supplied, or rather with which it
is made to supply itself, and you will confess it to
be entitled to a name, which it has sometimes re-
ceived, that of “the chymical wonder of animal
nature.” :
Still we are ignorant of the composition of this
fluid, and of the mode of its action; by which is
meant, that we are not capable, as we are in the
mechanical part of our frame, of collating it with
the operations of art. And this I call the imper-
fection of ourchymistry ; for, should the time ever
arrive, which is not perhaps to be despaired of,
when we can compound ingredients, so as to form @
s6lvent which will act in the manner in which the

PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, &c. oF

| gastric juice acts, we may be able to ascertain the
| ehymical principles upon which its efficacy de-
| pends, as well as from what part, and by what con-
| coction, in the human body, these principles are
generated and derived. ie
In the mean time, ought that, which is in truth
the defeat of our chymistry, to hinder us from ac-
| quiescing in the inference, which a productionj ot
| mature, by its place, its properties, its action, its
| surprising efficacy, its invaluable use, authorizes
us to draw in respect of a creative design ?
| Another most subtile and curious function of ani-
mal bodies is secretion. This function is semi-
chymical and semi-mechanical; exceedingly im-.
portant 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 sensible properties, in taste, smell, colour,
and consistency, the most unlike one another that
is possible; thick, thin, salt, bitter, sweet; and,
if from our own we pass to other species of ani-
mals, we find amongst their secretions not only
the most various, but the most opposite properties ;
the most nutritious aliment, the deadliest poison ;
the sweetest perfumes, the most feetid odours. Of
these the greater part, as the gastric juice, the sa-
liva, the bile, the slippery mucilage which lubri-
cates the joints, the tears which moisten the eye,
the wax which defends the ear, are, after they are
secreted, made use of in the animal economy ; are
evidently subservient, and are actually contributing
to the utilities of the animal itself. Other fluids
‘seem to be separated only to be rejected. That
this also is necessary, (though why it was original-
ly necessary, we cannot tell,) is shown by the con-
sequence of the separation being long suspended ; |
which consequence is disease and death. Akin te
secretion, if not the same thing, is assimilation,
. )

58 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL
| ta:

by which one and the same blood is converted into

bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons ;_
things as different as the wood and iron, canvas
and cordage, of which a ship with its furniture is
composed. We have no operation of art where-

with exactly to compare all this, fer no other rea-
son perhaps than that all operations of art are ex- |
ceeded by it. No chymical election, no chymice! |
analysis or resolution of a substance into its con-
stituent parts, no mechanical sifting or division,
that we are acquainted with, in perfection or vari-
ety, come up to animal secretion. Nevertheless,
the apparatus and process are obscure; not to say
absolutely concealed from our inquiries. Ina few,
and only a few instances, we can discern a little
of the constitution of a gland. In the kidneys of —
large animals, we can trace the emulgent artery
dividing itself into an infinite number of branches; —
their extremities every where communicating with

little round bodies, in the substance of which bo-

dies the secret of the machinery seems to reside,
tor there the change is made. We can discern

pipes laid from these round bodies toward the |
yelvis, Which is a basin within the solid of the kid- |
ney. We can discern these pipes joining and col-
lecting together into larger pipes; and, when so
collected, ending in innumerable papille, through
which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into” |
itsreceptacle. Thisis all weknowofthemechanism |
of a gland, even in the case in which it seems most
capable of being investigated. Yet to pronounce
that we know nothing of animal secretion, or
nothing satisfactorily, and with that concise remark
to dismiss the article from our argument, would be
to dispose of the subject very hastily and very ir-
rationally. For the purpose which we want, that
of evincing intention, we know a great deal. And
what we now is this. We see this blood carried |
hy a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. Wesee |
an organized apparatus, be its construction orac- |
tion what it will, which we call that gland. We |
see the blood, or part of the blood, after it has
passed through and undergone the action of the
gland, coming from it by an emulgent vem or
artery, 2: ¢. by another pipe or conduit. And we

~~ " oe

-.

2

te «

PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, &c. od
see also at the same time a new and specific’ fluid
is indie the same gland by its excretory dng
7. e. by a third pipe or conduit; which new fluid is
‘in some cases disthotted out of the body, in more
_ cases retained within it, and there executing some
important and intelligent office. Now supposing,
or admitting, that we know nothing of the proper
internal constitution of a gland, or of the mode of
its acting upon the blood; then our situation is
precisely like that of an unmechanical looker-on,
who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a
carding-machine, or a thrashing-machine, at work,
the fabric and mechanism of which, as well as ali

that passes within, is hidden from his sight by the .

outside case ; or, if seen, would be too complicated.
for his uninformed, uninstructed understanding to
comprehend. And what is that situation? This
spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a ma-
terial enter the machine, as unground grain the
mill, raw cotton the carding-machine, sheaves of
unthrashed corn the thrashing 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 con-
vinced that design, that intention, that contrivance,
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 sim-
‘ultaneous or successive, upon the material which
ig presented tothem ? He may long to do this te
gratify his curiosity ; he may. desire to do it to
-imaprove his theoretic knowledge; or he may have
“a more substantial reason for requesting it, if he
happen, instead of a common visiter, to be a mill-.
wright by profession, or a person sometimes’ called
in to repair such-like machines when out of order :
| Bier the purpose of ascertaining the existence 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 mate-

ee

60 PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, &e.

rial, the change produced in it, mee that
change for future applications, abundantly testify
be the concealed part of the machine or of its con- ©
struction 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 plate
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 t-
ed to the work which is to be done, or the end to |
answered. No account can be given of this, with- |
out resorting to appointment. Why, for mstance,
is the saliva, which is diffused over the seat of taste,
insipid, whilst so many others of the secretions,
the urine, the tears, and the sweat, are salt? Why
does the gland within the ear separate a viscid
substance, which defends that passage; the gland
in the upper angle of the eye, a thin urine, whi
washes the ball ? Why is the synovia of the joints
mucilaginous; the bile bitter, stimulating and
soapy ? Why does the juice, which flows into the
stomach, contain powers, which make. that bowel
the great laboratory, as it is by its situation the re-

>

cipient, of the materials of future nutrition? These
are all fair questions; and no answer can be given |
to them, but what calls in intelligence “e
tention. oe ,

My object in the present chapter has been to ‘
teach three things: first, that it is a mistake to sup- _
pose that, in reasoning from the appearances of na~ —
ture, the imperfection of our knowledge’ ropor- .
tionably affects the certainty of our conc a |
for in many cases it does not affect it at a, e -ond-
ly, that the different parts of the animal may.
be classed and distributed, according to the degtee ©
of exactness with which we can compare
with works of art: thirdly, that the mechanic
of our frame, or those in which this comparis

RECTILILULE

ao

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT, &c. 61

- CHAP. VIII.

Of mechanical arrangement in the human frame.

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

OF THE BONES.

I.—I challenge any man to produce, in the joints
and pivots of the most complicated or the most
flexible machine that was ever contrived, a con-
struction more artificial, or more evidently artifi-
cial, than that which is seen in the vertebre of the
human neck.—Two things were to be done. The
head was to have the power of bending forward
and backward, as in the act of nodding, stooping,
looking upward or downward’; and, at the same
time, of turning itself round upon the body to a
certain extent, the quadrant we will say, or rather,
perhaps, a hundred and twenty degrees of a circle.
For these two purposes, two distinct contrivances
are employed : First, the head rests immediately
upon the uppermost of the vertebrz, and is united
to it by a hinge-joint ; upon which joint the head
plays freely forward and backward, as far either
Way aS is necessary, or as the ligaments allow;
which was the first thing required.—But then the
rotatory motion is unprovided for; Therefore,
secondly, to make the head capable of this, a far-
ther mechenism is introduced; not between the
head and the uppermost bone of the neck, where
the hinge is, but betwen that bone and the bone
next underneath it. It is a mechanism resembling
atenon and mortice. This second, or uppermost
bone but one, has what anatomists call a process,
¥iZ. @ projection, somewhat similar, in size and
shape, to a tooth; which tooth, entering a corres-
ponding hole or socket in the bone above it, forms

62. OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT
@ pivot or axle, upon which that upper bone, to- |
ear with the head which it supports, turns free-~
y in a circle ; and as far in the circle as the at-
tached 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, gwe
use the tenon and mortice, which runs between the
first bone of the neck and the second. We see the
same contrivance and the same principle employed
in the frame or mounting of a telescope. It is occa-
sionally requisite, that the object-eud’ of the instru-
ment be moved up and down as well as horizon-—
tally, or equatorially. For the vertical motion,
there is a hinge, upon which the telescope plays ;
for the horizontal or equatorial motion, an axis
upon which the telescope and the hinge turn round
together. And this is exactly the mechanism which
is applied to the motion of the head: nor will any
one here doubt of the existence of counsel and de-
sign, except it be by that debility of mind, which
ean trust to its own’ reasonings in nothing.

We may add, that it was, on another account
also, expedient, that the motion of the head
backward and forward should be performed upon
the upper surface of the first vertebra: for if the
first vertebra itself had bent forward, it would have
brought the spinal marrow, at the very beginning
of its course, upon the point of the tooth.

II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike
the last in its object, but different and original in
its means, is seen in what anatomists call the /fore-
arm; that is, in the arm between the elbow and the
wrist. Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two
motions are wanted ; a motion at the elbow back-
ward and forward, which is called a reciprocal mo-
tion ; and a rotatory motion, by which the palm of
the hand, as occasion requires, may be turned up-
ward. How is this managed; The fore-arm, it is
well known, consists of two bones, lying along side
each other, but touching only towards the ends.
One, and only one, of these bones, is joined to the
cubit, or upper part of the arm, at the elbow; the
other alone, to the hand at the wrist. The first, by
means, at the elbow, ofa hinge-joint (which allows

“IN THE HUMAN FRAME. . 63

anly 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 corre-
sponding prominence in the other. If both bones
had been joined to the cubit or upper arm, at the
elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist, the thing
eould net have been done. The first was to be at
liberty at one end, and the second at the other; by
which means the two actions may be performed to-
gether. 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 grooves.
The management also of these grooves, or rather
of the tubercles and grooves, is very observable.
The two bones are called the radius and the ulna.
Above, z. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the
radius plays into a socket of the ulna; whilst be-
low, 2. e. towards the wrist, the radius finds the
socket, and the ulna the tubercle. A single bone
in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket joint at the
elbow, which admits of motion in all directions,
might, in some degree, have answered the purpose
of both moving the arm and turning the hand.
But how much better it is accomplished by the pre-
sent mechanism, any person may convince himself,
who puts the ease and quickness, with which he
ean shake his hand at the wrist circularly (moving
likewise, if he pleases, his arm at the elbow at the
same time) in competition with the comparatively
slow and laborious motion, with which his arm can
be made to turn round at the shoulder, by the aid
of a ball and socket joint.

lil. The spine, or back-bone, is a chain of joints
of very wonderful construction. Various, difficult,
and almost inconsistent offices were to be executed
by the same instrument. It was to be firm, yet
flexible ; (now I know no chain made by art, which
is both these ; for by firmness I mean, not only
strength, but stability ;) firm, to support the erect
position of the body ; flexible, to allow of the bend«

4 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

ing of the trunk in all degrees of curvature. It was—
farther also (which is another, and quite a distinct
purpose from the rest) to become a pipe or conduit
for the safe conveyance from the brain, of the most
important fluid of the animal frame, that, namely,
upon which all voluntary motion depends, the spi-
nal marrow ; a substance not only of the first ne-
cessity to action, if not to life, but ofa nature so de-
licate and tender, so susceptible, and so impatient
of injury, as that any unusual pressure upon it, or
any considerable obstruction of its course, is follow-
ed by paralysis or death. Now the spine was not
only to furnish the main trunk for the passage of
the medullary substance from the brain, but to give
out, in the course of its progress, small pipes there-
from, which being afterward indefinitely subdivided,
might, under the name of nerves, distribute this ex-
quisite supply to every part of the body. The same
spine was also to serve another use notless wanted
than the preceding, viz. to afford a fulcrum, stay,
or basis (or, more properly speaking, a series of
these,) for the insertion of the muscles which are
spread over the trunk of the body: in which trunk
there are not, as in the limbs, 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. 7
Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism
which shall comprise all these purposes, and let
him set about to contrive it: let him try his skill
upon it; let him feel the difficulty of accomplishing
the task, before he be told how the same thing is
effected in the animal frame. Nothing will enable
him to judge so well of the wisdom which has been
employed; nothing will dispose him to think of it
sotruly. First, for the firmness, yet flexibility, of
the spine; it 1s composed of a great number of
bones (in the human subject, of twenty-four) jomed
to one another, and compacted by broad bases. The
breadth of the bases upon which the parts severally
rest, and the closeness of the junction, give to the
chain its firmness and stability; the number of
arts, and consequent frequency of joints, its flexi-
bility” Which flexibility, we may also observe,
varies in different parts of the chain; is least in —

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 69

the back, where strength, more than flexure, is
wanted ; greater in the loins, which it was neces-
sary should be more supple than the back; and

reatest of all in the neck, for the free motion of the
head. Then, secondly, in order to afford a passage

‘| for the descent of the medullary substance, each of
|| these bones is bored through in the middle in such
|) a manner, as that, when put together, the hole in

one bone falls into a line, and corresponds with the
holes in the two bones contiguous toit. By which
means, the perforated pieces, when joined, form an
entire, close, uninterrupted channel; at least,
whilst the spine is upright, and at rest. But, asa
settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great |
difficulty still remained, which was to prevent the

| vertebre shifting upon one another, so as to break

the line of the canal as often as the body moves or
twists; or the joints gaping externally, whenever
the body is bent forward, and the spine thereupon
made to take the form of a bow. ‘These dangers,
which are mechanical, are mechanically provided
against. The vertebre, by means of their processes
and projections, and of the articulations which
some of these form with one another at their ex-
tremities, are so locked in and confined, as to main-
tain, in what are called the bodies or broad sur-
faces of the bones, the relative position nearly un-
altered ; and to throw the change and the pressure
produced by flexion, almost entirely upon the in-
tervening cartilages, the springiness and yielding
nature of whose substance admits of all the motion
which is necessary to be perfermed upon them,
without any chasms being produced by a separation
of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is ne-
cessary ; for although we bend our backs to every
degree almost 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 bending the body,
the spinal marrow must have been bruised at every
angle. ‘The reader need not be told, that these in-
tervening cartilages are gristles; and he may see
them in perfection in a lom of veal. Their form also
favours the same intention, They are thicker he-

66 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

fore than behind; so that, when we’ stoop forward, |
the compressible substance of the cartilage, yield-
ing in its thicker and interior part to the force which
Squeezes it, brings the surface of the adjoining ver-
tebree nearer to the being parallel with one an-
other than they were before, instead of increasing
the inclination of their planes, which must have oc- |
casioned a fissure or opening between them. Third-
ly, for the medullary canal giving out in its course,
and in a convenient order, a supply of nerves to
different parts of the body, notches are made in the
upper and lower edge of every vertebra; twoon |
each edge; equi-distant on each side from the mid-
dle line of the back. When the veriebre are put |
together, these notches, exactly fitting, form small
holes, through which the nerves, at each articula-
tion, issue Out in pairs, in order to send their
branches to every part of the body, and with an
equal bounty to both sides of the body. The fourth
purpose assigned to the same instrument, is the in-
sertion of the bases of the muscles, and the support
of the ends of the ribs ; and for this fourth purpose,
especially the former part of it, a figure, specifically
suited to the design, and unnecessary for the other
purposes, is given to the constituent bones. Whilst
they are plain, and round, and smooth, towards the
front, where any roughness or projection might
have wounded the adjacent viscera, they run out,
behind, and on each side, ito long processes, to
which processes the muscles necessary to the mo-
tions of the trunk are fixed ; and fixed with such |
art, that, whilst the vertebre supply a basis for the |
muscles, the muscles help to keep these bones in
their position, or by their tendons to tie them to-
gether. .
That most important, however, and general pro-
perty, viz. the strength of the compages, and the
security against Juxation, was to be still more spe-
cially consulted: for, where so many joints were
concerned, and where, in every one, a derangement
-would have been fatal, it became a subject of stu-
dious precaution. For this purpose, the vertebra
are articulated, that is, the moveable joints between —
them are formed by means of those projections of
their substance, which we have mentioned under

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. Ne

2 , . j
the name of processes; and these so lock in with,
nd overwarp one another, as to secure the body
of the vertebra, not only from accidentally slipping s
but even from being pushed out of its place by any
violence short of that which weuld break the bone.
I have often remarked and admired this structure
in the chine of a hare. In this, as in many in-
stances, a plain observer of the animal economy
may spare himself the disgust of being present, at
human dissections, and yet learn enough for his in-
formation and satisfaction, by even examining the
bones of the animals which come upon his table.
Let him take, for example, into his hands, a piece
of the clean-picked bone of a hare’s back: consist- —
ing, 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
ean use, will force it out of its place between them.
It will give way neither forward, nor backward,
nor on either side. In whichever direction he
pushes, he perceives, in the form, or junction, or
over-lapping, of the bones, an impediment oppose
to his attempt ; a check and guard against disloca-
tion. In one part of the spine, he will find a still
farther fortifying expedient, in the mode according
to which the ribs are annexed to the spine. Each
rib rests upon two vertebre. That is the thing to
be remarked, and any one may remark it in carving
a neck of mutton. The manner of it is this: the
end of the rib is divided by a middle ridge into two
surfaces ; which surfaces are joined to the bodies
of two contiguous vertebre, the ridge applying it-
self 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 ; viz. the cheeks
of the bars, which pass between the arches, ride
across the joints, by which the pieces composing
each arch are united. Each cross-bar rests upon
two of these pieces at their place of 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

68 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT —

out of the line of the back, provided against: and
to withstand the bones being pulled asunder longi- |
tudinally, or in the direction of that line, a strong |
membrane runs from one end of the chain to the })
other, sufficient to resist any force which is ever }}
likely to act in the direction of the back, or parallel |}
to it, and consequently to secure the whole com- |]
bination in their places. The general result is, |
that not only the motions of the human body neces-
sary for the ordinary offices of life are performed |}
with safety, but that it is an accident hardly ever |j
heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequin ||
distort his spine. ee , }

Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may
be inclined to carry the consideration of this sub- |
ject farther, there are three views under which the |
spine ought to be regarded, and in all which it can-
not fail to excite our admiration. These views relate
to its articulations, its ligaments, and its perfora-
tion; and to the corresponding advantages which
the body derives from it, for action, for strength,
and for that which is essential to every part, a se-
cure communication with the brain.

The structure of the spine is not in general dif-
ferent in different animals. In the serpent tribe,
however, it is considerably varied ; but with a strict
reference to the conveniency of the animal. For,
whereas in quadrupeds the number of vertebre is
from thirty to forty, in the serpent it is nearly one
hundred and fifty : whereas in men and quadrupeds
the surfaces of the bones are flat, and these flat sur-
faces laid one against the other, and bound tight
by smews; in the serpent, the bones play one
within another like a ball and socket,* so that they
have a free motion upon one another in every di-
rection: that is to say, in men and quadrupeds,
firmness is more consulted; in serpents, pliancy.
Yet even pliancy is not obtained at the expense of
safety. The back-bone of a serpent, for coherence
and flexibility, is one of the most curious pieces of
animal mechanism with which we are acquainted.
The chain of a watch (I mean the chain which
passes between the spring-barrel and the fusee,)

©

_y

* Der. Phys. Theol. p. 396.

~ ween?

dil

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.» 69

| which aims at the same properties, is but a bun-
|‘cling piece of workmanship in comparison with

that of which we speak.

‘ IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction

| of the chest to allow for the play of the lungs, de-

pends upon a simple yet beautiful mechanical con-
trivance, referable to the structure of the bones
which inclose it. The ribs are articulated to the
back-bone, or rather to its side projections, oblique-

\ly: 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 be-

ing fixed, the consequence of the obliquity, or the

inclination downwards, is, that when they come to

move, whatever pulls the ribs upwards, necessarily,
at the same time, draws them out; and that, whilst

jthe 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.
Phe simple action, therefore, of the elevating mus-
cles does the business: whereas, if the ribs had

| been articulated with the bodies of the vertebre at _
| right angles, the cavity of the thorax could never

have been further enlarged by.a change of their
position. If each rib had been a rigid bone, arti-

| culated at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest
|had been immoveable. Keill has observed, that
\the breast-bone, in: an. easy inspiration, is thrust

out one-tenth of an inch: and he calculates. that
this, added to what is gained to the space within

| the chest by the flattening or descent of the dia-

phragm, leaves room for forty-two cubic inches of

|@ir to enter at every drawing-in of the breath,

When there is a necessity for a deeper and more
laborious inspiration, the enlargement of the capa-

| city of the chest may be so increased by effort, as
| that the lungs may be distended with seventy ora
| 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.

_M. The patella, or knee-pan, is a curious little

| bone ; in ite form and office, unlike any other bone

* Anat. p, 229,

2 ow

70 OF MECHANICAL, % tere |

of the body. It is cireular; the size of a crown |
piece ; pretty thick; a little convex on both sides,
and covered with a smooth cartilage. x lies upon
‘the front of the knee; and the powerful. tendons, 2
by which the leg is brought forward, pass through }}
it (or rather it makes a part of their continuation,}
from their origin in the thigh to their insertion in }}
the tibia. It protects both the tendon and the joint |}
from any injury which either might suffer, by the
rubbing of one against the other, or by the pressure
of unequal surfaces. It also gives to the tendons @
very considerable mechanical advantage, by alter-
ing the line of their direction, and by advancing it
farther outfrom the centre of motion ; and this upew |
the principles of the resolution of foree, upon which |}
principles all machinery is founded. These are its
uses. But what’is most observable inut is, that it
appears to be supplemental, as it were, to the
frame ; added, as it shouldalmost seem, afterward ;
not quite necessary, but very convenient. It is se-, |
parate from the other bones; that is, it is mot con- |
‘nécted with any other bones by the common mode’
efunion. It is soft, or hardly formed, in infancy; ff
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. — am
VI. The shoulder-blade is, im some material re- jf

so expressly for its own purpose, and so indepen-) |
dently of every other reason. In such quadruped

as have no collar-bones, which are by far the? |
greater number, the shoulder-blade has no bony» |
communication with the trunk, either by a joint
process, or in any other way. It does not grow
or out of, any other bone of the»trunk. It
not apply to any other bone of the trunk: (I kno
not whether this be true of any second bone in the
body, except perhaps the os hyoides:) in stric
‘ness it forms no part of the skeleton. It is be :
ae RS gers oly Ske ee les. It is’ |
no.other than a foun ation Re e for the arm, laid
in, depadnte, aah were jae ct, from the ge-_
neral ossification. The lower limbs connect then
selves at the hip with bones Which Sent 08 t
the skeleton; but this connexion, in the

anne

Hy,

be

ae OF THE JOINTS.
| I.. Te above are a few examples of bones made
|:remarkable by their configuration": but to almost
the bones belong joints ; and in these, still more

} clearly than in the form or shape of the bones
| themselves, are seen both contrivance and.con-
| triving-wisdom. “Every joint is a curiosity, and is
also*strictly mechanical. There isthe hinge-joint,

and the mortice and tenon joint; each as manifest- _
ly such, and as accurately defined, as any which

ean be produced out of a cabinet-maker’s shop:
and one or the other prevails, as either is adapted
‘the motion which is wanted: e g. a mortice and
tenon, or ball and socket joint, is not required at
the knee, the lee standing in need only of a motion
backward and forward in the same plane, for which
a hinge-joint is sufficient ; a mortice and tenon, or
ball and socket joint, is wanted at the hip, that not
only the progressive step may be provided for, but
the interval between the limbs may be enlarged or
contracted at pleasure. Now observe what would

have been the inconveniency, 7. e. both the super-
fluity and the defect of articulation, if the case had

been inverted : if the ball and socket joint had been
at the knee, and the hinge-joint at the hip. The
euescanet have been kept constantly together,
and the legs have been loose and straddling. There

would have been no use, that we know of, in be-

ing able to turn the calves of the legs before; and
there would have been great cont

straining 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 sockets, or both hinges :

nement by re- |

yet why, independently of utility, and of a Creator
rho 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 keep-

Pe

72 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT
ing them in their places; but by a different expe:

firmly in their place, that none of the motions whic
the hmb naturally performs, none of the jerks and
twists to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing less
indeed than the utmost and the most unnatural vio-
lence, can pull them asunder. It is hardly ima-
ginable, how great a force is necessary, even to
stretch, still more to break this ligament; yet so
flexible is it, as to oppose no impediment to the
suppleness of the joint. By its situation also, it is ||
‘inaccessible to injury fromsharp edges. As it can- ||

bone ; to its strength, its structure, and
‘is an instance upon which I lay my
single fact, weighed by a mind in ear
oftentimes the deepest impression. For
“pose of addressing cities _understandin

ferent apprehensions—for the purpo: :
for the purpose of excitimg admir:

tor’s works, we eet our Yi

views, We mi

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. ao
examples; but for the purpose of strict argument;

; one clear instance is sufficient; and not only suffi-

fe < - <=

cient, but capable perhaps of generating a firmer
assurance than what can arise froma divided atten-
tion.

This zinglymus, or hinge-joint, does not, it is ma-

_nifest, 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, investing membrane,

| above described, accompanies it in every part: and
* im particular joints, this membrane, which is pro-

_perly a ligament, is considerably stronger on the
_ sides than either before or behind, in order that the

convexities may play true in their concavities, and

not be subject to slip sideways, which is the chief

danger; for the muscular tendons generally re-
strain the parts from going farther than they ought
to go in the plane of their motion. In the knee,

_ which is a joint of this form, and of great impor-

tance, there are superadded to the common provi-

_ sions for the stability of the joint, two strong liga-

ments which cross each other; and cross each
other in such a manner, as to secure the joint from
being displaced in any assignable direction. ‘“ f
think,” says Cheselden, “ that the knee cannot be
completely dislocated without breaking the cross

_ igaments.”* We can hardly help comparing this

with the binding up of a fracture, where the filletis

_ almost always strapped across, for the sake of giv-

ing firmness and strength to the bandage.

~ Another no less important joint, and that also of
the ginglymus sort, is the ankle; yet though im-
portant, (in order, perhaps, to preserve the symme-
try and lightness of the limb,) small, and, on that
account, more hable to injury. Now this joint is
strengthened, 7. e. is defended from dislocation, by
two remarkable processes or prolongations of the
bones of the leg; which processes form the protu-
berances that we call the inner and outer ankle,—
It is part of each bone going down lower than the
other part, and thereby overlapping the. joint: sa
that, if the joint be in danger of slipping outward, iy

FO PLES ELT ETE

hs Ches, Anet. ed. 71h, p. 45,
6

74 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

is curbed by the inner projection, 2. e. that of the
tibia ; if inward, by the outer projection, 2. e. that
of the fibula. Between both, it is locked in its po-
sition. I know no account that can be given of this

Structure, except 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 thick-
est of the bone over it? The joint at the shoulder
compared with the joint at the hip, though both bail
and socket joints, discovers a difference, in their
form and proportions, well suited to the different
offices which the limbs have to execute. The cup
or socket at the shoulder is much shallower and
flatter than itis 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 ma-
terials. This agrees with the duties assigned to
each part. The arm is an instrument of motion,
principally, if not solely. Accordingly the shallow-
ness of the socket at the shoulder, and the yield-
ingness of the cartilaginous substance with which
its edge is set round, and which in fact composes a
considerable part of its concavity, are excellently
adapted for the allowance of a free motion and a
wide range; both which the arm wants. Whereas,
the lower limb, forming a part of the column of the
body; having to support the body, as well as to be
the means of its locomotion; firmness was to be
consulted, as well’ as action. With a capacity for
motion in all directions, indeed, as at the shoulder,
but not in any direction to the same extent as in the
arm, was to be united stability, or resistance to dis-
location. Hence the deeper excavation of the sock-
et; and the presence of a less proportion of carti-
jage upon the edge. 3

The suppleness and phability of the joints, we
every moment experience ; and the firmness of ani-
mal 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 complete re-
pair and use, for one that is dislocated; and this,
notwithstanding the contortions and wrenches to

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. Zo

which the limbs of animals are continually sub-
ject.
; II. The joints, or rather the ends of the bones
which form them, display also, in their configura-
tion, another use. The nerves, blood-vessels, and
tendons, which are necessary to the life, or for the
motion of the limbs, must, it is evident, in their way
from the trunk of the body to the place of their des-
tination, travel over the moveable joints; and it is
no less evident, that, in this part of their course,
they will have, from sudden motions and from ab-
rupt changes of curvature, to encounter the danger
of compression, attrition, or laceration. To guard
fibres so tender against consequences so injurious,
their path is in those parts protected with peculiar
care; and that by a provision, in the figure of the
bones themselves. The nerves which supply the
Sore-arm, especially the inferior cubital nerves, are
at the elbow conducted, by a kind of covered way,
between the condyls, or rather under the inner ex-
tuberances of the bone which composes the upper
part of the arm.* At the knee, the extremity of the
thigh-bone is divided by a sinus or cliff into two
heads or protuberances: and these heads on the
back part stand out beyond the cylinder of the bone.
Through the hollow, which lies between the hind
arts of these two heads, that is to say, under the
1am, between the ham-strings, and within the con-
cave recess of the bone formed by the extuberances
on each side; ina word, along a defile, between
rocks, pass the great vessels and nerves which go
to the leg.+ ho led these vessels by a road so
defended and secured? In the joint at the shoulder,
in the edge of the cup which receives the head of
the bone, is a notch, which is joined or covered at
the top with a ligament. Through this hole, thus
guarded, the blood-vessels steal to their destination
in the arm, instead of mounting over the edge of the
concavity.f
II}. 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 igglined, and
the ball capped with it. The smooth Surface, the

* ® Ches, Anat. [« 255. ed. 7. + Ib. p. 36. + Ib. p. 30. {
' 4 P

76 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

elastic and unfriable nature of cartilage, render it
of al] substances the most proper for the place and
purpose. I should, therefore, have pointed this out
amongst the foremost of the provisions which have
been made in the joints for the 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 andimperfect,
in consequence of a more complete and rigid ossi-
fication 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 unavoidable effect. I am far from
being convinced that this is a true account of the
fact; or that, if it were so, it answers the argu-
ment. To me, the surmounting of the ends of the
bones with gristle, looks more like a plating witha
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 benefit,
though arising froma general constitution: but
this last not being quite what my argument re-
quires, lest I should seem by applying the instance
to overrate its value, I have thought it fair to state
the question which attends it.
IV. In some joints, very particularly in the
knees, there are loose cartilages or gristles between
the bones, and within the joint, so that the ends of
the bones, instead of working upon one another,
work upon the intermediate cartilages. Chesel-
den has observed,* that the contrivance of a loose
ring is practised by mechanics, where the friction
of the joints of any of their machines is great: as
between the parts of crook-hinges of large gates, or
under the head of the male screw of large vices.
The cartilages of which we speak, have very much
of the form of these rings. The comparison more-
over shows the reason why we find them in the
knees rather than in other joints. It is an expe-
_dient, we have seen, which a mechanic resorts to,
-only “% some strong and heavy work is to he

done. ere the thigh-bone has to achieve its
motion at the knee, with the whole weight of the

* Ches, Anat. p. 13. ed. ¥.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 17

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 of the loose cartilages,
though it be probably a small and obscure change,
humoured the motion of the end of the thigh-bone,
under the particular configuration which was ne-
cessary to be given to it for the commodious action
of the tendons; (and which configuration requires
what he calls a variable socket, that is, a concavity,
the lines of which assume a different curvature in
different inclinations of the bones.)

V. We have now done with the configuration :
but there is also in the joints, and that common to
them all, another exquisite provision, manifestly
adapted to their use, and concerning which there
ean, I think, be no dispute, namely, the regular
supply of a mucilage, more emollient and slippery

than oil itself, which is constantly softening and lu-

bricating the parts that rub upon each other, and
thereby diminishing the effect of attrition in the
highest possible degree. For the continual secre-
tion of this important liniment, and for the eae
of the cavities of the joint with it, glands are fixe

near each joint; the excretory ducts of which
aaa dripping with their balsamic contents, hang
oose like fringes-within the cavity of the joints.
A late improvement in what are called friction-
wheels, which consist of a mechanism so ordered,
as to be regularly dropping oil into a box, which
incloses the axis, the nave, and certain balls upon
wliich the nave revolves, may be said, in some sort,
to represent the contrivance in the animal joint ;
with this superiority, however, on the part of the
joint, viz. that here, the oil is not only dropped,
ut made,

In considering the joints, there is nothing, per-
haps, which ought to move our gratitude more than
the reflection, how well they wear. A limb shal}
swing upon its hinge, or play in its socket, many
hundred times in an hour, for sixty years together,
without diminution of its agility: which -is a long
time for any thing to last; for any thing so much
worked and exercised as the joints are. This dura-
bility I should attribute, in part, to the provision

78 OF THE MUSCLES.

which is made for the preventing of wear and tear, |
first, by the polish of the cartilaginous surfaces; |
secondly, by the healing lubrication of the muci- |
lage ; and, in part, to that astonishing property of |
animal constitutions, assimilation, by which, in |}
every portion of the body, let it consist of what it |
will, substance is restored, and waste repaired. |
Moveable joints, I think, compose the curiosity |
of bones; but their union, even where no motion
:3 intended or wanted, carries marks of mechan-
ism and of mechanical wisdom. The teeth, espe- |
cially the front teeth, are one bone fixed in another, —
like a peg driven into a board. The sutures of the |
skull are like the edges of two saws clapped to- |
gether, in such a manner as that the teeth of one
enter the intervals of the other. We have some-
times one bone lapping over another, and planed
down at the edges : sometimes also the thin lamella |
of one bone received into a narrow furrow of an-
other. In all which varieties, we seem to discover |
the same design, viz. firmness of juncture, without
clumsiness in the seam.

CHAP. IX. e

Of the muscles.

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

I. We may observe, what I believe is universal, |
an exact relation between the joint and the muscles |
which move it. Whatever motion the joint, by its
mechanical construction, is capable of performing,
that motion, the annexed muscles, by their posi- |
tion, 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 lead-
ers, as they are called, 7. e. the muscular tendons,
are placed in directions parallel to the bone, so as,
by the contraction or relaxation of the muscles to

OF THE MUSCLES. 79

which they belong, to produce that motion and no
sther. If these joints were capable of a freer mo-
ion, there are no muscles to produce it. Whereas
it the shoulder and the hip, where the ball and
socket joint allows by its construction of a rotatory
or sweeping motion, tendons are placed in sucha
0sition, and pull in such a direction, as to produce
the motion of which the joint admits. For instance,
he sartorius or tailor’s muscle, rising from the
spine, running diagonally across the thigh, and tak-
ing hold of the inside of the main bone of the leg,a
little below the knee, enables us, by its contrac-
ion, to throw one leg and thigh over the other ;
viving effect, at the same time, to the ball and
ocket joint at the hip, and the hinge-joint at the
nee. There is, as we have seen, a specific me-
hanism in the bones, for the rotatory motions of
he head and hands: there is, also, in the oblique
‘direction of the muscles belonging to them, a spe-
cific provision for the putting of this mechanism of
the bones into action. And mark the consent of
uses. ‘he oblique muscles would have been ineffi-
sient without that particular articulation : that par-
ticular articulation would have been lost, without
the oblique muscles. 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 directions. But whether the pull be sin-
gle or combined, the articulation is always such, as
ie be capable of obeying the action of the muscles.
he oblique muscles attached to the head, are like-
wise so disposed, as to be capable of steadying the ©
globe, as well as ofmoving it. The head of a new-
born infant is often obliged to be filleted up. After
death, the head drops and rolls in every direction.
So that it is by the equilibre of the muscles, by the
aid of a considerable and equipollent muscular
force in constant exertion, that the head maintains
its erect posture. The muscles here supply what
would otherwise be a great defect in the articula-
tion: for the joint in the neck, although admirably
adapted to the motion of the head, is insufficient
‘for its support. Itis not only by the means of a

EE

30 OF THE MUSCLES.

most curious structure of the bones that a man
turns his head, but by virtue of an adjusted muscu-
lar power, that he even holds itup. ©

As another example of what we are illustrating,
viz. conformity of use between the bones and the
muscles, it has been observed of the different verte-
bre, that their processes are exactly proportioned
to the quantity of motion which the other bones
allow of, and which the respective muscles are ca-
oable of producing. +

II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its force |
is exerted in no other way. When the exertion
ceases, it relaxes itself, that is, it returns by re-
laxation to its former state ; but without energy.
This is the nature of the muscular fibre : and being
So, it is evident that the reciprocal energetic motion
of the limbs, by which we mean motion with force
in opposite directions ,can only be produced by the
instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles ;
of flexors and extensors answering to each other.
For instance, the biceps and brachizus znternus
muscles placed in the front part of the upper arm,
by their contraction, bend the elbow; and with
such degree of force, as the case requires, or the
strength admits of. The relaxation of these mus-
eles, after the effort, would merely let the fore-arm
drop down. For the back streke, therefore, and
that the arm may not only bend at the elbow, but
also extend and straighten itself, with force, other
muscles, the longus and brevis brachizus externus
and the anconeus, placed on the hinder part of
the arms, by their contractile twitch fetch back the
fore-arm into a straight line with the cubit, with no ©
less force than that with which it was bent out of it.
The same thing obtains in all the limbs, and in —
every moveable part of the body. A finger is not |
bent and straightened, without the contraction of |
two muscles taking place. It is evident, therefore,
that the animal functions require that particular —
disposition of the muscles which we describe by
‘the name of antagonist muscles. And they are ac-
cordingly so disposed. Every muscle is provided
with an adversary. They act, like two sawyers in |
a pit, by an opposite pull: and nothing surely can |
more stfongly indicate design and attention to an ©

oon THE BS St
being th : sta ati ioned, 7 toa collo-

dn searaes the cases on
3 are ymmetry of the body,
iano uth is holden ace

y
e the xesult of carey is, ehein ae ai.
rsally so disposed, as not to obstruct or
with one another’s action. I know but
ich this impediment is perceived.
ot easily swallow whilst we gape. This,
de} ‘stand, is. to the muscles employed in
LC : 2 + eae pe with the
t, whilst thea’ last

cu <i s,in sie ite vival vast
eit but it shows what the effect
gdBes: sia — ta of neity

sometiinde heat use one near oak an
ent, which leaves to each its liberty, and
, must cp ieasceeh il require meditation
BaP El Ss fy Say Yehd.: ee gt

Nw Tellowring is oftentimes the case with the
"muscles. .'Pheir action is wanted, where their situa-
tion would. be’ “inconvenient. In. which case, the
hody of the muscle is placed im some commodious
| position at a distance, and made to communicate
>with the point of action, by slender strings or wires.
| If the muscles. which «move the fingers. had: been
pes ip the palm or back of the hand, they: would

5 ~~ R lt Automy,

Pr 200. ed. 3. bie Ns

82 OF THE MUSCLES.

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 tothe €]
act by long tendons, strapped down’ to’
and passing under the ligaments: to) the:
and to the joints of the fingers, whieh't
verally to move. In like mé any aby er,
which move the toes, and rian
foot, how gracefully ‘are they. d isp sé
of the leg, instead of forming an w nW
tion in the foot itself! The obser Ons
repeated of the muscle whith ane he nict itz i
membrane over the eye. Its office isin th he#
the eye; but its body is lodged in the t
the elobe, where 1t lies safe, and wher
bers nothing. Bee
V. The great mechanical pot in
the muscles may | he Maibe sie ak ap pps:

figure, and adjust die 4
produce the motion r
law. This can only be ¢ é
muscles a diversity of configur
several offices, and to their pata ™M
the work which they have to perform.
account we find them under a multipheity of for
and attitudes ; sometimes with double, “sonietime
with treble tendons, sometimes with ‘nol
times one tendon to several muscles, “othe
one muscle to several tendons. ” ih Ks é

whilst Hs original property of the m
and line of its contraétion, remains tl 4
simple. Herein the muscular Sys tem
to bear a perfect reseniblance to our wor
An artist does not alter the native "ialien of his
materials, or their laws of action. "He ‘eg these
as he finds them. His see ing em-
‘ployed in turning them, suc it: Signe e. toh ac-
count, by giving to the parts of his machine a form
and relation, in which these gnelc operties |

Pity

_ OF THE MUSCLES. 83

may operate to the production of the effects in-
tended. ~» om oY tae

Go 6 He ae
VI. The ejaculation can never too often be Te:
peated—How many things must go right for usyto
be an hour at ease! how many more for us to be
vigorous andactive! Yet vigour and activityare,
ima vast plurality of instances, preseryed in human
bodies, notwithstanding that they depend upon so
, great a number of instruments of motion, and not-
withstanding that the defect or disorder sometimes
_ of a very small instrument, of a single pair, for in-
stance, out of the four hundred and forty-six mie
eles which are employed; may be attended with
grievous inconveniency. Theresis piety and good
sense in the followimg-obseryation, taken out of the
Religious Philosopher : ‘‘ With much compassion,”
says this writer, ‘‘as well as astonishment at the
oodness of our loving Creator, have I considered
e sadstate of a certain gentleman, who, as to the
rest, Was in pretty good health, but only wanted
the use of these two little muscles that serve to lift
up the eyelids, and so'-had almost lost the use of
his sight, being forced, as long as this defect lasted,
_to shove up his eyelids every moment with his own
“hands !”—In general.we may remark in how small
‘@ degree those, «who enjoy the perfect use of their
‘organs, know the comprehensiveness of the bless-
ing, the variety oftheir obligation. They. perceive
‘result,*but they think little of the multitude of

eurrences and rectitudes which goto form it.
" Bagedes these observations, which belong to. the
mustular. organ as suchj*we may notice somé ad-
vantages of cturé*which are’ more conspigmous
-m muscles ol diab class omdescription ah in
others. . Thus’ ™)

a
84. Op THREE CES:
to ev ry dettor and =e not’only peculiar, but, —
if ni and accurately atte ngod to, perceptible to
oe sight; in so much, that c persons have
iled themselves of t Fciedistances to teach the
age to speak, and ‘to understand what is said by
others. In the same person, and after his habit of
sapaking » is formed, one, and only one position of
eyparts, will produce a given articulate sound
correctly. How instantaneously nantes poste
tions assumed and dismissed; how num
Se ccomend a how various, yet how infal et
itrary and antic variety is not the thing we ad-
mire; but variety obeying a rule ducing to an

effect, and commensurate with e cies infinitely
diversified. I believe ape that the anatomy of the
tongue corresponds with these observations upon
its activity. The muscles of the tongue are so
numerous, and so implicated 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;
hor what might seem to be-the entanglement of its
fibresyin any wise impede its motion, or render the
deteriaination or suceess of its efforts uncertam.

j : ' e

a

Bing

I a ehitreat the oe pea sion hy st
little. out of my way, to ae os the parts of
mouth, in some of th eir other properties. rh.
been said,.and»that by ie ap org ph i
ba at whenever nature attempts to Re cledibe:

ufposes by one instrument, does bother

all all Mpertéetly. Is,this-true of the gue, recard-»
ed as an instrument offspeech, ~of taste ; or,
regarded as an instrument of eech, of taste, and
of deglutition ?_.So much otherwise, that y
pensens, that isto say,nine hundred and ninety- ©

persons out of a t} hougsand, : instrumene,
ip. ity of this one organ, talk, and pe al:
ery well. In fact, the cons and
mo i‘ f the tongue ithe, fay

fhe papi & uponats suriace i v or a —
its. offiee of tasti muteh “as

ae THE | MUSCLES. 85
1ecessar to 8 Animals whith
"ire aielge

rass, have their t 8 covered with’a

skin, 80 as to admit the dissolved hoes |
o the papille underneath, which, in th antime,

remain defended from the rough coton ft the ia

bruised sp ae:
There are brought together within the a

the mouth more distinct uses, and parts ae 4 ae

more distinct offices, than I think can be fou:
ing so near to one another, or within the same ¢
pass, in any other portion of the body: viz. teeth
of different shapes, first for cutting, secondlygfow
grinding ; muscles, most artificially disposed 4
carrying on the Sea motion of the lower
half lateral and half vertical, by which the mi bi is
worked: fountains of saliva, springing up in difs
ferent parts of the cavity for the moistening of the
food, whilst the mastication is going on : glands,
to feed the fountains ; a muscular constriction of
very peculiar kind in the back»partiof the cavit
for the guiding of the prepared aliment into its pas-
Sage 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
ofthe food itself, it m truth is not so, even in the
uprishup L posture of the human neck; and most,evi-
dently is not the case with quadrupeds, witha
horse fo ois: in which, when’ pasturing, ‘the
food i. Oar st upward by museular sens “in
stead ag Po of its own accord.
In the mean time, and within the sanie cavity, is
going on anit business, dicogethion Shebencaom
what is here described,—that of respira and
speech, In addition’ therefore to all th at has been
mentioned,.we have a passagé’ opened, from this
eayity to the lun am for the admission of air, exclu-
_ sively of every other culplaged we have muscles,
some in the larynx, a ne in the
tongue, for the. urpose of modulating that air
in its passage, with a variety mpass, and pres
cision, of which no other mu al Maetetaseast is Ca-
Vinee And, ae Cicha ‘my opinion. crowns
J ae i as a pti hery, we have’ a spe-
“contrivance for dividing the pneumatic part
“ ie mechanical, and for preventing one set of

ao

86 - OF THE MUSCLES. ~~
a . °

actions interferin

functions are united,

p. ge
ier. the purposes of art, do I know such multifari-
S uses so aptly combined, a8 in the natural or- —
ganization of the human mouth; or where the
structure, compared with the uses, is so simple:
The mouth, with all these intentions to serve, is @
single cavity ; is one machine ; with its parts nei-
ther crowded nor confused, and each unembarrass-
ed by the rest : each at least at liberty im a degree
sufficient for the end to be attained. If we cannot
eat and sing at the same moment, we can eat one
moment, and sing the next: the respiration pro-
ceeding freely all the while.
, There is one case however of this double office,
and that of the earliest necessity, which the mouth
] ould not perform; and that is,carrying on
foget er thetwo actions of sucking and breathing.
Another route therefore is opened for the air, name-
ly, through the nose, which lets the breath pas®
backward and forward, whilst the lips, in the act~
of sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the
body from which the nutriment is drawn. This’ |
is a qemastence which always appéared tome — |
worthy of notice. The nose. would have been ne-,
eessary, although it had not been*the organyof
Smelling. .The making it the seat of a®s was
superaddmg a new use toa party already “wanted ;
was’ taking a wise’advantage of'an Antece ke and

Ny ube
.%

a constitfitiohal heeessity.
4 ~*~ Me ae .

a . sd « ; *
Ve PAE Peo. .. a Set

: Be ; ¢ La a) -
" But to return to that which is the prope

a vy ~_

’ ’ y ~" ;
hand of nUuSsIclan are e7

rapid; are exactly measured, even when most mi-

nute ; i display 0 the part f the 1
obedience af action, alike wond Crt:

ness and its correctness, -") ©

OF THE MUSCLES. 87

Or let a péspen only observe his own hand whils
‘he is writing ; the number of muscles, which are
brought to bear upon the pen; how the joint and
adjusted operation of several tendons is concerned
in every stroke, yet that five hundred such strokes
are drawn in a minute. Nota 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 con-
traction moves; yet how currently does the work
roceed! and when we look at it, how faithful
deve the muscles been to their duty, how true to
_ the order which endeavour or habit hath inculcated!
For let it be remembered, that, whilst a man’s hand-
writing is the same, an exactitude of order is pre-
served, whether he write well or ill. These two
_ instances, of music and writing, show not only the
ae anges and precision of muscular action, but the
ocility. ae
II. Regarding the particular configuration of
muscles, sphincter or circular muscles appear to me
admirable pieces of mechanism. It is the muscu-
lar Pare most happily applied; the same quality
of the muscular substance, but under anew modifi-
cation. The circular disposition of the fibres is
strictly mechanical ; but, though the most mechanic-
al, is not the only thing in sphincters which de-
serves our notice. The regulated degree of con-
tractile force with which they are endowed, suffi-
‘sient for retention, yet vincible when requisite, to-
gether with their ordinary state of actual contrac-
tion, by means of which their dependanée upon the
will is not constant, but occasional, gives to them
a constitution, of which the conveniency is ines-
timable. This their semi-voluntary character, is
exactly such as suits with the wants and functions
of the animal. .
lit. We may also, upon the subject of muscles,
observe, that many of our most important actions
are achieved by the combined help of different
muscles. Frequently, a diagonal motion is produced,
by the contraction of tendons pulling in the direc-
tion of the sides of the parallelogram. This is the
case, as hath been already noticed, with some of
the oblique nutations of the head. Sometimes the

33 OF THE MUSCLES. |

number of co-operating muscles is very great. Dr}!
up a hundred muscles that are employed every |}!
time we breathe ; yet we take in, or let out, our }f?
breath, without reflecting what a work is thereby |"
performed; what an apparatus is laid in, of instru- |}!
ments for the service, and how many such contri- | rf
bute their assistance to the effect! Breathing with |}
ease, is a blessing of every moment; yet, of all”

others, it is that which we possess with the least |‘
consciousness. A man in an asthma is the only jf!
man who knows how to estimate it. om |

IV. Mr. Home has observed,* that the most im- : ||!
portant and.the most delicate actions are perform- |'
edin the body by the smallest muscles: and he ji!
mentions, as his examples, the muscles which have — ji!
been. discovered in the iris of the eye,and the drum ‘fi
ofthe ear. The tenuity of these muscles is asto- {|
nishing. They are microscopic hairs; must be
magnified to be visible ; yet are they real, effective :
muscles ; and not only such, but the grandest and jf}
most precious of our faculties, sight and hearing,
a ap upon their health and action. | |

. The muscles act in the limbs with what is :
called a mechanical disadvantage. The muscle at |
the shoulder, by which the arm is raised, is fixed |
nearly in the same manner as the load is fixed upon
a steelyard, within a few decimals, we will say, of
an inch, from the centre upon which the steelyard
turns. In this situation, we find that a very heavy
draught is no more than sufficient to countervail
the force of a small lead plummet, placed upon the
tong arm of the steelyard, at the distance of per-
haps fifteen or twenty inches from the centre, and
on the other side of it. And this is the disadvan-
tage which is meant. And an absolute disadvan-
tage, no doubt, it would be, if the object were, to i
spare the force of muscular contraction. But ob- i
serve how conducive is this constitution to animal |
conveniency. Mechanism hasialways in view one
or other of these two purposes; either to move @
great weight slowly, and through a small space, or
to move a light weight rapidly, through a consider-

- * Phil. Trans, part i. 1800, p. 9.”

- APT “és 4 " > 2 a —

_ «| *f_* OF THE?MUSCLES.’ 80°
ible Sweep. For thesformier of these purpéses, a —
jifferent species oflever, and a different collocation’
> muscles, might *be better than the present;

out for the second, the»present structures the true
pa ‘Now.so it happens, that the second, and not —
the ' |

, geet gs jons of — slife
lly call for. .In what rns the human
ody, it in Serie matt consequence to any man
0 be able to carry his hand to his head with due
2xpedition, than it wouldbé tolhave the power of
raising from the ground’a heavier load (of two or ©
three more hundred weight; we will suppose,) than »
ae ¢an lift at present. This last is faculty, which,
m ‘some extraordinary occasions, he may desire to
d0ssess ; but the. other is what-he wants and uses
2very hour or minutes In like manner, a husband- ~
nan or a gardener willdo more execution, by being»
ible to carry hisscythe, his rake,-or his flail, wit
2 sufficient despatch) through a sufficient space,
than if, with greatem strength,*his motions were
sroportionably more confined and slow. «It is the ©
same with a mechanic in the use of his tools. It is
he same also with other Is in the use of their.
imbs. “In general, the vivacity oftheir motions
would be ill exchanged for greater force under a
»lumsier structure. Paras, LU;

We have offered our observations upon the struc-
‘ure of muscles in general; we have also noticed
sertain species of muscles: hut there are also
single muscles which bear marks of mechanical
rontrivance, appropriate as well as particular.
Out of many instances of this kind, we select the
following.

j. Of muscular actions, even of those which a
well understood, some of the most curious are in-
capable of popular explanation; at least, without
the aid of plates and figures. This is in a great
measure the case, with a very familiar, but at the
3ame time, a very complicated motion—that of the
lower jaw; and with the muscular structure by
which it is produced. One of the muscles con-
cerned may, however, be described in such a man-
ner, as to be, I think, sufficiently comprehended for
our present purpose. ‘The problem is to pull the
lower jaw down. The obvious method should seem

=

) 7 lh

~~ ©

90 OF THE MUSCLES. 9?" , > |

a.
. md

to be, to place a straight musele, viz. to fix a str

trom the chin to the breast, the contraction of wiael |
“Te-

1 and
Ia
srvation of this, fone, the motion, which ay

ted is as follows...

cle called. the daze

ee 5 3 .
ric, rises. on the side

face, considerably above-the insertion of. the lower }
jaw, and» comes’ down, oie congerics in ‘its pra |
is

gress into a round tendon... fest that

the tendon, hiteaget et a direttion descending _
must

towards the jawy: vhyzite cepacia , pull the
jaw up, instead of down. hat |

done? This, we find, is done : the descending ten-
don, when, it is got low enough, is.passed through
a loop, or ring, orvpulley, insthe os hyoides, and
then made to ascend; “and, having thus changed its
line of direction, is inserted imto the mner part of
the chin: by which dev , viz. the turn at the loop,
the action of the mausele’ (wh;

wit t 4 « - ,
up, now as@nécessarily draws it.down. “ The
mouth,’”?. sayS Heister, “‘ is opened By. means of

4 re Z
this trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant man- |

= ee . $ : os 7 > a ke a am . |
If. What coritrivance can bemore mechanical |

than the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let

another tendon. pass through it? This structure |

is found in the tendons which move the toes and
fingers. The long tendon, as it is called, in the foot,
which bends the first joint of the toe, passes through
the short tendon which bends the second joint;
which course allows to the sinew more liberty, and
a more commodious action than it would otherwise

have been capable 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

————

Ye |
arther back inthe jaw. ,The ||

n was to be |

{which in all miscles is |
contraction) that before would heave pulled the jaw |

. from one part of the machine to another, that is |

* Chea, Anat. p. 119,

92 oF pi wuss

° * ; y Ap oc ; : , shy !
Keill has rocked up, man four |
hundred and forty-six m 3, dissectible de-

scribable; and hath cee a-use to hte one of |

Bishop Wilkins hath observed) com tm Galeny-that
there are, at least, > tomimamere! qualifications to be
attended to in each par sele; viz. its pro-
per figure; its just pei my 2; its fulerum; its
point of action, suppose ure to be fixed ; its —
collocation, with res f to 5 eo ends, the ua od

and the lower ; the place; the position of the whole
muscle; the intr a on into it of nerves, arteries;

weins. ‘How cre foes mond so many bee |
ments, to be me gee are th ey to

be at togé the "
have. so} why wé are not
struck with doce eth in anieatl bodies, as,readily
and as strongly as we are struck with it, at first

‘sight, iva watchor a mill. One reason of ne dif-
ference may be, that animal bodies are, in a great
«measure, made up of soft, flabby substances, such -|
as muscles and membranes ; Whereas:-we have been |
accustomed to trace mechanism in sharp lines, in ©
the. configuration of hard materials, int ‘mould-_
ing, chiselling, and pai ae shapes, of ‘such ar-)
ticles as m als or wood. aie > is . somethingy

ther it in A théc 1 it is suficinty t

the other. .
- Althou h the few inst :
even as they stand in ow
short perhaps of logical p: r
not be forgotten, that, it
descri Gon a poor substitat
- well said ibs ‘an
erence to the ver of
have been tre ding tr —* Tm;
rum descriptio, non minus a
quam inspectantibus fuerit jucu
paratio. _ Elegantissima ¢ enim n

evid vt hat there can be ae : alt
Gina of ry sort. ng ae |
played in the « one rm, of subs well as 8 ip .

> ” Steno, i in Blas. Anat. . Fey P: vx |

oes
Ss ee

ee end gen cols 79

ae |
aii SE Lt ’ &e. hay 93
s nonnisi ture exe"

P 4 fier. | ii

hi ee bs +e Le we ¥ ae J»
| ia OF : vessels of animal bodies. %
| pay circulation of the blood, through the thedica

men and quad ds, andt € apparat is by which
oe i a compose a system, and testify a
nt ce, perhaps the best ‘understood of an
part of the - po frame. The lymphatic syster
the nervous system, may be more subtile and i pa ,
ate: nay, itis possible that in their structure
be even more artgeial than the sanguife-
rous ; but we do not much about them. —
‘ The utility of the ation of the blood, I as-
sume as Re rigid oint. One grand pur-
OSe is plainly answered by it; the distributing te
every part, every extremity, every nook and corner
f, the body, the nourishment which is received into

‘it by one aperture. What enters at the mouth,” :
finds its. way to the fingers’ ends. . A more. diffie

mechanical problém could, hardly I think he pro-
pos sed, than to discover a thethod of constant]; ly A.”
pe iring. the waste, and of supplying an accession of
substance to every patt, t of a rl ae

‘at the same ti 12.

st, the ahd , os ition of the $e Mlocdcadbbage ee Ws
ng ofthe pipés.; and, secondly, the construc
ae engine s the centr e, Viz. the heart, for dri- ,

es the dis @ticgush them.

disposition of the blood- voasble ‘as pa “
ea ard s the supply of the “te gp is sey that Ny"
Dipes in Bae and main tru ee
ching off by’ af iy ae aggunbia *
srawertihs) m oe. i yards a
; 4

cf ed ot pipes ols

by OF THE. VESSELS* s
alt ig an

°

ey.

arry the ‘blood = ae the heart.»
other thing. mecessary y to the bk isn

anted fagathapivater ; and that is, the carry; a]

ey again to its, source. his office, a re- |{
versed system of vessels is bropercagmmych, ” unit: |)
ing at their extremities with the extremities of the |j
first system, collects the divided and subdivided |
streamlets, first by capillary ramifications into
larger branches, secondly, by these branches.in

trunks; and thus returns she blood (almost exa

ly inverting the order in which it went out) to th orhich }
fountain. whence its motion proceeded. All whi

is evident mechanism.

The body, therefore, contains ‘two systems 0 cat
blood-vessels, arteries and veins. “Between th
constitution of the systems there aresalso two 4
ferences, suited to the functions which the
have to execute. The blood,in going out, passing |
always from wider into narrower tubes ; @nd, in js
coming back, from na emanto wider ; it is evi-|
dent, that the impulse pressure upon the sides |}
of the blood-vessel, will be much greater in one |
ease than the other. | Accordingly, the rp cit
which carry out the blood, are formed uch |
fougher and_ stronger coats, than the veins eowhich | Ip
bring it back. ‘T' hat is one difference ; the other is le

__ still more artificial, or, if Imay so speak, indicates, |g

for them in the bones; for instance, Ber edge |i
” — ribs is sloped and_furro c soln 7 for the

rs

_»side;,which last dese ptionsis os: cable i

still more clearly, the eare and anxiety of the arti-

ficer. Forasmuch»as in the arteries, by reason of |
the greater, force with which the blood is urged)
along them,a’wound or muptun would be more jj

dangerous than in the vei sewyessels are de- |;
fended from, injury, not oe by tl ture, but |
by their situation ; and y every a e of Sita- |,

‘The are buri-

ation which can be given to them
éd in sinuses, or they creep along rg es, made |i

ge of these vessels. Someti
in channels, protected: by stout. “parapets

tie en ofthe yy se oe ua |
ike an
finger
Pi i Ee Mthont busting |
wh ° —

-_

it.other times, the arteries.pass in canals
at in substance, and in the very middle
j'of the substance, of the bone : this takes place in»
|-the lower jaw; and is, found where: there: would
j otherwise be danger of compression by sudden eur-
i‘vature. - All, this care is wonderful, yet not more
\'‘than’what the importance of the case required. | 'T'o
those who*venture their livés im a ship, it has been
n said; that there is only an inch-board between
emand: death ; but in the body itself, especially.
theyarterial system, there is}in many partsyonly
4,,a skin, a thread: For which reason,
sm lies deep under the integuments,;
he*veitis;im which the mischief that en-
1 njuri

DoVve.t
more exposed.

It may beefarther observed concerning the two
(systems taken together, thatythough the arterial,
‘with its trunkeand branches ‘and small twigs, may
‘heimagined toissue or proceed, in other words, to
I ih from, heart; like aplant from its root, or
‘the fibreswof a leaf from-its foot-stalk, (which how-
lever, ‘were it so, would be, ie resolve one me-
'ghanism anto anothery) yet the venal, the returning
‘system,;'can are formed in this manner.» The
(anteries*might.go on shooting out from their extre-
\mities, 7, ¢. lengthening and subdividing indefinite-
ily. but an Rega stam, gontinn ay naa

c

fe-

rteries ; come nearer to the surface ;

wh ther system carried out, couldnot
ferr a «™ “4
} : Xt thing to be consider

oliedvin the instance i
central part of the

*

* 68 ANIMAL BODIES. ope

the coats is much less, lie inge,; _

96 OF THE VESSELS” |

be poured intothem. . Into these cavities are insert- |
edythe great trunks, both of the arteries each i

08

tus; and the simplestidea of itsaction is, that, by | ,,
each contraction, a portion of bloed is forced by @ |)
syringe into the arteries; and, at ae ee
an equal portion is received fromthe veims. «Tins
produces, at each pulse,a motion, and change in
the mass of blood, to the dmount of what the cavity, || ;
contains, which in a full-grown human heart 1 un- |
derstand is about an ounee, or two table-spoons —
fully How quickly these changes s d one an- |,
other, and by this\sueccession how suffieient 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 hearticontracts four thou- |

that there pass through the heart, every hour, fo:
thousand.ounces, or cred hundred and fifty pounds, /
of blood. Now»the whole: mass of blodd 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 timesin”one hour ; |
which is about.ence every four minutes. Consi-
der what an affair-this is, whengve cometo Very
large animals. The aorta of a Whalejis larger in:
the bore than the main pipe of the, water-works at.
London-Bridge ; and the. water roaring..in its s-
sage through that pipe is»inferior, in mies and.
velocity, to the blood gushing from» whale’s
heart. Hear’ Dr. Hunter’s aCetaat of the disSec- |

re nt eS eee eae, Ee oe Ge

tion of a Whale :—‘“‘ The -aorta measured a foot di:
ameter. "Ten or fiftéen gallons of bloodare thrown |

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 97

‘out of the heart at a stroke, with an immense velo-
‘eity, through atube ofa foot diameter. The whole
“idea fills the mind with wonder.’’* | ei

"The account which we have here stated, of the
‘injection of blood into the arteries by the contrac-
‘tion, and of the corresponding reception of it from
‘the veins by the dilatation, of the cavities of the
‘heart, and of the circulation being thereby main-
tained through the blood-vessels of the body, is
‘true, but imperfect. The heart performs this office,

osity and importance. It was necessary that the
‘blood should be successively brought into contact,

know that the chymical reason, upon. which this
necessity is founded, has been yet sufficiently ex-
plored. It seems to be made appear, that the at-
mosphere 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 drawn in our breath, the blood in
the lungs imbibes from the air, thus brought into
| contiguity with it, a portion of its pure ingredient,
‘and, at the same time, gives out the effete or cor-
/ rupt air which it contained, and which is carried

away, along with the halitus, every time we ex-

pire. 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 con-
stitution of most animals, such a necessity exists,
and that the air, by some means or other, must be
introduced into a near communication with the
blood. The lungs of animals are constructed for
this purpose. They consist of blood-vessels and
air-vessels, lying close to each other ; and when-
ever there is a branch of the trachea or windpipe,

_

* Dr. Hunter’s Account of the Dissection of aWhalg, Phil
Trans. | ;

$

‘but it is in conjunction with another of equal curi- |

orcontiguity, or proximity, with the air. I do not —

38 OF THE VESSELS

there is a branch accompuaying it of thé vein and
artery, and the air-vessel is always in the middle

between the blood-vessels.* The internal surface -

of these vessels, upon which the application of the
air to the blood depends, would, if collected and
expanded, be, in a man, equal to*a superficies of
fifteen feet square. Now, in order to give the blood

in its course the benefit of this organization, {and |

this is the part of the subject with which we are
chiefly concerned,) the following operation takes
place. As soon as the blood is received by the
heart from the veins of the body, and before that is
sent out again inte 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 distri-

buted anew into the system. This assigns to the ~

heart a double office. The pulmonary circulation
is a system within a system; and one actionof the
heart is the origin of hoth.

For this complicated function, four cavities be-
come necessary ; and four are accordingly provided :
two, called ventricles, which send out the blood,
viz. one into the lungs, in the first instance; the
other into the mass, after it has returned from the
tungs ; two others also, called auricles, which re-
ceive the blood from the veins; viz. one, as it comes
immediately from the body; the other, as the same
blood comes a second time. after its circulation
through the lungs. So that there are two receiving
cavities, and two forcing cavities. The structnre
ofthe heart has reference tothe lungs; for without
the lungs, one of each would have been sufficient.
The translation of the blood in the heart itself is
after this manner. The receiving cavities respec-
tively communicate with the forcing cavities, and,
by their contraction, unload the received blood into
them. ‘The forcing cavities, when it is their turn

=

.* Keill’s Anatomy, p. 12%. _

be

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 99°

q ‘
to Contract, compel the same blood into the mouths
of the arteries.

The acodedt here given will not convey to a

reader, ignorant of anatomy, any thing like an ac-
curate notion of the form, action, or use, of the parts ;
(nor can any short and popular account do this ;}
but it is abundantly sufficient to testify contrivance ;
and 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 ofthe Creator,” saith Hamburgher,
“isin nothing seen more gloriously than in the
heart.” And how well doth 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 andday, for eighty
years together, at the rate of one hundred thousand
strokes every twenty-four hours, having, at every
stroke, a great resistance to overcome ; and shall
continue this action for this length of time, without
disorder and without weariness!

But farther: From the account which has been
given of the mechanism of the heart, it is evident
that it must require the interposition of valves :
that the success indeed of its action must depend
upon these; for when any one of its cavities con-
tracts, the necessary tendency of the force will be
to drive the inclosed blood, not only into the mouth
of the artery where it ought to go, but also back
again into the mouth of the vein from which it
flowed. In like manner, when by the relaxation of
the fibres the same cavity is dilated, the blood |
would not only run into it from the vein, which was
the course intended, but back from the artery,
through which it ought tobe 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 direction, and
shut up the passage against it in another. The
heart, constituted as it is, can no more work with-
out valyes, than a pump can. When the piston

100 ' OF THE VESSELS

descends.in a pump, if it were not for the stoppage
by the valve beneath, the motion would only thrust
- down the water which it had before drawn up. A
similar consequence would frustrate the action of
the heart. Valves, therefore, properly disposed,
i.e. properly with respect to the course of the
blood which it is necessary to promote, are essen-
tial to the contrivance. And valves so disposed, are
accordingly provided. A valve is placed in the com-
munication 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 ; clos-
ing it, whenever the blood, in consequence of the
relaxation of the ventricle, would attempt to flow
back. There is some variety in the construction of
these valves, though all the valves of the body act
nearly upon the same principle, and are destined to.

the same use. In general they consist of athin |

membrane, lying close to the side of the vessel,
and consequently allowing an open passage whilst
the stream runs one way, but thrust out from the
side by the fiuid getting behind it, and opposing the
passage of the blood, when it would flow the other
way. Where more than one membrane is employ-
ed, the different membranes only compose one
valve. Their joint action fulfils the office of a valve :
for instance ; over the entrance of the right auriele
of the heart mto the right ventricle, three of these
skins or membranes are fixed, of a triangular figure,
the bases of the triangles fastened te the flesh ; the
sides and summits loose; but, though loose, con-
nected by threads of a determinate length, with
certain small fleshy prominences adjoming. The
effect of this construction is, that when the ventricle .
contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape in all
directions, and amongst other directions pressing
upwards, gets between these membranes and the
sides of the passage ; and thereby forces them up
into such a position, as that, together, they consti-
tute, when raised, a hollow cone, (the strings, be-

gc t F

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 101

fore spoken of, hindering them from proceeding or
separating farther ;) which cone, entirely. occupy-
ing the passage, .prevents the return of the blood ©
into the auricle. A shorter account of the matter
may be this: so long as the blood proceeds in its
proper course, the membranes which compose the
valve are pressed close tothe side of the vessel, and
occasion no impediment to the circulation: when
the blood would regurgitate, they are raised from
the side of the vessel, and, 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 struc-
ture, than it is important in its office. _Upon the
play of the valve, even upon the proportioned length
of the strings or fibres which check the ascent of
the membranes, depends, as it should seem, nothing
less than the life itself of the animal. We may here
likewise repeat, what we before observed concern-
ing some of the ligaments of the body, that they —
could not be formed by any action of the parts them-
selves. There are cases in which, although good
uses appear to arise from the shape or configura-
tion of a part, yet that shape or configuration itself
may seem to be produced by the action of the part,
or by the action or pressure of adjoining parts,
Thus the bend and the internal smooth concavity
of the ribs, may be attributed to the equal pressure
6f the soft bowels; the particular shape of some
bones and joints, to the traction of the annexed
muscles, or to the position of contiguous. muscles.
But valves could not be so formed. Action and
pressure are all against them. The blood, in its
proper course, has no tendency to produce such
things ; and in its improper or reflected current,
has a tendency to prevent their production. Whilst
we see, therefore, the use and necessity of this ma-
chinery, we can look to no other account of its
origin or formation than the intending mind of a
Creator. Norcan 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,

102 OF THE VESSELS

Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude,

how happy it is that our vital motions are involun- |

tary. We should have enough to do, if we had to
keep our hearts beating, and our stomachs at work. |
Did these things depend, we will not say upon our
effort, but upon our bidding, our care, or our atten- |
tion, they would leave us leisure for nothing else. |
We must have been continually upon the watch,
and continually in fear; nor would this constitution
have allowed of sleep. perms a
It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so
precious, of such central and primary importance
as the heart is, should be defended by a case. The
fact is, that a membranous purse or bag, made of |
strong, tough materials, is provided for it; holding
the heart within its cavity ; sitting loosely and easi-
ly about it; guardimg its substance, without con-
fining its motion ; and containing likewise a spoon-
ful or two of water, just sufficient to keep the sur-
face of the heart in a state of suppleness and
moisture. How should such a loose covering be
senerated by the action of the heart ? Does not the
melosing of it in a sack, answering no other pur-
pose but that inclosure, show the care that has been
taken of its preservation ? A. aed
One use of the circulation of the blood probably
{amongst other uses) is, to distribute nourishment
to the different parts of the body.. How minute and
multiplied the ramifications of the blood-vessels, fo
that purpose, are ; and how thickly spread, over a
least the superficies of the body, is proved by the
single observation, that we cannot prick the point
of a pin into the flesh, without drawing blood, 2. e.
without finding a blood-vessel. Nor, internally, is
their diffusion less universal. Blood-vessels run
along the surface of membranes, pervade the sub-
stance of muscles, penetrate the bones. Even into
every tooth, we trace, through a small hole in the
root, an artery to feed the bone, as wellasa vein to
bring back the spare blood from it; both which,
with the addition of an accompanying {merve, form a

‘thread only a little thicker than a horse-hair.

Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at the
mouth has once reached, and mixed itself with the
blood, every part of body is in the way of being

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 103

supplicd with it. And this introduces another.
‘grand topic, namely, the manner in which the ali-
Ment gets into the blood ; which is a subject dis-
tinct from the preceding, and brings us to the con-
sideration of another entire system of vessels.
_ II. For this necessary part of the animal econo-
my, an apparatus is provided, ina great measure
capable of being what anatomists call demonstrated,
‘that is, shown in the dead body ;—and a line or
course of conveyance, which we can pursue by our
examinations. ans “i ,
First, the food descends by a wide passage inte
the intestines, undergoing two great preparations
‘on its way; one in the mouth by mastication and
moisture,—(can it be doubted with what design the —
teeth were placed in the road to the stomach, or
that there was choice in fixing them in their siiua-
tion 7) the other, by digestion in the stomach itself.
Of this last surprising dissolution I say nothing;
because it is chymistry, and I am endeavouring to
display mevthanism. ‘The figure and position of
pe stomach (I speak ali along with a reference to
ie 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 cardia, or orifice by which it en-
ters; so that itis by the contraction of the muscu-
lar coat of the stomach, that the contents, after
having undergone the application of the gastric
menstruum, are gradually pressed out. ._ In dogs
and cats, this action of the coats of the stomach has
been displayed to the eye. It isa slow and gentle
undulation, propagated from one orifice of the sto-
mach to the other. For the same reason that I
omitted, for the present, offering any observation
upon the digestive fluid, I shall say nothing con-
eerning the bile or the pancreatic juice, farther
than to pcos upon the mechanism, viz. that from
the glands in which these secretions are elaborated,
pipes are laid into the first of the intestines, through
which pipes the product of each gland flows into
that bowel, and is there mixed with the aliment, as
soon almost as it passes the stomach ; adding also
a)

104 _OF THE VESSELS

asa remark, how grievously this same bile offends

the stomach itself, yet cherishes the vessel that lies — |
3 = < : +

next to it. tee
Secondly, We have now the aliment in the intes-
tines, converted into pulp; and, though lately con-
sisting of ten different 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 straining off this fluid from the digested aliment

in the course.ofits long progress through the body, |

myriads of capillary tubes, 7. e. pipes as small as”

hairs, open their orifices into the cavity of every
part of the intestines. These tubes, which are so

fine and slender as not to be visible unless when

distended with chyle, soon unite into larger branch-
es. The pipes, formed by this union, terminate in
glands, from which other pipes ofa still larger dia-
meter arising, carry the chyle from all parts, into a

common reservoir or receptacle. This receptacle is —

a bag of size enough to hold about two table-spvo

full; and from this vessel a duct or main pipe pro- —

‘ceeds, climbing up the back part of -the chest,
and afterward creeping along the gullet till it
reach the neck. Here it meets the river: here it
discharges itself into a large vein, which soon con-
veys the chyle, now.fiowmg along with the old
blood, to the heart. This whole route can be exhi-
bited to the eye; nothing is left to be supplied by
imagination or conjecture. Now, beside the sub-

serviency of this structure, collectively considered, |

to a manifest and necessary purpose, we may re-
mark two or three separate particulars in it, which
show not only the contrivance, but the perfection
of it. We may remark, first, the length of the in-
testines, which, in the human subject, is six times
that of the body. Simply for a passage, these volu-

minous bowels, this prolixity of gut, seems in no

wise necessary; but in order to allow time and
space for the successive extraction of the chyle
from the digested aliment, namely, that the chyle
which escapes the lacteals of one ps t of the guts

may be taken up by those of some other part, the
ondycive-

length of the canal is of evident use amd c

| OF ANIMAL BODIES. 105
| ness. Secondly, we must also remark their peris-

| taltie motion; which is made up of contractions,
following one another like waves upon the surface
of a fluid, and not unlike what we observe in the
body of an earth-worm crawling along the ground ;
and which is effected by the joint action of longitu-
dinal and of spiral, or rather perhaps of a great
| number of separate semicircular fibres. This cu-
Sious action pushes forward the grosser part of the
| aliment, at the same time that the more subtile parts,
| which we call chyle, are, by a series of gentle com-
| pressions, squeezed into the narrow orifices. of the
acteal veins. Thirdly, it was necessary that these
tubes, which we denominate lacteals, or their
mouths at least, should be made as narrow aS pOS- —
sible, in order to deny admission into the blood to
any particle which is of size enough to make @
lodgment afterward in the small arteries, and there-
by to obstruct the circulation : and it was also ne-
cessary that this extreme tenuity should be com-
pensated by multitude ; for a large quantity of chyle
(in ordinary constitutions, not less, it has been
computed, than two or three quarts in a day) is, by
some means or other, to be passed through them.
Accordingly, we find the number of the lacteals ex-
ceeding all powers of computation ; and their pipes
so fine and slender, as not to be visible, unless filled,
to the naked eye ; and their orifices, which open
into the intestines, so small, as not to be discerni-
ble even by the best microscope. Fourthly, the
main pipe which carries the chyle from the reser-
»voir to the blood, viz. the thoracic duct, being fixed
in an almost upright position, and wanting that ad-
vantage 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. These valves look upward, so as to
leave the ascent free, but to prevent the return of
the chyle, if, for want of sufficient force to push it
on, its weight should at any time cause it to descend.
Fifthly, the chyle enters the blood in an odd place,
but perhaps the most commodious place possible,
viz. at a large vein in the neck, so situated with rez
spect to the circulation, as speedily to bring the
mixture to the heart. _ this seems to be @ cir:

106 OF THE VESSELS

-cumstance of great moment ; for had the chyle en-
tered the blood at an artery, or at a distant vein,
the fluid, composed of the old and the new mate-
rials, must have performed a considerable part of
the circulation, before it received that churning in
the lungs, which is, probably, necessary for the in-
timate and perfect union of the old blood with the
recent chyle. Who could have dreamt of a com-
munication between the cavity of the intestines and
the left great vein of the neck? Who could have
suspected that this communication should be the
medium through which all nourishment is derived
to the body; or this the place, where, by a side in-
fet, the important junction is formed between the
blood and the material which feeds it ?

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

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

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

2. It has not the nature of saliva; it has not the
nature of the 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 putrefaction : for the digest-
ing fluid resists putrefaction most pertinaciously ;
nay, not only checks its farther progress, but re~

stores putrid substances.

4, It is not a fermentative process : for the solu-

tion begins at the surface, and proceeds towards
the. centre, contrary to the order in which fermen-
tation acts and nthe:
' 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
gtomach which contains them.

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 107

In a word, animal digestion carries about it the
marks of being a power and a process completely
suigeneris ; distinct from every other ; at least from
every chymical process with which we are ac-
quainted. And the most wonderful thing about it
is its appropriation ; its subserviency to the parti-
cular 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 whilst it is whole. Entire grains
of barley, enclosed in tubes or spherules, are not
affected by it. But if the same grain be by any
means broken or ground, the gastric juice im-
mediately lays hold of it. Here then is wanted,
and here we find, a combination of mechanism an
chymistry. For the preparatory grinding, the giz-
zard lends its mill. And as all mill-work should
be strong, its structure is so, beyond that of any
other muscle belongmg to the animal. The inter-
nal coat also, or lining of the gizzard, is, for the
same purpose, hardand cartilaginous. But, foras-
rauch as this is not?the sort of animal substance
suited for the reception of glands. or for secretion,
the gastric juice, in this family, is not supplied, as
in membranous stomachs, by the stomach itself,
but by the gullet, in which the feeding glands are
placed, and from which it trickles down into the
Stomach, : soa

In sheep, the gastric fluid has no effect in. digest-
ing 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 exceeding tis medium temperature
of the atmosphere. But provided that the plant
has been reduced to. pieces by chewing, the gastric
juice then proceeds with it, first by softening its
substance; next by destroying its natural consis-
tency ; and lastly, by dissolving it so completely,

_ as not even to pare the toughest and most stringy
parts, such as the nerves of the leaves.
' So far our accurate and indefatigable Abbe,--Dr}

EE eee ee

108 OF THE VESSELS

Stevens, of Edinburgh, in 1777, found, by experi-
ments tried with perforated balls, that the gastric
juice of the sheep and the ox speedily dissolved ve-
getables, but made no impression upon beef, mut-
ton, and other animal bodies. Dr. Hunter disco-
vered a property of this fluid, of a most curious
kind; viz. that in the stomachs of animals which
feed upon flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon

animal substances, it is only upon the dead sub-

stance that it operates at all. The diving fibre suf-
fers no injury from lying in contact withit. Worms
and insects are found alive in the stomachs of such
animals. The coats of the human stomach, in 2
healthy state, are insensible to its presence; yet in
cases of sudden death, (wherein the gastric juice,
not having been weakened by disease, retains its
activity,) it has been known to eat a hole through
the bowel which contains it.* How nice is this dis-
crimination of action, yet how necessary !
But to return to our hydraulics. —

UII. The gall-bladder is a very remarkable con-

trivance. It is the reservoir of a canal. It does
not form the channel itself, z. e. the direet commu-
nication between the liver and the intestine, which
is by another passage, viz. the ductus hepaticus,
continued under the name of the ductus communis ;
but it hes adjacent to this channel, joining it by a
duct of its own, the ductus cysticus; by which
structure it is enabled, as occasion may require, to
add its contents to, and increase the flow of bile
into the duodenum. And the position of the gall-
bladder is such as to apply this structure to the
best advantage. In its natural situation, it touches
the exterior surface of the stomach, and conse-
quently is compressed by the distension of that ves-
sel: the effect of which compression is to force out
trom the bag, and send into the duodenum, an ex-
traordinary quantity of bile, to meet the extraordi-
nary demand which the repletion of the stomach by
food is about to oeccasion.t Cheselden describest
the gall-bladder as seated against the duodenum,
and thereby liable to have its fluid pressed out, by

_ ® Phil. Trans. gol, Ixii. p. 447. + Keill’s Anat. p. 64.
t Anat. p. 164, “9 -

=

ek

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 108

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. i |

There may be other purposes answered by this
contrivance; and it is probable that there are.—
The contents of the gall-bladder are not exactly of
the same kind as what passes from the liver through
a direct passage.* It is possible that the gall may
be changed, and for some purposes meliorated, by
keeping. | |

The entrance of the gali-duct into the duodenum
furnishes: another observation. Whenever either
smaller tubes are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes
into vessels and cavities, such receiving-tubes, ves-
sels, or cavities, being subject to muscular con-
striction, we always find a contrivance to prevent
regurgitation. In some cases, valves are used; in
other cases, amongst which is that now before us,
a different expedient is resorted to, which may he
thus described: The gall-duct enters the duodenum
obliquely : after it has pierced the first coat, it runs
near two fingers’ breadth between the coats, before
it opens into the cavity of the intestine.t The same
contrivance is used in another part, where there is
exactly the same occasion for it, viz. in the inser-
tion of the ureters in the bladder. These enter the
bladder near its neck, running obliquely for the
space of an inch between its coats.} It is, in both
cases, sufficiently evident, that this structure has 2

necessary mechanical tendency to resist regurgita-

‘tion: for whatever force acts in such a direction as

to urge the fluid back into the orifices of the tubes,
must, at the same time, stretch the coats of the ves-
sels, and thereby compress that part of the tube
which is included between them.

IV. Amongst the vessels of the human body, the
pipe which conveys the saliva from the place where
it is made, to the place where it is wanted, deserves
to be reckoned amongst the most intelligible pieces
of mechanism with which we are acquainted. ‘The
saliva, we all know, is used in the mouth : but much
NC Tat SNRs rn ES ETS eet se

.* Keill, (from Malpighius,) p. 63. + Keill’s Anat. p. 62.
-$ Ches, Anat. p. 260.

.

il0 OF THE VESSELS

of it is produced on the outside of the cheek, by the
parotid gland, which lies between the ear and the
angle of the lower jaw. In order to carry the se-
creted juice to its destination, there is laid from the
gland, on the outside, a pipe, about the thickness of.
a wheat straw, and about three fingers’ breadth in
length; which, after riding over the masseter mus-
cle, bores for itself a hole through the very middle
of the cheek; enters by that hole, which is a com-
plete perforation of the buccinator muscle, into the
mes ; and there discharges its fluid very copi-
ously. |

V. Another exquisite structure, differing indeed —
from the four pee instances, in that it does
not relate to the conveyance of fluids, but still be-
longing, 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 lead-
ing to the stomach, the other to the lungs ; the one
being the passage for the food, the other for the
breath and voice: we know also that both these
passages open into the bottom of the mouth; the
gullet, necessarily, for the conveyance of food ; and |
the wind-pipe, for speech and the modulation of |
sound, not much less so: therefore the difficulty )
was, the passages being so contiguous, to prevent |
the food, especially the liquids, which we swallow
into the stomach, from entering the wind-pipe, 2. e.
the road to the lungs; the consequence of which
error, when it does. happen, is perceived by the
convulsive throes that are instantly produced. This _~
business, which is very nice, is managed in this
manner. The gullet (the passage for food) opens
into the mouth lke the cone or upper partof a fun- |
nel, the capacity of which forms indeed the bottom |
of the mouth. Into the side of this funnel, at the |
part which lies the lowest, enters the wind-pipe,
by a chink or slit, with a lid or flap, like a little
tongue, accurately fitted to the orifice. The solids
or liquids which we 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 swallowing, contribute to
keep the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst
any thing is passing; whereas, by means of its

* 3

| tle pal Bes bi. eee
Pa id ba Pl ca ke

a pe ee ee a en on a Sa,

OF ANIMAL BODIES. Wh

lungs. Such is its structure: and we may here
remark the almost complete success of the expe-
dient, viz. how seldom it fails of its purpose, com-
pared with the number of instances im which it ful-
“Is it. Reflect how frequently we swallow, how
constantly we breathe. In a city-feast, for exam-
le, what deglutition, what anhelation! yet does
this little cartilage, the eiglotis, so effectually in-
terpose its office, so securely guard the entrance ©
the wind-pipe, that whilst morsel after morsel,
draught ee draught, are coursing one another
over it, an accident of a crumb, or a drop shipping
into this passage (which nevertheless must be open-
ed for the breath every second of time,) excites in
the whole company not only alarm by its danger,
put 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 epi-
glottis: I do not mean in the same individual, but
“1 a succession of generations. Not ony the action
of the parts has no such tendency, but the animaz
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 forme-
tion OF Ezpansion” ote part which was, from the
first, necessary to the life of the individual.
Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole
_ Wwind-pipe possesses a structure adapted to its pe-
culiar office. It is made up (as any one may per-
ceive 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
ease with any other of the numerous conduits of
the body. The use of these cartilages is to keep
the passage for the air constantly open; which they
do mechanically. A pipe with soft membranous
coats, liable to collapse and close when empty,
would not have answered here; although this be
the gener! vascular structure, and a structure
which serves very well for those tubes which are
kept in a state of perpetual distension by the fluic

4

112 OF THE VESSELS

they inclose, or which afford a passage to solid and
protruding substances. ' | |
evertheless (which is another particularity well.
worthy of notice,) these rings are not complete,
that is, are not cartilaginous and stiff all round ; |
but their hinder part, which is contiguous to the

‘The constitution of the trachea may suggest like-.
wise another reflection. The membrane which
lines its inside, is, perhaps, the most sensible, irri-

spasm which convulses the whole frame ; yet, left
to itself, and its Proper office, the intromission of
air alone, nothing can beso quiet. It does not even
make itself felt ;“a man does not know that he has
a trachea. This capacity of perceiving with such
“cuteness, this impatience of ofience, yet perfect
rest and ease when let alone, are properties, one
would have thought, not likely to reside in the
Same subject. It is to the Junction, however, of
these almost inconsistent qualities, in this, as well
as some viher delicate parts of the body, that we
owe our safety and our comfort:-—our safety to
their sensibility, our comfort to their repose, —

-he larynx, or rather the whole wind-pipe taken
together (for the larynx is only the upper part of
the wind-pipe,) besides its other uses, is also amu-
sical instrument, that is to Say, it is mechanism ex-
pressly 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 wind-pipe, 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
&8 @ pipe or flute is sounded.

Birds, says Bonnet, have, at the lower end of
the wind-pipe, a conformation like the reed of a
nautboy, for the-modulation of their notes. A

— = - a |

Pyro a 7. _ ET ee ee

OF ANIMAL BODIES. £3.

tuneful bird is a ventriloquist. The seat of the
song is in the breast.

The use of the lungs zn 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 conjunction with the larynx, of voice.
and speech. They are, to animal utterance, what
the bellows are to the organ.

eer?

For the sake of method, we have considered ani-
mal bodies under three divisions; their bones, their
muscles, and their vessels: and we have stated our
observations upon these parts separately. But _
this is to diminish the strength of the argument.
The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not in their se-
parate but their collective action; in their mu-
tual subserviency and dependance, in their contribu-
ting together to one effect, and one use. It has
been said, that a man cannot lift his hand to his
head, without finding enough to convince him of |
the existence of a God. And it is well said; for
he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is, and
simple as it seems to be, how many things are re-
quisite for the performing of it : how many things
which we understand, to say nothing of many--
more, probably, which we do not ; viz. first, a long,
_ hard, strong cylinder, in order to give to the arm
its firmness and tension; but which, being rigid,
and, in its substance, inflexible,can only turn upon
joints ; seeondly, 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, thirdly,
strings and wires, 7. e. muscles and tendons, artifi-
cially inserted for the purpose of drawing the bones
in the directions in which the joints allow them to
move. Hitherto we seem to understand the me-
chanism pretty well; and, understanding this, we
possess enough for our conclusion: nevertheless,
we have hitherto only a machine standing still; a
dead organization—an apparatus. To put the sys-
tem in a state of activity ; toset it at work ; a far-

114. OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

‘ther provision is necessary, viZ. a communication
with the brain by means of nerves. We know the
existence of this communication, because we can
see the communicating threads, and can trace thent
to the brain: its necessity we also know, because
if the thread be cut, if the communication be inter-

cepted, the muscle becomes paralytic : but beyond |

this, we know little; the organization being too
minute and subtile for our inspection. ae

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, nourish-
ment, and sustentation, of the limb, the repair of
its waste, the preservation of its health: such as
the circulation of the blood through every. part of
it ; 1ts lymphatics, exhalants, absorbents; its ex-
eretions and integuments. All these share in the
result ; join in the effect : and how all these, or
any of them, come together without a designing,
disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive.

=e

CHAP. XI.

Of the animal structure regarded as a mass.

ConNTEMPLATING an animal body im its collec-
tive capacity, we cannot forget to- notice, what a
number of instruments are brought together, and
often within how small a compass. It is a cluster
of contrivances. In a canary-bird, for instance,
and in the single ounce of matter which composes
his body (but which seems to be ail employed,)
we have instruments for eating, for digesting, for
nourishment, for breathing, for generation, for run-
ning, for flying, for seeing, for hearing, for smelli-
ing ; each appropriate—each entirely different from
all the rest. . .

The human, or indeed the animal frame, consi-
dered as a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its com-
position three properties, which have long struck
any mind as indubitable evidences, not ear sf de-
sign, but of a great deal of attention and accuracy
in prosecuting the design. .

-——— — Te

"SS |) oo

REGARDED AS A MASS. Lis

- J. The first is, the exact correspondency of the
two sides of the same animal: the right hand an-
if swering to the left, leg to leg, eye to eye, one side
iJof the countenance to the other ; and with a pre-
sision, to imitate which in any tolerable degree,
forms one of the difficulties of statuary, and re-
quires, on the part of the artist, a constant atten-
tion to this property of his work, distinct from
every other. .

~ It is the most difficult thing that can be to get a
wig made even ; yet how seldom is the face awry !
And what care is taken that it should not be so,
the anotomy.of its bones demonstrates. The upper
part of the face is composed of thirteen bones, six
‘on each side, answering each to each, and the thir-

art of the face is in like manner composed of six
ones, three on each side respectively correspond-
ing, and the lower jaw in the centre. In building
an arch, could more be done in order to make the
curve true, i. e. the parts equi-distant from the
middle, alike in figure and position ?
The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering
how compounded this organ is in its structure, how
yarious and how delicate are the shades of colour
‘with which its iris is tinged ; how differently, as to
effect upon appearance, the eye may be mounted
in its socket, and how differently in different heads
eyes actually are set—is a property of animal bo-
dies much to be admired. Often 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 other selection than
that which obtains.

This regularity of the animal structure is render-
ed more remarkable by the three following consi-
derations. First, the limbs, separately taken, have
not this correlation of parts, but the contrary of it.
A knife drawn down the chine, cuts the human
body into two parts, externally equal and alike ;
you cannot draw a straight line which will divide
a hand, a foot, the leg, the thigh, the cheek, the
eye, the ear, into two parts equal and alike. Those
parts which are placed upon the middle or parti-
tion line of the body, or which traverse that line, as

teenth, without a fellow, in the middle; the lower |

116 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

the nose, the tongue, the lips, may be so divided, }
or, more properly speaking, are double organs: |
but other parts cannot. This shows that the cor- }

respondeney which we have been describing, does

not arise by any necessity in the nature of the sub- })

ject; for, if necessary, it would be universal ;
whereas it is observed only in the system or as-
semblage : it is not true of the separate parts; that

is to say, it is found where it conduces to beauty |
or utility ; it is not found, where it would subsist at |

the expense of both. The two wings of a bird al-
ways correspond : the two sides of a feather fre-

quently do not. Incentipedes, millepedes, andthe }

whole tribe of insects, no two legs on the same side
are alike: yet there is the most exact parity be-
tween the legs opposite to one another. __

2. The next circumstance to be remarked is, that,

whilst the cavities of the body are so configurated, |

as externally to exhibit the most exact correspond-

ency of the opposite sides, the contents of these ca- |

vities have nosuch correspondency. A line drawn
down the middle of the breast, divides the thorax
into two sides exactly similar; yet these two sides
inclose very different contents. The heart lies on
the left side; a lebe of the lungs on the right;
balancing each other, neither in size nor shape.
The same thing holds of the abdomen. ‘The liver
hes onthe right side, without any similar viscus op-
posed 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 ir-
regular 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
oe upon the correlation of the sides, is exter-
nally preserved throughout the whole trunk; and
*is the more remarkable in the lower parts of it, as
the integuments are soft; and the shape, conse-
quently, 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 equali-
ty in the shape or pressure of the internal contents.
What is it indeed but a correction of inequalities ?
an adjustment, by mutual compensation, of anoma-

REGARDED AS A MASS. 117

} ous forms into a regular congeries ? the effect, in &
} vord, of artful, and, if we might be permitted so to
ipeak, of studied collocation ? /

_ 3, Sunilar also to this, is the third observation ;
hat an internal inequality in the feeding vessels is
io managed, as to produce no inequality in parts
yhich were intended to correspond. The right
irm answers accurately to the left, both in size and
shape; but the arterial branches, which supply the _
wo arms, do not go off from their trunk, ina pair,
nm the same manner, at the same place, or at the
tame angle. Under which want of similitude, it is
very difficult to conceive how the same quantity of
slood should be pushed through each artery : yet
he result is right ; the two limbs, which are nou-
‘ished by them, perceive no difference of supply, no
sflects of excess or deficiency.

Concerning the difference of manner, in which
-he subclavian and carotid arteries, upon the differ-
2nt sides of the body, separate themselves from the
aorta, Cheselden seems to have thought, that the
advantage which the left gain by going off at an
ingle much more acute than the right, is made up
,o the right, by their going off together in one
wanch.* Jt is very possible that this may be the
‘ompensating contrivance ; and if it be so, how cu-
lous, how hydrostatical !

II. Another perfection of the animal mass is the
aackage. I know nothing which is so surprising.
Examine the contents of the trunk of any large ani-
mal. Take notice how soft, how tender, how in-
tricate, they are; how constantly in action, how
necessary to life! Reflect upon the danger of any
injury to their substance, any derangement of their
position, any obstruction to their office. Observe
the heart pumpimg 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 per-
forming their elaborate office, viz. distending and
contracting their many thousand vesicles, by a re-
eiprocation which cannot cease fora minute; the
stomach exercising its powerful chymistry; the

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

418 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

bowels silently propelling the changed aliment;
collecting from it, as it proceeds, Fiat Genaniiae
to the blood, an incessant supply of prepared an
assimilated nourishment; that blood pursuing its
- course ; the liver, the kidneys, the pancreas, the |
parotid, with many other known and distinguish- |
able glands, drawing off from it, all the while, their |
proper secretions, These several operations, to-
gether with others more subtile but less capable of |
being investigated, are going on within us, at one |
and the same time. Think of this; and then ob- |
serve how the body itself, the case which holds this |
machinery, is rolled, and jolted, and tossed about,
the mechanism remaining unhurt, and with very
little molestation even of its nicest motions. Ob-
serve 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 sub- |
jects, 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 surrounded, how well tied down and |
packed together, | .
_ This property of animal bodies has never, I think, |
been consi ae under a distinct head, or so fully
as it deserves. I may be allowed therefore, in or-
der to verify my observation 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 mediastinum and to the pericardium ;
which pericardium is not only itself an exceedingl
strong membrane, but adheres firmly to the dupli- |
cature of the mediastinum, and, by its point, to the |
middle tendon of the diaphragm. The heartis also |
sustained in its place by the great blood-vessels |
’ which issue from it.*
2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the me-

* Keill’s Aust. p. 107. ed. 3.

a ee oe ee |

— or ee Ee

te) ed ela ae ae ee

REGARDED AS A MASS. 119

mediastinum (which is a membrane that goes
istraight through the middle of the thorax, from the

‘ments: the first, which is large and strong, comes
from the covering of the diaphragm, and penetrates
the substance of the liver; the second 1s the um-
‘bilical vein, which, after birth, degenerates into a
‘ligament. The first, which is the principal, fixes
the liver in its situation, whilst the body holds an
erect posture ; the second prevents it from pressing
‘upon the diaphragm when we lie down : and both
together sling or suspend the liver when we lie upon
our backs, so that it may not compress or obstruct
the ascending vena cava,t to which belongs the im-
portant office of returning the blood from the body
to the heart. © |

4. The bladder is tied to the navel by the urachus,
transformed into a ligament: thus, what was 4
passage for urine tothe foetus, becomes, after birth,
a support or stay to the bladder. The peritoneum
' also keeps the viscera from confoundin themselves
with, or pressing irregularly upon, the bladder ;
- for the fdneys and bladder are contained in a dis-
‘ tinct duplicature of that membrane, being thereby
partitioned off from the other contents of the abdo~

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

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

- 7, The spleen also is confined to its place by an
' adhesion to the peritoneum andd iaphragm, and by
a connexion with the omentum.|| It is possible, in
my opinion, that the spleen may be merely a stuffing,

* Keill’s Anat. p, 119. ed. 3. ¢ Ches. Anat. p. 162.
Pid p. 57. oY {| Ches. Anat. p. 104.

—_ Wis ican 93 “oO, ee ee ys

-]20 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

a soft cushion to fill up a vacancy or hollow, which,
unless occupied, would leave the package loose anc
unsteady : for supposing that it answers no other
purpose than this, it must be vascular, and admit
of a circulation through it, in order to be kept alive,
or be a part of a living body. aa

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

9. The septa of the brain probably prevent one
part of that organ from pressing with too great a
weight upon another part. The processes of the
dura mater divide the cavity of the skull, like so
many inner partition walls, and thereby confine
each hemisphere and lobe of the brain to the cham-
ber which is assigned to it, without its being
hable to rest upon, or intermix with the neighbour-
ing parts. The great art and caution of packing,
is to prevent one thing hurting another. This,in |
the head, the chest, and the abdomen, of an animal}
body, is, amongst other methods, provided for by
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 thispur- |
pose, by far, in my opinion, the most curious, and
where also such a provision was most wanted, is in
the guts. 1tis pretty evident, that a long narrow
tube (im man, about five times the length of the
body) laid from side to side in folds wpon one an-
other, winding in oblique and circuitous direc-
tions, composed also of a soft and yielding sub-
stance, must, without some extraordinary precau-
tion for its safety, be continually displaced by the
various, sudden, and abrupt motions of the body
which contains it. I should expect that, if not
bruised or wounded by every fall, or leap, or twist,

* Ches, Anat. p. 167.

OREGARDED AS A MASS. 121
it would be entangled, or be involved with itself ; or

‘at the least, slipped and shaken out of the order in
which it is disposed, and which order is necessary
to be preserved, for the carrying on of the impor-
tant functions which it has to execute in the animal
economy. Let us see, therefore, how a danger so
“serious, and yet so natural to the length, narrow-
ness, and tubular form, of the part, is provided
against. The expedient is admirable: and it is
this. The intestinal canal, throughout its whole
process, is knit to the edge ofa broad fat membrane
called the mesentery. It forms the margin of this
mesentery, being stitched and fastened to it like
the edging of aruffle: being four times as long as
‘the mesentery itself, it is what a sempstress would
eall, ‘ puckered or gathered on” to it. This is the
nature of the connexion of the gut with the mesen-
tery; and being thus joined to, or rather made a part
of, the mesentery, it is folded and wrapped up togeth-
er with it. Nowthe mesentery having a considerable
dimension in breadth, being in its substance, withal,
‘both thick and suety, is capable of a close and safe
folding, in comparison of what the intestinal tube
would admit of, if it had remained loose. The me-
-sentery 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 num-
_berless small vessels, the arteries, the veins, the
lympheducts, and above all, the lacteals, which lead
from or to almost every point of its coats and ca-
vity. This membrane, which appears to be the
great support and security of the alimentary appa-
- fatus, 1s itself strongly tied to the first three verte-

bre of the loins.* me

“1. A third general property of animal forms is
beauty. Ido not mean relative beauty, or that of
one individual above another of the same species,
or of one species compared with another species ;
but I mean, generally, the provision which is made
in the body of almost every animal, to adapt its ap-
pearance to the perception of the animals with
which it converses. In our own species, for exam-
ple, only consider what the parts and materials are,

* Keili’s Anat. p. 45.
10

122. OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

of which the fairest body is composed; and no far-
ther observation will be necessary to show how
well these things are wrapped up, so as to form a
mass which shall be capable of symmetry in its —
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 disgusting materials of a dissecting- %
room into an object of attraction to the sight, or one —
upon which it rests, at least, with ease and satisfac- —
tion. Much of this effect isto be attributed tothe in-_ |}
tervention ofthe cellular or adipose membrane,which — }
lies immediately under the skin; isa kind of lining |}
to it; is moist, soft, slippery, and compressible; |
every where filling up the interstices of the mus- |
cles, and forming thereby their roundness and flow- —
ing line, as well as the evenness and polish ofthe |
whole surface. 3 shih eas y

All which seems to be a strong indication of de- |
sign, and of a design studiously directed to this |
purpose. And it being once allowed, that such a |
purpose existed with respect to any of the produc- fj
tions of nature, we may refer, with a considerable —
degree of probability, other particulars to the same —
intention; such as the teints of flowers, the plu- |
mage of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales |
of fishes, the painted wings of butterflies and ||
beetles, the rich colours and spotted lustre of many ©
iribes of insects. RS eps r

There are parts also of animals ornamental, and |}
the properties by which they are so, not subservi- |
ent, that we know of, to any other purpose. The |
érides of most animals are very beautiful, without |
conducing at all, by their beauty, to the perfection
of vision; and nature could in no part have em-
ployed her pencil to so much advantage, because
no part presents itself so conspicuously to the ob-
server, or communicates so great an effect to the
whole aspect. He OE LARNER S

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

+

»
es,

REGARDED AS A MASS. — 128

_ The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegetable
nutrition, might have been carried on as well by its
- continuing green. Or, if this could not be con-
sistently with the progress of vegetable life, why
break into such a variety of colours? This is no
proper effect of age, or of declension in the ascent
of the sap ; for that, like the autumnal teints, would
have produced one colour on one leaf, with marks
of fading and withering. Itseems a lame account to
call it, as it has been called, a disease of the plant.
“Is it not more probable, that this Properly which
is independent, as it should seem, of the wants and
utilities of the plant, was calculated for beauty, in-
tended 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 tobe so, only by their alliance with these.
qualities. Our idea of beauty is capable of being
in so great a degree modified by habit, by fashion,
‘by the experience of advantage or pleasure, and by
associations arising out of that experience, that a.
question has been made, whether it be not altoge-
ther generated by these causes, or would have any
proper existence without them. It seems, however,
a carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny the
existence of the principle, viz. a native capacity
of perceiving beauty, on account of an influence, or
of varieties proceeding from ‘that’ influence, to
which it is subject, seeing that principles the most
‘acknowledged are liable to be affected in the same
manner. Ishould rather argue thus: The question
respects objects of sight. Now every other sense
hath its distinction of agreeable and disagreeable.
Some tastes offend the palate, others gratify it. In
brutes and insects, this distinction is stronger
and more regular than in man. Every horse, ox,
sheep, swine, when at liberty to choose, and when
‘inanatural 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 die than change their appropriate leaf.
All this looks like a determination in the sense it-
self to particular tastes. In like manner, smells af-

124 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

fect the nose with sensations pleasurable or dis-_
gusting. 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 this power which reconciles us to
many necessities :) but has the distinction, in the
mean time, of agreeable and disagreeable, no foun-—
dation in the sense itself? What is true of the other
senses, 1S most probably true of the eye, (the analo-
gy is irresistible,) viz. that there belongs to it an
original constitutiou, 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 upon this con-
cession. We possess a sense of beauty, however
we come by it. It in fact exists, Things are not ~
indifferent to this sense; all objects do not suit it ;-
many which we see, are agreeable to it; many
others disagreeable. It is certainly not the effect
of habit upon the particular object, because the
most agreeable objects are often the most rare ;
many, which are very common, continue to be
offensive. If they be made supportable by habit, |
it is all which habit can do; they never become |
agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be acquired.
it is a result; the produce of numerous and com- |
plicated actions of external objects upon the senses, |
and of the mind upon its sensations. With this
result, there must be a certain congruity to enable
any particular object to please : and that congruity,
we contend, is consulted in the aspect which is
siven to animal and vegetable bodies.

IV. The skin and covering of animals 1s that
upon which their appearance chiefly depends; and
it is that part which, perhaps, in all animals is
most decorated, and most free from impurities.
But were beauty, or agreeableness of aspect, en-
tirely out of the question, there is another purpose
answered by this integument, and by the colloca-
tion of the parts of the body beneath it, which is
of still greater importance; and that purpose is
concealment. Were it posible to view through the
skin the mechanism of our bodies, the sight would
frighten us out of our wits. ‘ Durst we make a
single movement,”’ asks a lively French writer,

ee ee

See ee sh) 0) Oe, ee “Sea Se AP OPA te bee Tee REO Te ee eee ee Ee eee aes

REGARDED AS A MASS. 125

“ or stir a step from the place we were in, if we
saw our blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the
lungs blowing, the humours filtrating, and all the
incomprehensible assemblage of fibres, tubes,
pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sustain an
existence at once so frail, and so presumptuous !”
¥. Of animal bodies, considered as masses,
there is another property, more curious than it is
generally thought to be; which is the faculty of
standing : and it is more remarkable in two-legged
animals than in quadrupeds, and, most of all, as
being the tallest, and resting upon the smallest
-base,in man. There is more, I think, in the mat-
ter than we are aware of. The statue of a man,
placed loosely upon its pedestal, would not be se-
cure of standing half an hour. You are obliged to
fix its feet to the block by belts and solder ; or the
first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure to throw
it down. Yet this statue shall express all the
mechanical proportions of a living model. It is
not therefore the mere figure, or merely placing
the centre of gravity within the base, that 1s suffi-
cient. Either the law of gravitation 1s suspended
in favour of living substances, or something more
is done for them, in order to enable them to uphold
their posture. There is no reason whatever to
doubt, but that their parts descend by gravitation
in the same manner as those of dead matter. The
gift therefore appears to me to consist in a faculty
of perpetually shifting the centre of gravity, by a
set. of obscure, indeed, but of quick-balancing ac-
tions, so as to keep the line of direction, which is
a line drawn from that centre to the ground, with-
in its prescribed limits, Of these actions it may
be observed, first, that they in part constitute what
we call strength. The dead body drops down.
The mere adjustment therefore of weight and pres-
sure, which may be the same the moment after
death as the moment before, does not support the
column. In cases also of extreme weakness, the
patient cannot stand upright. Secondly, that these
actions are only in a small degree voluntary. A
man is seldom conscious of his voluntary powers
in keeping himself upon his legs. A child learn-
Ing to walk is the greatest posture-master in the

126 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE —

world: but art, if it may be so called, sinks inte
habit; and he is soon able to poise himself ina
great variety of attitudes, without being sensible
either of caution or effort. But still there must be
an aptitude of parts, upon which habit ean 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 princi-
A employed, or in what manner each contri-
butes its office, is, as hath already been confessed, |
difficult to explain. Perhaps the obscure are i |

of the bones of the feet may have their share im) |
this effect. They are put im action by every slip’ |)
or vacillation of the body, and seem to assist in re- |
storing its balance. Certain it is, that this cir- |
cumstance in the structure of the foot, viz. its |
being composed of many small bones, applied te —
and articulating with one another, by prison ||
shaped surfaces, instead of being made of one. |
piece, like the last of a shoe, is very rages ||
t suppose, also, that it would be difficult to stan 1

firmly upon stilts or wooden legs, though their base —
exactly imitated the figure and dimensions of the |
foot. The alternation of the joints, the knee-joint |}
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 preserv- |
ing the equilibrium of the body. With respect to”
this last circumstance, it is observable, that the
vertebre are so confined by ligaments as to allow
no more slipping upon their bases, than what 13)
just sufficient to break the shock which any violent
motion may occasion to the body, A certain de- |}
gree also of tension of the sinews appears to be es-
sential 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 pow- _—
ers, and of very complicated operations. Indeed, —
that standing is not so simple a busmess as we im~-—

-agine it to be, is evident from the strange gesticu- —
lations of a drunken man, who has lost the govern- |
ment of the centre of gravity. = =. 5

We have said that this property is the most wor-
thy of observation in the human body: but a bird,

REGARDED AS A MASS. 127

resting upon its perch, or hopping upon a spray, |
.affords no mean specimen of the same faculty. A
chicken runs off as soon as it is hatched from the
egg ; yet achicken, considered geometrically, and
avith relation to its centre of gravity, its lme of di-
rection, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular solid.
Is this gift, therefore, or instruction? May it not
be said to be with great attention, that nature hath
balanced the body upon its pivots?

_Lebserve also in the same dird a piece of useful
mechanism of this kind. In the trussing of a fowl,
upon bending the legs and thighs up towards the
body, the cook finds that the claws close of their
own accord. Now let it be remembered, that this
is the position of the limbs, in which the bird rests
upon its perch. And in this position it sleeps in
safety ; 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 atti-
tude which the legs and thighs take by the bird sit-
ting down, and to which the mere weight of the
body gives the force that is necessary.

VI. Regarding the human body as a mass; re-
garding the general conformations which obtain in
it; regarding also particular parts in respect to
those conformations; we shall be led to observe
what I call *‘ interrupted analogies.” The follow-
ing are examples of what I mean by these terms ;
and I do not know how such critical deviations can,
® oy any possible hypothesis, be accounted for with-

gut design.

I. All the bones of the body are covered with a
veriosteum, except the teeth; where it ceases, and
yn enamel of ivory which saws and files will hard-
ly touch, comes into its place. No one can doubt
of the use and propriety of this difference; 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 exquisite-
§ ly sensible a membrane as the periosteum invested
the teeth, asit invests every other bone ofthe body,
their action, necessary exposure, and irritation,
would have subjected the animal to continual pain.
General as it is, it was not the sort of integument

198 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE, &c.

which suited the teeth ; what they stood in need
was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat: a
exactly such a covering is given to them, in the ivo-
ry enamel which adheres totheir surface. § —
2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of
the body, gives way, at the extremities of the toes
and fingers, to nai/s. A man has only to look at
his hand, to observe with what nicety and preci-
sion that covering, which extends over every oth
part, is here superseded by a different substanc
and a different texture. Now, if either the rule hac
been necessary, or the deviation from it accidenta
this effect would not be seen. When I speak of
the rule being necessary, I mean the formation of
the skin upon the surface being produced by a set
of causes constituted without design, and acting, as
all ignorant causes must act, by a general opera-
tioa. Were this the case, no account could be
given of the operation being suspended at the fin- |}
gers’ ends, orgon the back beet 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 |
bedy. They would be scattered over the surface, ||
like warts or pimples. _ - | Pee A
3. All the great cavities of the body are enclos- |

ed by membranes, except the skull. Why shonle
not the brain be content with the same covering as |}
that which serves for the other prineipal organs of ||
the body ? The heart, the lungs, the liver, the sto- |
mach, the bowels, have all soft integuments, and |
nothing else. The muscular coats are all softand |
membranous. Ican see a reason for this distine-
tion in the final cause, but in no other. The im- |
portance of the brain to life, (which experience |
proves to be immediate,) and the extreme tender- |
ness of its substance, make a solid case more ne-
cessary for it, than for any other part: andsuch a
ease the hardness of the skull supplies. When —
_the smallest portion of this natural casket is lost, —
how carefully, yet how imperfectly, is it replace

by a plate of metal! If an anatomist should say,
that this bony protection is not confined to the —
brain, but is extended aleng the course of the spine,

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 129

I answer that he adds strength to the argument.
If he remark, that the chest also is fortified by
' bones; I reply, that I should have alleged this in-
' Stance myself, if the ribs had not appeared subser-
vient to the purpose of motion, as well as of de-
fence. What distinguishes the skull from every
‘ other cavity is, that the bony covering completely
‘surrounds its contents, and is calculated, not for
‘motion, but solely for defence. Those hollows,
' likewise, and inequalities, which we observe in the

inside of the skull, and which exactly fit the folds
of the brain, answer the important design of keep-
) ing the substance of the brain steady, and of guard-
. ing it against concussions,

CHAP. XII.

Comparative anatomy.

WHENEVER we find a general plan pursued, yet
with such variations in it as are, in each case, re-

- quired by the particular exigency of the subject to
which it is applied, we possess, in such plan and
Such adaptation, the strongest evidence that can be
afforded of intelligence and design; an evidence
_which most completely excludes every other hy-
pothesis. Ifthe general plan proceeded from any
fixed necessity in the nature of things, how could
_it accommodate itself to the various wants and uses
which it had to serve under different circumstances,
and on different occasions? Arkwright’s.mill was
‘invented for the spinning of cotton. We see it em-
ployed for the spinning of wool, flax, and hemp,
with such modifications of the original principle,
such variety in the same plan, as the texture of
those different materials rendered necessary. Of
‘the machine’s being put together with design, if it
were possible to doubt, whilst we saw it only under
‘one mode, and in one form; when we came to ob-
‘serve it in its different applications, with such
‘changes of structure, such additions and supple-
‘ments, as the special and particular use. in each
ease demanded, we could not refuse any longer our
assent to the stiashirea that intelligence, pro-

_—

130 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

perly and strictly so called, (including under that
name, foresight, consideration, reference to utility,}
had been employed, as well in the primitive plan,
as in the several changes and accommodations
which it is made to undergo.” |

Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what
has been called Comparative Anatomy. In their
general economy, in the outlines of the plan, im the
construction as well as offices of their, principal
parts, there exists between all large terrestrial ani-
mals aclose resemblance. Im all, life is sustained,
and the body nourished, by nearly the same appa-
ratus. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the
liver, the kidneys, are much alike in all. The same
fluid (for no distinction of blood has been observed}
circulates through their vessels, and nearly in the
same order. The same cause therefore, whatever
that cause was, has been concerned in the origin,
has governed the production, of these different ani-
mal forms. .

When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the
inhabitants of a different element, the resemblance
becomes more distant and more obscure; but still
the plan accompanies us. | 1,

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

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 whieh
presents itself to our observation ; and is, in truth,
both for its variety and its suitableness to their
several] natures, as much to be admired as any part
of their structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, |
furs, feathers, quills, prickles, scales ; yet in this |
diversity both of material and form, we cannot
change one animal’s coat for another, without evi-
dently changing it for the worse : taking care, how-
ever, to remark, that these coverings are, in many
cases, armour as well as clothing; mtended for
' protection as well as warmth. sad

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

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 131

@f all climates, and of all seasons. He can adapt
the warmth or lightness of his covering to the tem-
‘ perature of his habitation. Had he been born with
-a fleece upon his back, although he might have
_been comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it»
- would have oppressed him by its weight and heat,
as the species spread towards the equator.
What art, however, does for men, nature has, in
‘many instances, done for those animals which are
incapable of art. Their clothing, of its own ac- -
‘cord, changes with their necessities. This is par-
ticularly the case with thatlarge tribe of quadru-
-peds which are covered with furs. Every dealer
in hare-skins, aud rabbit-skins, knows how much
the fur is thickened-by the approach of winter. It-
seems to be a part of the same constitution and the
same design, that wool, in hot, countries, degene-
rates, as it is called, but in truth (most happily for
the animal’s ease) passes into hair; whilst, on the
contrary, that hair, in the dogs of the polar regions,
is turned into wool, or something very like it. To
which may be referred, what naturalists have re-
marked, 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
ig.the thickest upon the belly; as are the feathers
‘in water-fow]. 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 in-
‘clined backward, the down about their stern, the
‘overlapping of their tips, their different configura-
tion in different parts, not. to mention the variety
‘of their colours, constitute a vestment for the body,
‘so beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which
‘the animal is to lead, as that, I think, we should
‘have had no conception of any thing equally per-
‘tect, if we had never seen it, or can now imagine
‘any thing moreso. Let us suppose (what is possi-
ble only in supposition) a person who had naver
‘seen a bird, to be presented with a plucked phea-
sant, and bid to set his wits to work, how to con-
‘trive for it a covering which shall unite the quali-
‘ties of warmth, levity, and least resistance to thé

i

132 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.
air, and the highest degree of each ; ” ying it an
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
whichare due toit. - © ©" Fa ee 2.
The commendation, which the general aspect: of
the feathered world seldom fails of exciting, will
be increased by farther examination. “It is one of
“those cases in which the philosopher has more to
admire, than the common observer. Every feather
is a mechanical wonder. If we look at the quill, we
find properties not easily brought together, strength
and lightness. Iknow few things more remarkable
than the strength and lightness of the very pen
with which I am writing. H we cast our eye to
the upper part of the stem, we see a material made
for the purpose, used in no other class of animals,
and in no other part of birds ; tough, light, pliant,
elastic. ‘The pith, also, which feeds the feathers,
is, amongst animal substances, sui generis ; neither
bone, flesh, membrane, nor tendon. .
But the artificial part of the 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 off from one
side or both, when we maké a pen. The separate
pieces or lamine, of which the beard is composed,
are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays.
Now the first thing which an atténtive observer |
will remark is, how muchstronger the beard of the |
feather shows itself to be, whenpressed in a direc- |
“. as : 7’ «7s a, Se — *
tion perpendicular to its plane, than when rubbed,
either up or down, in the- line of the stem; and he
will soon discover the structure which occasions
this difference, viz. that the lamine whereof the
beards are composed, are flat, and placed with their
flat sides towards each other; by which ‘means,
whilst they easily bend for the approaching of each _
other, as any one may perceive by drawing his fin- _

* The quill part of a feather is composed of circular and longi-
tudinal fibres. In making a pen you must scrape off the coat of cir-
cular fibres, or the quill will split in a ragged, jagged manner, —
making what boys call cat’s teeth.

_ been Spee angs in their natural state, unite; that

ion is something more than the mere appo-

was, is perfectly recovered, and the beard of the
feather becomes as smooth and firm as if nothing
_had happened to it. Draw your finger down the

feather, which is against the grain, and you break,
_ probably, the junction of some of the contiguous
threads ; draw your finger up the feather, and you
restore all things to their former state, This is no
common contrivance : and now for the mechanism
. by which itis effected. The threads or lamine
, above mentioned are interlaced with one another :
_ and the interlacing is performed by means of a vast
number of fibres, or teeth, which the lamine shoot
, forth on each side, and which hook and grapple to-
, gether. A friend of mine counted fifty of these
fibres in one twentieth of an inch. These fibres
. are crooked; but curved after a different manner :
- for those which proceed from the thread on the side
towards the extremity of the feather, are longer,
, more flexible, and bent downward; whereas those
which proceed from the side towards the beginning
‘or quill-end of the feather, are shorter, firmer, anc
‘ turn upwards. The process then which takes
place, is as follows: when two lamine are pressed
together, so that these long fibres are forced far

¢

> pe aed 5
134 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

Bae 2
enough over the short ones, theimcrooked:parts fall.
into the cavity made by the crooked parts of the
others; just as the latch that is fastened to a door,
enters into the cavity of the catch fixed to the door-
post, and there hooking itself, fastens the door;
for it is properly in this manner, that one thread
of a feather is fastened tothe other,

This admirable structure of the feather, which it
is easy to see with a microscope, succeeds pér-
fectly for the use to which nature has designed it;
which use was, not only that the lamine might be ~
united, but that when one thread or lamina has_
been separated from another by some externa! yio-
lence, 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 constitution of the feathers,
however it may fit them for the flowimg honours of
a lady’s head-dress, may be reckoned an imperfec-
tion in the bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of
these feathers, although they may greatly assist it
in running, do not serve for flight.

But under the present division of our subject, our
business with feathers is, as they are the covering
ofthe bird. And herein a singular circumstance
occurs. In the small order of birds which winter
with us, from a snipe downwards, let the external
colour of the feathers be what it will, their Creator
has universally given them a bed of black down
next their bodies. Black, we know, is the warm-
est colour: and the purpose here is, to keep in the
heat, arising from the heart and circulation of the
blood. It is farther likewise remarkable, that this
is not found in larger birds ; for which there is also
a reason :—small birds are much more exposed to
the cold than large ones; forasmuch as t °y pre-
sent, in proportion to their bulk, a much larger
surface to the air. If a turkey were divided into a

—

' * The above account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural
History of Animals, by the Reyal Academy of Paris, published
2n 170), p. 219. :

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 135

uumber of wrens, (supposing the shape of the tur-
key 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 expedient by which that exigency
is provided for. :

II. In comparing different animals, I know no
part of their structure which exhibits greater va-
riety, or in that variety, a nicer accommodation to

their respective conveniency, than that which is
seen in the different formations of their mouths.
Whether the purpose be the reception of aliment
merely, or the catching of prey, the picking up of
seeds, the cropping of herbage, the extraction of
juices, the suction of liquids, the breaking and
grinding of food, the taste of that food, together
with the respiration of air, and, in conjunction with
it, the utterance of sound: these various offices are
assigned to this one part, and in different species,
provided for, as they are wanted, by its different
constitution. In the human species, forasmuch as
there are hands to convey the food to the mouth,
the mouth is flat, and by reason of its flatness, fit-
ted only for reception ; whereas the projecting jaws,
the wide rietus, the pointed teeth of the dog and
‘his affinities, enable them to apply their mouths to
snatch and seize the objects of their pursuit. The
full lips, the rough tongue, the corrugated cartilagi -
nous palate, the broad cutting teeth of the ox, the
deer, the horse, and the sheep, qualify this tribe
for brousing upon their pasture; either gathering
large mouthfuls at once, where the grass is long,
which is the case with the ox in particular; or
biting close, where it is short, which the horse and
the sheep are able to do, in a degree that one could
hardly expect. The retired under-jaw of a swine
works in the ground, after the protruding snout, like
a prong or a plough-share, has made its way to the
roots upon which it feeds. A conformation se
happy, was not the gift of chance. |
In birds, this organ assumes a new character ;

136 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

new both in substance and in form: but in both,
wonderfully adapted to the wants and uses of a
distinct mode .of existence. We have no longer
the fleshy lips, the teeth of enamelled bone; but
we have, in the place of these two parts, and to per-
form the office of both, a hard substance (of the
same nature with that which composes the nails,
claws, and hoofs, of quadrupeds,) eut out into pro-
per shapes, and mechanically suited to the actions”
which are wanted. The sharp edge and tempered
point of the sparrow’s bill picks almost every kind
of seed from its concealment in the plant; and not
only so, but hulls the grain, breaks and shatters
the coats of the seed, in order to get at the kernel.
The hooked beak of the hawk tribe separates the
flesh from the bones of the animals which it feeds
upon, almost with the cleanness and precision of a
dissector’s knife. The butcher-bird transfixes its
prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks its ~
bones. In some birds of this class, we have the
cross-bill, 7. e. both the upper and lower bill hook-
ed, and theirtips crossing. The spoon-bill enables
the goose to graze, to collect its food from the bot-
tom of pools, or to seek it amidst the soft or liquid
substances with which it is mixed. The dong ta-
pering bill of the snipe and woodcock, penetrates
still deeper into moist earth, which is the bed n>
which the food of that species is lodged. This is
exactly the instrument which the animal wanted.
Tt did not want strength in its bill, which was in-
consistent with the slender form of the animal’s
neck, as well as unnecessary for the kind of ali-
ment upon which it subsists; but it wanted length —
to reach its object. ; |
But the species of bill which belongs tothebirds _
that live by suction, deserves to be described inits”
relation to that office. They are what naturalists —
call serrated or dentated bills; the mside of them
towards the edge, being thickly set with parallel or
concentric rows of short, strong, sharp-pointed
prickles. These, though they should be called
teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like
the teeth of quadrupeds; nor yet, as in fish, for
the seizing and retaining of their prey; but for a
quite different use. They forma filter. The duck

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 137)
by means of them discusses the mud; examining

with great accuracy the puddle, the brake, every
mixture which is likely to contain her food. The
‘operation is thus carried on :—The liquid or semi-
liquid substances, in which the animal has plunged
her bill, she draws, by the action of her lungs,
through the narrow interstices which lhe between
these teeth; catching, as the stream passes across
her beak, whatever it may happen to bring alon

with it, that proves agreeable to her choice, an

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, instrument of selection, could
have been given to it, than this natural filter? It
has been 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 witha
skin—and that the nerves run down to the very
extremity. In the curlew, woodcock, and snipe,
there are three pairs of nerves, equal almost to
the optic nerve in thickness, which pass first
along the roof of the mouth, and then along the
upper chap down to the point of the bill, long as
the bill is. :

But to return to the train of our observations.—
The similitude between the bills of birds and the
mouths of quadrupeds, is exactly such, as, for the
sake of the argument, might be wished for. It is
near enough to show the continuation of the same
plan ; it is remote enough to exclude the supposi-
tion of the difference being produced by action or
use. A more prominent contour, or a wider gap,
might be resolved into the effect of continued ef-
forts, on the part of the species, to thrust out the
mouth, or open it to the stretch. But by what
course of action, or exercise, or endeavour, shal]
we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth; and ac-
quire, in the place of them, pincers of horn? By
what habit shall we so completely change, not only

.
|
:
|

138 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

the shape of the part, but the substance of which it

is composed? The truth is, if we had seen no other
than the mouths of quadrupeds, we should have

thought no other could have been formed : little

could we have supposed, that all the purposes of a
mouth, furnished with lips, and armed with teeth,
could be answered by an instrument which had none
of these ; could be supplied, and that with many ad-
ditional advantages, by the hardness, and sharp-
ness, and figure, of the bills of birds. Every thin

about the animal mouth is mechanical. The teet

of fish have their points turned backward, like the
teeth of a wool or cotton card. The teeth of lob-
sters work one against another, like the sides of a

pair of shears. In many insects, the mouth iscon- |}

verted into a pump or sucker, fitted at the end

sometimes with a wimble, sometimes with a for-

ceps; by which double provision, viz. of the tube

and the penetrating form of the point, the insect”

first bores through the integuments of its prey, and
then extracts the juices. And, what is most extra-

ordinary of all, one sort of mouth, as the occasion -

requires, shall be changed into another sort. The
caterpillar could not live without teeth ; in several
species, the butterfly formed from it could not use
them. The old teeth therefore are cast off with
the exuvie of the grub; a new and totally different
apparatus assumes their place in the fly. Amid
these novelties of form, we sometimes forget that

it is, all the while, the animal’s mouth ; that, whe-—

ther it be lips, 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 acquainted, and

which are very great, the organs of tasteandsmell- —

ing are situated near each other. :

If. To the mouth adjoins the gullet: in this part -

also, comparative anatomy discovers a difference of
structure, adapted to the different necessities of the
animal. In brutes, because the posture of their
neck conduces little to the passage of the aliment,
the fibres of the gullet, which act in this business,

run in two close spiral lines, crossing each other :
in men, these fibres run only a little obliquely from —

the upper end of the esophagus to the stomach,

~

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 139

tuto 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. wp instead of dewn, and also
througha longer passage, a proportionably more
powerful apparatus of muscles is provided; more
powerful, not merely by the strength of the fibres,
which might be attributed to Lhe acrcmercaee
of their force, but in their collocation, which is a
ee circumstance, and must have been ori-
inal, Oe
IV.«The gullet leads to the intestines : here, like-
wise, as before, comparing quadrupeds with man,
under a general similitude we meet with appropri-
ate differences. The valvalew conniventes, or, as
they are by some called, the semilunar valves,
found in the human intestine, are wanting in that
of brutes. These are wrinkles or plates of the in-
nermost coat of the guts, the effect of which is to
retard the progress of the food through the alimen-
tary canal. It is easy to understand how much
more necessary such a provision may be to the
body ofan 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 impossi-
ble to assign any cause, except the final cause, for
this- distinction actually taking place. So far as
depends upon the action of the part, this structure
Was more to be expected in a quadruped than in a
man. In truth, it must in both have been formed,
not by action, but in direct opposition to action and
to pressure; but the opposition which would arise
from pressure, is greater in the upright trunk than
in any other. That theory therefore is pointedly
contradicted by the example before us. The struc-
ture is found where its generation, according to
the method by which the theorist would have it ge-
nerated, is the most difficult; but (observe) it is
found where its effect is most useful.

The different length of the intestines in carnivo-
rous and herbivorous animals, has been noticed on
a former occasion. The shortest, I believe, is that
of some birds of prey, in which the intestinal canal

4 ne te ve
! ? Pil mn ‘~ ii
ae A a » oF

Pe

unravelled, measured thirty. times the length of the
ac

dier route. ~
V. In comparing the bones of different animals,
we are struck, in the bones of birds, with a propri- ~
ety, which could only proceed from the wisdom of —
an intelligent and designing Creator. Inthe bones —
of an animal which is to fly, the two qualities re-
quired are strength and lightness. Wherein,there- |
fore, do the bones of birds (I speak of the cylindri- ©
cal bones) differ, in these respects, from the bones ||
of quadrupeds? In three properties: first, their |
cavities are much larger in proportion to the weight ||}
of the bone, than in ie 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 mathemutician can ©
prove, is increased, ceteris paribus, the strength of |
the cylinder, or its resistance to breaking. Ina |
word, a bone of the same weight would not have
been so strong in any other form; and to have made
it heavier, would have ineommoded the animal’s
flight. Yet this form could not be acquired by use,
or, the bone become bollow and tubular by exer-
cise. What appetency could excavate a bone? |
VI. The lungs also of birds, as compared with

2

* Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 107.

Rs :
ie ae “

‘COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 141°

the Jungs. of quadrupeds, contain in them a provi-
sion, distinguishi gly calculated for this same pur-
| “pose. of levitation; namely, a communication (not
| found in other kinds of animals) between the air-
| vessels of the lungs and the cavities of the body :
| So that by-the intromission of air from one to the
| other, (at the will, as it should seem, of the animal, )
| its body can be occasionally pufied out, and its ten-
| ‘dency 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.
| VII. All birds are oviparous. This likewise car-
| ries on the work of gestation with as little increase
“as possible of the weight of the body. A gravid
| uterus would have been a troublesome burden to a
bird in its flight. The advantage, in this respect,
of an oviparous procreation is, that, whilst the
| whole brood are hatched together, the eggs are €X-
| ‘cluded singly, and at considerable intervals. Ten,
‘fifteen, or twenty young birds may be produced in
e ‘cletch or covey, yet the parent bird have never

een encumbered by the loa of more than one full-
rown °es at one time.

VIII. A principal topic of comparison between
‘animals, is.in their instruments of motion. These
| come before us under: three divisions ; feet, wings,

‘and fins. I desire any man to say, which of the
‘three is best fitted for its use; or whether the same
| ‘consummate art be not conspicuous in them all.—
sebe icons tation of the elements, i in which the mo-

on is to. be performed, is very different. . The ani-
~action must necessarily follow that constitu-
tion. “The Creator therefore, if we might so speak,
1ad to prepare for different situations, for different
difficulties: yet the purpose is accomplished not
less successfully in one case than in the other.—
And, as between wings and the corresponding limbs
of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without desert-
ing the general idea. The idea is modified, not de-
serted. Strip a wing of its feathers, and it bears
no obscure resemblance to the fore-leg of a quad-
| ruped. The articulations at the shoulder and the
cubitus are much alike; and, what is a closer cir-

Ot MEE de Ps

142 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

cumstance, in both cases the upper part of the limb
consists of a single bone, the lower part of twos _
But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and °
quills, it bécomes a wonderful instrument, more ar-
tificial than its first appearance indicates, though
that be very striking : at least, thé use, which the
bird makes of its wings in flying, is more compli-
cated, and more curious, thanis generally known.
One thing is certain, that if the’ flapping of the
wings in flight were no more than the reciprocal
motion of the same surface in opposite directions,
either upwards and downwards, or estimated im
any oblique line, the bird would lose as much by
one motion, as she gained by another.. The ie | 1!

‘

lark could never ascend by such an action as this
for, though the stroke upon the air by the under |
side of her wing would carry her up, the stroke

from the upperside, when she raised her wing -
again, would bring her down. In order therefore)
to account for the advantage which the bird derives”
from her wing, it is necessary to suppose, that the
surface of the wing, measured upon the same plane,
is contracted, whilst the wing is drawnup; and let
out to its full expansion, when itdescends uponthe |
air for the purpose of moving the body bythe reac= ||
tion of that element. Now, the form and structure”
of the wing, its external convexity, the disposition, |
and particularly the overlapping, of its larger fea<
thers, 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 in-
stance, or semirotatory motion, is given to the great
feathers of the wing, that they strike the air with
their flat side, but rise from the stroke slantwise.
The turning of the oar in rowing, whilst the rower

advances his hand for a new stroke, is a similar.
eperation to that of the feather, and takes its name
from the resemblance. I believe that this faculty
is not found in the great feathers of the tail. This
is the place also for observing, that the pinions are”
so set upon the body, as to Fate down the wings,
not vertically, but in a direction obliquely tending
towards thetail; which motion, by virtue of the”
common resolution of forces, does two things at
the same time; supports the body in the air, and

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. | 143

éarries it forward. The steerage of a bird» in its
flicht is effected partly by the wings, but ina prin-
cipal degree by the tail. And herein we meet with
a circumstance nota little remarkable. Birds with
long legs have short tails; and, in their flight, —
place their legs close to their bodies, at the same
time stretching them out backwards, as far as they
can. In this position, the legs extend beyond the
rump, and become the rudder; supplying that
steerage which the tail could not. idea,
From the wings of birds; the transition is easy
to the fms of fish. They are both, to their respec-
tive tribes, the instruments of their motion ; but,in
the work which they have to do, there is a consider- .
able difference, founded in this circumstance. Fish,
unlike birds, have very nearly the same specific
gravity with the element in which they move. In
the case of fish, therefore, there is little or no
weight to bear up; what is wanted, is only an im-
pulse sufficient to carry the body through a resist-
ing medium, or to maintain the posture, or to sup-
port or restore the balance of the body, which is
always the most unsteady where there is no weight
to sink it. For these offices, the fins are as large
as necessary, though much smaller than wings,
their action mechanical, their position, and the
muscles by which they are moved, in the highest
degree convenient. The following short account
of some experiments upon fish, made for the purpose
of ascertaining the use of their fins, will be the best
confirmation of what we assert. In most fish, be-
side the great fin the tail, we 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 balancing use of these organs is
roved in this manner. Of the large-headed fish,
if you cut off the pectoral fins, 7.e. the pair which
lies close behind the gills, the head falls prone to
the bottom : if the right pectoral fin only be cut off,
the fish leans to that side; if the ventral fin on the
same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium
entirely ; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off,
the fish reels to the right and left. When the fish
dies, that is, when the fins cease to play, the belly
turns upwards. The use of the same parts for mu-

144 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

éion 1s seen in the following observation upon them |
when put in action. The pectoral, and more par-
ticularly the ventral fins, serve to raise and depress
the fish: when the fish desires to have a retrograde
motion, a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effec-
tually produces it; if the fish desire to turn either
‘way, a singe 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 progres-
sive, and enables the fish to dart forwards with an
astonishing velocity.* The result is, not only, in
some cases, the most. rapid, but, in all cases, the
most gentle, pliant, easy, animal motion, with
which we are acquainted... However, when the tail
as cut off, the fish loses all motion, and gives itself
up to where the water impels it. The rest of the
fins, therefore, so far.as respects motion, seem to
be merely subsidiary to this. In their mechanical
use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel; the
ventral fins, out-riggers ; the pectoral muscles, the
oars: and if there be any similitude between these
parts of a boat and a fish, observe, that it is not the
resemblance of imitation, but the likeness which
arises from applying similar mechanical means to .
the same purpose. | :
We have seen that the fai/ in the fish is the great
instrument of motion. _Now,in cetaceous or warm
blooded fish, which are obliged to rise every two or
three minutes to the surface to take breath, the
tail, unlike what it is in other fish, is horizontal ;
its stroke, consequently, perpendicular to the hori-
zon, which is the right direction for sending the
fish to the top, or carrying it down to the bottom.
Regarding animals in their instruments of mo-
tion, 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 amongst birds, the web-foot of water-
fowl. It is an instance which may be pointed out
toachild, The utility of the web to water-fowl,
the inutility to land-fowl, are so_ obvious, that it
seems impossible to notice the difference without

* Goldsmith, Hist. of An. Nat. vol. Vie Pe 154,

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 145.

acknowledging the design. I am at a Joss to know,
how those who deny the agency of an intelligent
Creator, dispose of this example. There is nothing
in the action of swimming, as carried on by a bird
upon the surface of the water, that should generate |
a membrane between thetoes. As tothat membrane,
it is an exercise of constant resistance. The fonly
supposition I can think of is, that all birds have
been originally water-fowl, and web-footed; that
sparrows, hawks, linnets, &c. which frequent the
land, have in process of time, and in the course of
many generations, had this part worn away by
treading upon hard ground. ‘To such evasive as-
sumptions must atheism always have recourse!
and, after all, it confesses that the structure of the
feet of birds, in their original form, was critically
adapted to their original destination! The web feet —
of amphibious quadrupeds, seals, otters, &c. fal!
under the same observation.

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

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 concavi-
ty, gpiiins forwards, to seize the sounds which
are before them, viz. the sounds of the animals
which they pursue or watch. The ears of animals
of flight are turned backward, to give notice of the
approach of their enemy from behind, whence he
may steal upon them unseen. This is a critical
distinction ; and is mechanical : but it may be sug-
gested, and, I think, not without probability, that
it is the effect of continual habit.

_ The eyes of animals which follow their prey by
night, as cats, owls, é&c. possess a faculty not
given to those of other species, namely, of closing
the pupil entirely. The final cause of which seems
to be this :—It was ay for such’ animals

146 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

to be able to descry objects with very smal!
degrees of light. This capacity depended upon
the superior sensibility of the retima ; that is, upon
its being affected by the most feeble impulses. But
that tenderness of structure, which rendered the
membrane thus exquisitely sensible, rendered it
also liable to be offended by the access of stronger
degrees of light. The contractile range therefore
of the pupil is increased in these animals, so as to
enable them to close the aperture entirely: which
includes the power of diminishing it in every de-
gree ; whereby at all times such portions, and only ~
such portions, of light are admitted, as, may be re-
ceived without injury to the sense. as a

There appears to be also in the figure, and in
some properties of the pupil of the eye, an appro-
priate relation to the wants of different animals.
in horses, oxen, goats, sheep, the pupil of the eye
is elliptical; the transverse axis being horizontal ;
by which structure, although the eye be placed on
the side of the head, the anterior elongation of
the pupil catches the forward rays, or those which
come from objects immediately in front of the ani-
mal’s face,

ae

CHAP. Xlil.

Peculiar Organizations.

_ [ BELIEVE that all the instances which I shall
collect under this title, might, consistently enough
with technical language, have been placed under
the head of Comparative Anatomy. But there ap-
pears to me an impropriety in the use which that
term hath obtained : it being, in some sort, absurd
to call that a ease of comparative anatomy, in
which there is nothing to “(compare ;” in which a
conformation is found in one animal, which hath
nothing properly answering to it in another. Of
this kind are the examples which I have to propose "
in the present chapter; and the reader will see
that, though some of them be the strongest, per-
haps, he will meet with under any division of our
subject, they must necessarily be of an unconnect-

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. = 147

ed and miscellaneous nature. To dispose them,
however, into seme sort of order, we will notice,
first, particularities of structure which belong to

adrupeds, birds, and fish, as such, or to many of
the kinds included in these classes of animals; and
then, such particularities as are confined to one or
two species.

I. Along each side of the neck of large quadru-
peds, runs a stiff, robust cartilage, which butchers
call the pax-wax. No person can carve the upper
end of acrop of beef without driving his knife
against it. It is a tough,-strong, tendinous sub-
stance, braced from the head to the middle of the
back : its office is to assist in supporting the weight
ofthe head. Itisa mcohanical 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 ora horse is @
heavy weight, acting at the end of a long lever,
| {consequently with a great purchase,) and in a di-
rection nearly perpendicular to the joints of the
supporting neck. From sucha force, so advan-
tageously applied, the bones of the neck would be
in constant danger of dislocation, if they were not
fortified by this strong tape.. No such organ is
found in the human subject, because, from the
erect position of the head, (the pressure of it act-
ing nearly in the direction of the spine,) the junc-
tion of the vertebr appears to be sufficiently se-
cure without it. This cautionary expedient, there-
fore, is limited to quadrupeds : the care of the Crea-
tor is seen where it is wanted.

HI. The oil with which birds prune their feathers,
and the organ which supplies it, is a specific provi~
sion for the winged creation. On each side of the
rump of birds is observed a small nipple, yielding
upon pressure a butter-like substance, which the
bird extracts by pinching the pap with its bill.
With this oil, or omtment, thus procured, the bird
dresses its coat; and repeats the action as often as
its own sensations teach it that it is in any part
wanted, or as the excretion may be sufficient for
the expense. The gland, the pap, the nature and
quality of the excreted substance, the manner of
obtaining it from its lodgment in the body, the ap

i48 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

plication of it when obtained, form, collectively,
an evidence of intention which it is not easy to
withstand. Nothing similar to it is feund in un-
feathered animals. What blind conatus of nature
should produce it in birds; should not produce it
an beasts ? ae
Ii}. The air-bladder also of a_fish affords a plain
and direct instance, not only of contrivance, but
strictly of that species of contrivance which we de-
nominate mechanica]. It is a philosophical appa-
ratus in the body of an animal. The principle of
the contrivance is clear: the application of the
principle is also clear. The use of the organ to
sustam, and, at will, also to elevate, the body of
the fish in the water, is proved by observing, what
has been tried, that, when the bladder is burst, the
fish grovels at the bottom ; and also, that flounders,
soles, skates, which are without the air-bladder,
seldom rise in the water, and that with effort. The
manner in which the purpose is attained, and the
suitableness of the means to the end, are not difii-
cult to be apprehended. ‘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 blad-
der, contained in the body of the fish is contracted,
which the fish probably possesses a muscular pow-
er of doing, the bulk of the fish is contracted along
with it; whereby, since the absolute weight re-
mains the same, the specific gravity, which is the
sinking force, is increased, and the fish descends :
on the contrary, when, in consequence of the re-
iaxation of the muscles, the elasticity of the enclos-
ed 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 pro-
erties of bodies immersed in a fluid. The enamel-
ed figures, er little glass bubbles, in a jar of wa-
ter, are made to rise and fall by the same artifice.
A diving-machine might be made to ascend and
descend, upon the like principle; namely, by in-
troducing into the inside of it an air-vessel, which,
by its contraction, would diminish, and by its dis-
tension enlarge, the bulk of the machine itself, and

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 149

thus rendering it specifically heavier, or specifically
lighter, than the water which surrounds iit. Sup-
pose this to be done, and the artist to solicit a pa-
tent for his invention. The inspectors of the mo-

del, whatever they might think of the use or value

of the contrivance, could, by no possibility, enter-
tain a question in their minds, whether it were a

contrivance or not. No reason has ever been as-

signed—no reason can be assigned, why the con-
clusion is not as certain in the fish, as it is in the
machine ; why the argument is not as firm in one
case as the other. | ;

It would be very worthy of inquiry, if it were
possible to discover, by what method an animal
which lives constantly in water, is able to supply a
repository of air. The expedient, whatever it be,
forms part, and perhaps the most curious part, of
the provision. Nothing similar to the air-bladder
is found in Jand-animals ; and a life in the water
has no natural tendency to produce a bag of air.
Nothing can be farther from an acquired organiza-
tion than this is.

These examples mark the attention of the Crea-
tor to the three great kingdoms of his animal crea-
tion, and to their constitution as such.—The ex-
ample which stands next in point of generality, be-
longing to a large tribe of animals, or rather to va-
rious species of that tribe, is the poisonous tooth
of serpents.

1. The fang of a viper is a clear and curious ex-
ample of mechanical contrivance. It is a perfora-
ted 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 apluck, as it
were, of a string, suddenly erects it. Under the
tooth, close to its root, and communicating with
the perforation, lies a small bag containing the ve-
nom. 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 unequivo-
cal 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

150 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

mouth, it is so constituted, as, im its offensive and
quiescent state, not to interfere with the animal’s
ordinary office of receiving its food. It has been
observed also, that none of the harmless serpents,
the black snake, the blind worm, &c. have these
fangs, but teeth of an equal size; not moveable, as
this is, but fixed into the jaw.

If. In being the property of several different spe-
cies, the preceding example is resembled by that
which I shall next mention, which is the bag of the
opossum. This is a mechanical contrivance, most
properly so called. The simplicity of the expe-
dient renders the contrivance more obvious than
many others, and by no means less certain. A

false skin under the belly of the animal, forms a |

pouch, into which the young litter are received at
their birth; where they, have an easy and constant
access to the teats; in which they are transported
by the dam from place to place; where they are at
‘liberty to run in and out; and where they find a
refuge from surprise and danger. It is their cra-
dle, their asylum, and the machine for their con-
veyance. Can the use of this structure be doubted
of? Nor is it a mere doubling of the skin; but it is
a new organ, furnished with bones and muscles of
itsown. Two bonesare 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 scarce-
ly be discerned, except when the sides are forci-
bly drawn asunder.* Is there any action in this
part of the animal, any process arising from 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 claws of certain birds. The middle claw of the
heron and cormorant is toothed and notched like a

* Goldsmith’s Nat, Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.

— = ce ese ot me Ss ee aS SS le.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. = 15) -

saw. These birds are great fishers, and these
notches assist them in holding their slippery prey.
The use is evident; but the structure such as can-
not at all be accounted for by the effort of the ani-
mal, or the exercise of the part. Some other fish-
ing birds have these notches in their bills ; and for
the same purpose. The ganet, or soland goose,
has the side of its bill irregularly jagged, that it
may hold its prey the faster. Nor can the struc-
ture in this, more than in_the former case, arise
from the manner of employing the part. The smooth
surfaces, and soft flesh of fish, were less likely to
notch the bills of birds, than the hard bodies upon
which many other species feed.

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

I. The stomach of the camel is well known to re-
tain large quantities of water, and to retain it un-
changed for a considerable length of time. This
property qualifies it for living in the desert. Let
us see, therefore, what is the internal organization
upon which a faculty so rare, and so beneficial, de-
pends. A number of distinct sacks or bags (in a
dromedary thirty of these have been counted) are
cbserved to lie between the membranes of the
second stomach, and to open into the stomach near
the top by small square apertures. Through these
orifices, after the stomach is full, the annexed bags
are filled from it: and the 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 conforma-
tion 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.
» Il. The tongue of the woodpecker is one of those
singularities which nature presents us with, when
a singular purpose is to be answered. It is a par-
ticular instrument for a particular use: and what,

i532 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

except design, ever produces sueh? The wood-
pecker lives chiefly upon insects, lodged in the
bodies of decayed or decaying trees. For the pur-
pose 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 differing greatly from every —
other species of pe ; in the second place, it is tip-

ped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn; and, in the
third place (which appears to me the most remark-

able. property of all,) this tip is dentated on both |
sides, like the beard of an arrow or the barb ofa |}
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 he not mechanism, what is? Should _
it be said, that, by continual endeavours to shoot
out the tongue to the stretch, the woodpecker spe- |

cies may by degrees have lengthened the organ it-
self, beyond that of other birds, what account can
be given of its form, or its tip ? how, in particular,
did it get its barb, its dentation?' These barbs, in
my opinion, wherever they occur, are decisive
proofs of mechanical contrivance.

Ill. I shall add one more example, for the sake
of its novelty. Itis always an agreeable discovery,
when, having remarked in an animal an extraordi-
nary structure, we come at length to find out an
unexpected use for it. The following narrative
furnishes an instance of this kind. The babyroues-
sa, or Indian hog, a species of wild boar, found in
the East Indies, has two dent teeth, more than half
a yard long, growing upwards, and (which is the
pe rom the upper jaw. ‘These instru-,
ments are not wanted for offence : that service being
provided for by two tusks issuing from the upper,
jaw, and resembling those of the common boar:
nor does the animal use them for defence. They
might seem therefore to be botha suporgeay and an

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 153

| eumbrance. But observe the event :—the anima}
sleeps standing ; and, in order to support its head,
90ks its upper tusks upon the branches of trees.

CHAP. XIV.

Prospective contrivances.

I can hardly imagine to myself a more distin-
suishing mark, and, consequently, a more certain
roof of design, than preparution, i. e. the providin
of things beforehand, which are not to be used unt!
a considerable time afterward: for this implies e
contemplation of the future, which belongs only to
intelligence. :

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

I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only
of prospective contrivance, but of the completion
of the contrivance being designedly suspended.
They are formed within the gums, and there they
Stop : the fact being, that their 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 sucking, by which it is for some time
to be nourished, will be performed with more ease
both to the nurse and to the infant, whilst the in-
side of the mouth, and edges of the gums, are
smooth and soft, than if set with hard pointed bones.
By the time they are wanted, the teeth are ready.
They have been lodged within the gums for some
months past, but detained, as it were, in their
sockets, so long as their farther protrusion would
interfere with the office to which the mouth is
destined. Nature, namely, that intelligence which
was employed in creation, looked beyond the first
year of the infant’s life; yet, whilst she was pro-
viding for functions which were after that term to
become necessary, was carefil not to incommode
those which preceded them. What renders it more
probable that this is the effect of design, is, that the
teeth are imperfect, whilst all other parts of the
mouth are perfect. The lips are perfect, the tongue
is perfect ; the cheeks, jaws, the palate, the

Hee ae a | :

int’ PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect; the teetiz’
alone are notso. This is the fact with respect to.
the human mouth : the fact also is, that the parts”
above enumerated are called into use from the begin-
ning ; whereas the teeth would be only so many ob-
stacles and annoyances, ifthey were there. Whens
contrary order is necessary, a contrary order pre-
vails. Inthe worm of the beetle, as hatched fronr
the egg, the teeth are the first things which arrive
at periection. 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 thesame reason. The:
horn of a calf or a lamb does not bud, or at least
does not sprout to any considerable length, until
the animal be capable of browsing upon its pasture ;
because such a substance upon the forehead 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 far-
ther. Avsuccession of crops is provided, and pro-
vided from the beginning ; a second tier being
originally formed beneath the first, which do not
come into use till several years afterward. And
this double or suppletory provision meets a difficul-
ty in the mechanism of the mouth, which would
have appeared almost insurmountable. The ex-
pansion of the jaw (the consequence of the pro-
portionable growth of the animal, and of its skull,}
necessarily separates the teeth of the first set, how-
ever compactly disposed, toa distance from one
another, which would be very inconvenient. In
due time, therefore, 7: e. when the jaw has attained
a great part of its dimensions, a new set of teeth
springs up (loosening and pushing out the old ones
before them,) more exactly fitted to the space
which they are to occupy, and rising also in such
close ranks, as to allow for any extension of line
which the subsequent enlargement of the head
may occasion. | : é

If. It is not very easy to conceive a more eVvi-
dently prospective contrivance, than that which,
in all viviparous animals, is found in the milk of

— li ilu

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 155

the female parent. At the moment the young ani-
al enters the world, there is its maintenance —
ready for it. The particulars to be remarked in
this economy, are neither few nor slight. We
have, first, the nutricious quality of the fluid, un-
dike, in this respect, every other excretion of the
_ body ; and in which nature hitherto remains unim-
‘itated, neither cookery nor chymistry 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 al] mdica-
tions of design. The last cireumstance is the
strongest of any. If I had been to guess before-
hand, I should have conjectured, that at the time
when there was an extraordinary demand for nour-
ishment in one part of the system, there would be
the least likelihood of a redundancy to supply
another part. The advanced pregnancy of the fe-—
male has no intelligible tendency to fill the breasts
with milk. The lacteal system is a constant won-
der: and it adds to other causes of our admiration,
that the number of the teats or paps in each spe-
cies 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 us, we are entitled
to consider not only animal bodies when framed,
but the circumstances under which they are fram-
ed: and in this view of the subject, the constitu-
tion of many of their parts is most strictly pros-
pective.

Ill. The eye is of no use, at the time when it is
formed. It is an optical instrument made in a
dungeon ; constructed for the refraction of light to

156 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. _
a focus, and perfect for its purpose, before «
of light has had access to it; geometric

state, the consequence of a great and sudden alte-
ration, 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 formed, 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 consider-
ation of the qualities of that element, hitherto en-
tirely excluded, but with which it was hereafter to
hold so intimate a relation? A young man maks a
pair of spectacles for himself against he grows
old: for which spectacles he has no want or use
whatever at the time he makes them. Could this
be done without knowing and considering the de-
fect of vision to which advanced age is subject ?
Would not the precise suitableness of the instru-
ment 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-
ward to arise, had been considered beforehand,
speculated upon, provided for ? All which are ex-
clusively the acts of a reasoning mind. The eye
formed in one state, for use only in another state,

and in a different state, affords a proof no less clear

of destination toa future purpose, and a proof
proportionably stronger, as the machinery is more

complicated, and the adaptation more exact.

IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally
true of the lungs. Composed of air-vessels, where
‘there is no-air ; elaborately constructed for the al-
ternate admission and expulsion of an elastic fluid,
where no such fluid exists; this great organ, with
the whole apparatus belonging to it, lies collapsed

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 157

n the foetal thorax; yet in order, and in readiness
for action, the first moment that the occasion re-
quires its service. This is having a machine lock-
ed up in store for future use; which incontestably
‘proves, that the case was expected to occur, in |
which this use might be experienced : but expecta-
‘tion is the proper act of intelligence. Considering
the state in which an animal exists before its birth,
I should look for nothing less in its body than a
‘system of lungs. It is like finding a pair of bellows
in the bottom of the sea ; of no sort of use in the
Situation in which they aré found; formed for an
action which was impossible to be exerted ;_hold-
ing no relation or fitness to the element which sur-
rounds them, but both to another element in ano-
ther place. |
As that part and parcel of the same plan ought to
be mentioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provi-
sionary contrivances of the foramen ovale and ductus
arteriosus. In the feetus, pipes are laid for the pas-
sage of the blood through the lungs; but, until the
lungs be inflated by the inspiration of air, that pas-
Sage is impervious, or in a great degree obstructed.
“What then is to be done?) What would an art-
ist, what would a master, do’upon the occasion ?
He would endeavour, most probably, to provide a
temporary passage, which might carry on the com-
munication 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 afterward takes, hefure it
get from one article of the heart to the other; apor-
tion of the blood passes immediately from the right
auricle to the left, through a hole placed inthe par-
tition, which separates these cavities. This hole,
anatomists call the foramen ovale. There is
likewise another cross cut, answering the same
purpose, by what is called the ductus arterio-
sus, lying between the pulmonary artery and the
aorta. But both expedients are so strictly tempo-
rary, that, after birth, the one passage is closed,
and the tube which forms the other shrivelled jup
Into aligament. If this be not contrivance, what 1s ?
But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the
blood in the lungs, appears to be necessary to the

oe |

158 RELATIONS. |

pore concoction of that fluid, 7. e. to the life and |

ealth of the animal, (otherwise the shortest route

might still be the best,) how comes it to pass that.
the foetus lives, and grows, and thrives, without it?»

The answer is, that the blood of the feetus 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 necessity as soon as it oc-
curs, an organization is prepared. It is ready for
its purpose; it only waits for the atmosphere ; it

begins to play, the moment the air is admitted to it.

CHAP. XV.

Relations.

WHEN several different parts contribute to one
effect ; or, which is the same thing, when an ef-
fect is produced by the joint action of different in-
struments ; the fitness of such parts or instruments
to one another, for the purpose of producing, by
their united action, the effect, is what I cal] rela-
tion : and wherever this is observed in the works of
nature or of man, it appears to me to carry along
with it decisive evidence of understanding, inten-
tion, art. In examining, for instance, the several
parts of a watch, 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 observer’s attention, as most plainly evincing a
construction, directed by thought, deliberation, and
contrivance ? It is the suitableness of these parts to
one another ; first, in the succession and order in
which they act; and secondly, with a view to the
effect finally produced. Thus referring the sprin
to the wheels, our observer sees in it, that whic
originates and upholds their motion; in the chain,
that which transmits the motion to the fusee; in

the fusee, that which communicates it to the
wheels : in the conical figure of the fusee, if he re-_

fer to the spring, he sees that which corrects the
inequality of its force. Referring the wheels to

one another, he notices, first, their teeth, which —

RELATIONS. 152

would have beefi without use or meaning, if there
“had been only one wheel, or if the wheels had had
no connexion between themselves, or common bear-
ing upon some joint effect ; secondly, the corres-
~ pondency of their position, so that the teeth of one
wheel catch into he teeth of another ; thirdly, the
proportion observed in the number of teeth of each
wheel, which determines the rate of going. Refer-
ring the balance to the rest of the works, he saw,
when he came to understand its action, that which
rendered their motions equable. Lastly,in looking
upon the index and face of the wach, he saw the
use and conclusion of the mechanism, viz. marking
the succession of minutes and hours; but all de-
pending upon the motions within, all upon the sys-
tem of intermediate actions between the spring and
the pointer. What thus struck his attention in the
several parts of the watch, he might probably de-
signate by one general name of “relation ;” and
observing with respect to all cases whatever, in
which the origm and formation of a thing could be
ascertained by evidence, that these relations were
found in thmgs produced by art and design, and in
‘no other things, he would rightly deem of them as
characteristic of such productions.—to apply the
reasoning here described to the works of nature.

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

J. There ‘are, first, what, in one form or other.
belong to all animals, the parts and powers which
successively act upon their food. Compare this ac-. -
tion with the process of a manufactory. In men
and quadrupeds, the aliment is, first, broken and
bruised by mechanical instruments of mastication,
viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing against
or rubbing upon one another: thus ground and —~
comminuted, it is carried by a pipe into the sto-
mach, where it waits to undergo a great chymical
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 ingre-
dients, poured through a hole in the side of the yes-
sel, it is farther dissolyed: in this state, the milk,
chyle, or part which is wanted, and which is suited

the a le EE on

160 RELATIONS.
for anima] nourishment, is strained off by the’
mouths of very small tubes, opening into the cavity
of the intestines : thus freed from its gros Darts,
the percolated fluid is carried by a long, winding,
but traceable course, into the main stream of the
old circulation; which conveys it, in its progress,
to every part of the body. Now I say again, com-
pare 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 cases, as to the
poit of contrivance. That which is at present un-
der our consideration, the “ relation” of the parts —
successively employed, is not more clear in the
fast case than in the first. The aptness ofthejaws
and teeth to prepare the food for thestomach,is,at
least, as manifest as that of the cider-millto crush _
the apples for the press. The concoction of the
food in the stomach is as necessary for its future
use, as the fermentation of the stum in the vat is to
the perfection of the liquor. The disposal of the
aliment afterward ; the action aad change which it
undergoes ; the route which it is made to take, in
order that, and until that, it arrive at its destination ,is
more complex indeed and iutricate, butin the midst , |
of complication and intricacy, as evident and cer-
tain, as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes, tunnels,
for transferring the cider from one vessel to an-
other; of barrels and bottles for preserving it till
fit for use; or of cups and glasses for Dennings 35
when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. The
character of the machinery is in both cases this ;
that one part answers to another part, and every-
part to the final result.

This parallel between the alimentary operation
and some of the processes of art, might be carried
farther into detail. Spallanzani has remarked* a
circumstantial resemblance between the stomachs
of gallinaceous fowls and the structure of corn-mills.

Sel!
.
|
3

* Dis. I. sect. lir.

RELATIONS. | 161

| Whilst the two sides of the gizzard perform the of-
| fice of the mill-stones, the craw or crop supplies
the place of the hopper. halt
| When our fowls are abundantly supplied with
| meat, they soon fill their craw ; but it foes not im-
|» mediately pass thence into the gizzard; it always
| enters in very small quantities, in proportion. to the
‘progress of trituration ; in like manner as, ina mill,
a receiver is fixed above the two large stones which
serve for prone the corn: which receiver, -al-
though the corn be put into it by bushels, allows
the grain to dribble only in emall quantities, into the
central hole in the upper millstone.

But we have not done with the alimentary histo-
ry. There subsists a general relation between the
externa] organs of an animal by which it procures
its food, and the internal powers by which it digests
it. Birds of prey, by their talons and beaks, are
‘qualified to seize and devour many species, both of
— 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 fit-

| ted 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,
whilst whole and entire. In performing the expe-
riment of digestion with the gastric juice in ves-
sels, the grain must be crushed and bruised, before
it be submitted to the menstruum, that is to say,
must undergo by art without the body, the prepa-
ratory 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
offices assigned to the digestive organ, between the
mechanical operation and the chymical process.
IY, The relation of the kidneys to the bladder.

162 RELATIONS.

and of the ureters to both, 7. e. of the secreting ore) |
gan to the vessel receiving the secreted liquor,and _
the pipe laid from one to the other for the purpose _
of conveying it from one to the other, is as manifest
as it is amongst the different vessels employed ina |
distillery, or in the communications between them, « _
‘he animal structure, in this ease, being simple,
and the parts easily separated, it forms an instance
of correlation which may be presented by dissee-
tion te every eye, or which, indeed, withOut dis-
section, is capable of being apprehended by every
understanding. This correlation of instruments te
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 re-
tention of the fluid, there ought to have been a blad-
der for each ureter. One receptacle, fed by two
pipes, issuing from different sides of the body, yet
from both conveying the same fluid, is not to pege-
counted for by any such supposition as this. «7
III. Relation of parts to one another aecompa-
nies us throughout the whole animal economy.—
Can any relation be more simple, yet more con-_
vincing, than this, that the eyes are soplacedas
to look in the direction in which the legsmove and
the hands work? It might have happened very
differently, if it had been left to chance. There
were, at least, three quarters of the compass out of
four to have erred in. Any considerable alteration |
in the position of the eye, or the figure of the joints, |
would have disturbed the line, and destroyed the
alliance between the sense and the limbs.
IV. But relation perhaps is never so striking as |
when it subsists, not between different parts of the
same thing, but between different things. The re-
lation between a lock and a key is more obvious,
than it is between different parts of the-lock. A
bow was designed for an arrow, and an arrow for
a bow: and the design is more evident for their be-
ing separate implements.
Nor do the works of the Deity want this clearest
species of relation. ‘The sexes are manifestly made
for each other. ‘They form the grand relation of
animated nature; universal, organic, mechanical ‘ |

76 i ; aes :

. RELATIONS. — : 163
subsisting like the clearest relations of ert, in dif-
ferent individuals ; unequivocal, inexplicable with-

out design. — a :

So much so, that, were every other proof of con-

trivance im nature dubious or obscure, this alone ©

would be sufficient. The example is complete—
Nothing is wanting to the argument. I see no way
whatever of getting over it. Swttont '

V. The teats of animals which give suck, bear a
relation to the mouth of thé suckling progeny ; par-
ticularly to the lips andtongue. Here also, as be-
fore, 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 im
large classes and descriptions of animals. Particu-
far relations, or the relations which subsist between
the particular configuration of one or more parts of
certain species of animals, and the particular con-
figuration of one or more other parts of the same
animal, (which is the sort of relation that is, per-
haps, most striking,) are such as the following :—

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

—<. -) a e |}. oe

a i aan ee Ee) i ee

ee eS FS ae Se

‘aewe
164 RELATIONS. |
with a membranous stomach and a gas ric juice, 4

capable of dissolving animal substances alone; the
other with acrop and gizzard, calculated for the

moistening, bruising, and afterward digesting, of
vegetable aliment. Be ah eee
rset off with any other distinctive part in the

body of the swan; for instance, with a long neck.

The long neck, without the web-foot, would have

been an incumbrance to the bird; yet there is no
necessary connexion between a long neck anda

web-foot. In fact, they do not tisitelis go together.

How happens it, therefore, that they meet, only

when a particular design demands the aid of both.

II. This natural relation, arising from a sub-

serviency to a common purpose, is very observable

alsoin the parts of a mole. The strong short legs

of that animal, the palmated feet omuad with sharp

nails, the pig-like nose, the teeth, the velvet coat,

the small external ear, the sagacious smell, the
sunk, protected eye, all conduce to the utilities or
to the safety of its underground life. It is a spe-

cial purpose, especially consulted throughout. The
form of the feet fixes the character of the animal.

They are so many shovels; they determine its
action to that of rooting in the ground; and every
thing about its body agrees with this destination.

The cylindrica! figure of the mole, as well as the

compactness of its form, arising from the,terseness

of its limbs, proportionably lessens its labour ; be-
cause, 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 asa swine, and the same office
for them. The nose is sharp, slender, tendinous,

strong; with a pair of nerves going down to the
end of it. The plush covermg, which, by the

smoothness, closeness, and polish, of the short
piles that compose it, rejects the adhesion of almost
every species of earth, defends the animal from
cold and wet, and from the impediment which it
would experience by the mould sticking to its
body. From soils of all kinds the little pioneer

comes forth bright and clean. Inhabiting dirt, it

is, of all animals, the neatest. - + late

But what I have always most admired in the mole

—s ite sel -B

RELATIONS. 165
ig 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 approach-
- @s it, a perception of light was necessary. I do
not know that the clearness of sight depends at all
upon the size of the organ. What is gained by.
_the largeness or prominence of the globe of the eye,
is width in the field of vision. Such a capacity
would be of no use to an animal which was to seek
its food in the dark. The mole did not want to
look about it; nor would a large advanced eye have
been easily defended from .the annoyance to which
the life of the animal must constantly expose It.
How indeed was the mole, working its way under
ground, to guard its eyes at all? In order to meet
this difficulty, the eyes are made scarcely larger
‘than the head of a corking pin; and these minute
_ globules are sunk so fladiply 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 protruding substance which mightpush
against them. This aperture, even in its ordinary
state, is like a pin-hole in a piece of velvet, scarce-
ly pervious to loose particles of earth.

Shere then, in this structure, that which we
eall relation. There is no natural connexion be-
tween 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 there-
fore which brought them together inthe mole? That
which brought together the barrel, the chain, and
the fusee,in a watch ; design: and design, in both
cases, inferred, from the relation which the parts
bear to one another in the prosecution of acommon
purpose. As hath already been observed, there are
different ways of stating the relation, according as
we set out froma different part. In the instance
before us, we may either consider the shape of the
feet, as qualifying the animal for that mode of life
and inhabitation-to which the structure of its eyes
confines it; or we may cousider the structure of

166 COMPENSATION. |
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 nacaienty
adapted to an underground life; and this is what I.
call relation. rue a

CHAP. XVI.
Compensation.

COMPENSATION is a species of relation. It is
relation when the defects of one part, or of one or-
gan, are supplied by the structure of another part
or of another organ. Thus, de

I. The short unbending neck of the elephant, is
compensated by the length and flexibility of his
proboscis. He could not have reached the ground
without it; or,if it be supposed that he might have
fed upon the fruit, leaves or branches of trees, how
was he to drink? Should it be asked, Why is the
elephant’s neck so short 7? it may be answered, that
the weight of a head so heavy could not have been
supported at the end of a longer lever. Toa form,
therefore, in some respects necessary, but in some
respects also inadequate to the occasion of the ani-
mal, a supplement is added, which exactly makes
up the deficiency under which he laboured.

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

Our business at present is simply to point out
the relation which this organ bears to the peculiar —
figure of the animal to which it belongs. And herein ~

all things correspond. The necessity of the ele~

COMPENSATION. — Ione”

‘phant’s proboscis arises from the shortness of his
neck; the shortness of the neck is rendered neces-
sary by the weight of the head. Were we to enter
into an examination of the structure and anatomy
of the proboscis itself, we should see in it one of
the most curious ofall examples of animal mechan-
ism. The disposition of the ringlets and fibres, |
for the purpose, first, of forming a long cartilagi-
nous pipe: secondly, ofcontracting and lengthen-
ing that pipe: thirdly, of turning it in every di-
rection at the will of the animal: with the superad-
dition at the end, of a fleshy production, of about
the length and thickness of a finger, and perform-
ing the office of a finger, so as to pick up a straw
from the ground: these properties of the same or-
gan, taken together, exhibit a specimen, not only
of design (which is attested by the advantage) but
of consummate art, and, as I may say, of elaborate
preparation, in accomplishing that design.

IJ. The hook in the wing of a bat is strictly a
mechanical, and also, a compensating contrivance.
At the angle of its wing there is a bent claw, exact-
ly in the form of a hook, by which the bat attaches
itself to thé’sides of rocks, caves, and buildings,
laying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks, and rough-
nesses. It hooks itaelf by this‘claw ; remains sus-
pended by this hold; takes its flight from this po-
sition: which operations compensate for the de-
crepitude 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 de-
viated from the analogy observed in winged ani-
mals.—A singular defect required a singular sub-
stitute.

Ill. The crane kind are to live and seek their
food amongst the waters ; yet, having no web-feet,
are incapable of swimming. To make up for this
deficiency, they are furnished with long legs for
wading, or long bills for groping ; or usually with
both. This is compensation. But I think the true
reflection upon the present instance is, how every
part of nature is tenanted by appropriate inhabit-

168 COMPENSATION. _

ants. Not only is the surface of deep waters peopled:

by numerous tribes of birds that swim, but marshes

and shallow pools are furnished with: hardly less |

numerous tribes of birds that wade. .

IV. The common parrot has, in the structure of
its beak, both an inconveniency, and a compensation
for it. When I speak of an inconveniency, I have
a view to adilemma which frequently occurs in the
works of nature, viz. that the peculiarity of struc-

ture by which an organ is made to answer one

purpose, necessarily unfits it for some other pur-
pose. This is the case before us. The upper bill
of the parrot is somuch hooked, and so much over-
laps 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 mekes
of it in breaking nuts and the hard substances upon
which it feeds. How, therefore, has nature Pee
vided for the opening of this occluded mouth? by
making the upper chap moveable, as well as the
lower. . In most birds, the upper chap i8 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.*
The spider’s web is a compensating contriv-

ance. The spider lives upon flies, without wings”

to pursue them; a case, one would have thought,
of great difficulty, yet provided for, and provided
for by a resource which no stratagem, no effort of
the animal, could have produced, had not both its

external and internal structure been specifically

adapted to the operation.

I. In many species of insects, the eye is fixed;

and consequently without the power of turning the
pupil to the object. This great defect is, however,
perfectly compensated ; and by a mechanism which
we should not suspect. The eye is a multiplying-
glass, with a lens looking in every direction and

catching every object. By which means, although

* Goldsmith’s Natural History, vol. v. p. 274.

— - ae
*

COMPENSATION. 169

_ the orb of the eye be stationary, the field of vision
is as ample as that of other animals, and is com-
manded on every side. When this lattice-work
was first observed, the multiplicity and minuteness
of the surfaces must have added to the surprise of |
the discovéry. Adams tells us, that fourteen hun-
dred of these reticulations have been counted in the
two eyes of a drone-bee.

_In other cases the compensation is effected by the
number and position of the eyes themselves. . The
spider has eight eyes, mounted upon different parts
of the head; two in front, two in the top of the
head; twa on each side. These eyes are without
motion ; but, by their situation, suited to compre-

_hend every view which the wants or safety of the.
animal rendered it necessary for it to take.

Vii. The Memoirs for the Natural History of
Animals, published by the French Academy, a. bD.
1687, furnished us with some curious particulars in
the eye of a chameleon. Instead of twe 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 in-
flexible. To make up for this, the eye is so pro-
minent, as that more than half’ of the ball stands
out of the head; by means of which extraordinary
projection, the pupil of the eye can be carried by
the muscles in every direction, and is capable of
being pointed towards every object. But then, so
unusual an exposure of the oe of the eye re-
quires, 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 eyelid, formed according to the commen con-
struction, would be impeded, as it should seem, by |
the convexity of the organ. The aperture in the
lid meets this difficulty. It enables the animal to
keep the principal part of the surface of the eve
under cover, and to preserve it in a due state of
humidity without shutting out the light: or with- :
out performing every moment a nictitation, which,
itis probable, would be more laborious to this Quis a
mal than to others. .

VIL. In another aos and in another part of

-

170 COMPEN SATION. ||

the animal economy, the same Memoirs describe
most remarkable substitution. The reader will re-
member what we have already observed concern-
ing the intestinal cana); that its length, so many
times exceeding that of the body, promotes the ex-
traction of the chyle from the aliment, by givin
room for the lacteal vessels to act upon it throug
a greater space. This long intestine, wherever if
occurs, is, in other animals, disposed in the abdo-
men from side to side in returning folds. But, in
the animal now under our notice, the matter is ma-
naged otherwise. The same intention is mechani-
cally effectuated; but by a mechanism ofa different
kind. The animal of which I speak, is an amphi-
bious quadruped, which our authors eall the ale-
pecias, or sea-fox. The mtestine is straight fron:
one end to the other: but in this straight, and con-
sequently short intestine, is a winding, corkscrew,
spiral passage, through which the food, not without
.severalcircumvolutions, and in fact by along route,
is conducted to itsexit. Here the shortness of the
gut is compensated by the obliquity ef the perfo-
ration.

IX. But the works of the Deity are known by
expedients. Where we should look for absolute
destitution ; where we can reckon but wants ;
some contrivance always comes in, to supply the
privation. A snaz/, without wings, feet, or thread,
climbs up the stalks of plants, by the sole aid of a
viscid humour da'scharged from her skin. She ad-
heres to the stems, leaves, and fruits, of plants, by
means ofa sticking plaster. A muscle, which might
seem, by its helplessness, ta lie at the mercy of
every wave that went over it, has the singular
power of spinning strong, tendinous threads, by
which she moors her shell] to rocks and timbers.
A cockle, on the contrary, by means of its stiff
tongue, works for itself a shelter in the sand.
The provisions of nature extend ta cases the most
desperate. :

A lobster has in its constitution a difficulty so

reat 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 admjts of a gra~

COMPENSATION. 171

dual 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 accretion at their edge; it is the
same with spiral shells at their mouth. The sim-
plicity of their form admits of this. But the lob-
ster’s shell being applied to the limbs of the body,
as wellas te the body itself, allows not of either of
the modes of growth which are observed to take
place in other shells. Its hardness resists expan-
sion: and its complexity renders it incapable of
increasing its size by addition of substance to its
edge. How then was the growth of the lobster to
be provided for? Was room to be made for it in
the old shell, or was it to be successively fitted with
new ones? If achange of shell become 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. Whenthe shel! has thus become loose upon
the body, the animal makes a second effort, and by
a tremulous, spasmodic motion, casts it off. In
this state, the liberated but defenceless fish retires
into holes in the rock. The released body now
suddenly pushes its growth. In about eight-and-
forty hours, a fresh concretion of humour upon the
surface, 7. e. a new shell, is formed, adapted in
every part to the increased dimensions of the ani-
mal. This wonderful mutation is repeated every
year.

If there be imputed defects without compensa-
tion, I should suspect that they were defects. only
in appearance. Thus, the body of the sloth has
often been reproached for the slowness of its mo-
' tions, which has been attributed to an imperfection
in the formation of its limbs. But it ought to be
observed, that it is this slowness which alone sus-

ends the voracity of the animal. He fasts during
is migration from one tree to another: and this
fast may be necessary for the relief of his. over-
charged vessels, as well as to allow time for the

————

i72 COMPENSATION,

soncoction of the mass of coarse and hard food
which he has taken into his stomach. The tardi-
ness of his pace seems to have reference to the ca-
pacity of his organs, and to his propensities with
Fespect to food; 7. e. is calculated to counteract
the effects of repletion. ty Sp, exert
Or there may be cases, in which a defect is arti-
ficial, and compensated by the very cause which
produces it. Thus the sheep, in the domesticated
state in which we see it, is destitute of the ordina-
ry means of defence or escape; is incapable either °
of resistance or flight. But this is not so with the
wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and ac-
tive; and, if it lose these qualities when it comes
under the subjection of man, the loss is compensa-
ted by his protection. Perhaps there is no species
of quadruped whatever, which suffers so little as this
does, from the depredation of animals of prey.
' For the sake of making our meaning better un-
derstood, we have considered this business of com-
pensation under certain particularities of constitu-

‘tion, in which it appears to be most conspicuous.

This view of the subject necessarily limits the in-
stances 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 usu-
ally compensated by the faculty of rumination. The
sheep, deer, and ox tribe, are without fore-teeth in
the upper jaw. These ruminate. The horse and
ass are furnished with teeth in the upper jaw, and
do not ruminate. In the former class, the grass
and hay descend into the stomach, nearly in the
state in which they are cropped from the pasture,
or gathered from the bundle. In the stomach, they
are softened by the gastric juice, which in these
animals is unusually copious. Thus softened and
rendered tender, they are returned a second time
to the action of the mouth, where the grinding
teeth complete at their leisure the trituration wich
is necessary, but which was before left imperfect.
{ say, the trituration which is necessary ; for it
appears from experiments, that the gastric fluid of
sheep,’ for example, has no effect in digesting

COMPENSATION. © 173

a unless they have been previously mastieat-
; that it only produces a slight maceration,
nearly as common water would do in a like degree
of heat ; but that when once vegetables are reduc-
ed to pieces by mastication, the fluid then exerts
upon them its specific operation. © Its first effect is
to soften them, and to destroy their natural consis-
tency; it then goes on to dissolve them; not-spar-
ing even the toughest parts, such as the nerves of
the leaves.* ; Pere. Wate,

I think it very probable, that the gratification
also of the animal is renewed and prolonged’ by
this faculiy. Sheep, deer, and oxen, appear to be
in a state of enjoyment whilst they are a
the cud. It is then, perhaps, that they best relis
_ their food. : eae

il. In birds, the compensation is still more strik-
ing. ‘They have no teeth at all. What have they
then to make up for this severe want? I speak of
granivorous and herbivorous birds; such as com-
mon fowls, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigeons, &c. ; for
‘it is concerning these alone that the question need
be asked. All these are furnished with a peculiar
and most powerful muscle, called the gizzard ; the
inner Coat of whichis fitted up with rough plaits,
which, by a strong friction against one another,
break and grind the hard aliment as effectually,
and by the same mechanical action, as a coffee-mill
would do. It has been proved by the most correct
experiments, that the gastric juice of these birds
will not operate upon the entire grain; not even
when softened by water or macerated in the crop.
Therefore without a grinding machine within its
body, without the trituration of the 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 — is not found in birds of prey. Their
food requires not to be ground down inamill. ‘The
compensatory contrivance goes no farther than the
necessity. In both classes of birds, however, the

* Spall. Dis. iii. sect, cx!.

2

RE i i es

i1 & COMPENSATION.

‘digestive organ within the body bears a strict and
mechanical relation tothe external instruments for
procuring food. The soft membranous stomach
accompanies a hooked, notched beak ; short, mus-
culer legs; strong, sharp, crooked talons; the car-
tilaginous stomach attends that conformation of
bill and toes, which restrains the bird to the pick-
ing of seeds, or the cropping of plants. |

III. But to proceed with our compensations.—A
very numerous and comprehensible tribe of terres-
trial animals are entirely without feet; yet loco-
motive ; and in a very considerable degree swift in
their motion. How is the want of feet compensa-
ted? It is done by the disposition of the muscles
and fibres of the trunk. In consequence of the
just collocation, and by means of the joint action of
longitudinal and annular fibres, that is to say, of
strings and rings, the hody and train of reptiles
are capable of being reciprocally shortened and
lengthened, drawn up and stretched out. ~The re-
sult 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 de-
termines it. The meanest creature is a collection
of wonders. The play of the rings in an earth-
worm, aS it crawls; the undulatory motion propa-
gated 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, of changing its place and position, afford,
when compared with the provisions for motion in
other animals, proofs of new and appropriate me-
chanism. Suppose that we had never seen an an-
imal move upon the ground without feet, and that
the problem was; muscular action, 7. e. reciprocal
contraction and relaxation being given, to describe
how such an animal might be constructed, capable
of voluntarily changing place. Something, per-
haps, like the organization of reptiles might have
been hit upon by the ingenuity of an artist; or
might have been exhibited m an automaton, by the
combination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets :
but to the solution of the problem would not be de-

ese ee ee. ke . a oT wre thes Y
“ : “ ’ : s

| nied, surely, the praise of invention and of suc-
| cessful thought : least of all could it ever be ques-

| tioned, whether intelligence*had been employed
| about it, or not. 7

1
ad

CHAP. XVII.

The relation of animated bodies to inanimate nature.

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

tion and properties, a close and important relation
to natures altogether external to their own; to.in-
animate substances, and to the specific qualities of
| these; e. g. they hold a strict relation to the ELE-
MENTS by which they-are surrounded.

I. Can it be doubted, whether the wings of birds
bear a relation to air, and the fins of fish to water ?
They are instruments of motion, severally suited to
| the properties of the medium in which the motion is
| to be performed: which properties are different.
§ Was not this difference contemplated, when the in-
}} struments 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 re-
) pel one another ; it must form an elastic medium:
§) for itis by the successive pulses of such a medium,
| that the undulations excited by the surrounding
| body are carried to the organ; that a communica-
tion is formed between the object and the sense;
which must be done, before the internal machinery
| of the ear, subtile as it is, can act at all.
§ Ul. The organs of the voice, and respiration,
| are, no less than the ear, indebted, for the success
of their operation, to the peculiar qualities of the
}) fluid in which the animal} is Eapepsect They, there-
§) fore, as well as the ear, are constituted upon the
§) supposition of such a fluid, 7. e, of a fluid with such

RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES. 175.

But the bodies of animals hold, in their constitu- —

Y

7 eo

176 RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES.

particular properties, being always present. Change
the properties of the fluid, and the organ cannot
act; change the orgah, 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
considering it,) or the element as prepared for the
organ.

IV. But there is another fluid with which we
have to do; with properties of its own; with laws
of acting, and of being acted upon, totally different
from those.of air and water: andthatis light. To
this new, this singular element; to. qualities per-
fectly 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 amongst the
parts of the body, not less singular in its form, and
in the substance of which it is composed, not less
remote from the materials, the model, and the
analogy, of any other part of the animal frame,
than the element to ae it relates, is specific
amidst the substances with which we converse. If
this does not prove appropriation, I desire to know
what would prove it. :

Yet the element of light and the organ of vision,
however related in their office and use, have no
connexion whatever in their original. The action
of rays of light upon the surfaces of animals, has —
no tendency to breed eyes in their heads. The
sun might shine for ever upen living bodies, with-
out the smallest approach towards producing the
sense of sight. On the other hand also, the animal
eye does not generate or emit light.

V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful
proportioning of one thing to another. The size of
animals, of the human animal especially. when
considered with respect to other animals, or to the
plants which grow around him, is such, as a re-
gard to his conveniency would have pointed out.
A giant or 8 pigmy could not have milked goats,
reaped corn, or mowed grass; we may add, could
not have rode a horse, trdined a vine, shorn a sheep.

el ieee. 4 , fas ee ee ee!

TO ANIMATED NATURE. 177

with the same bodily ease as we do, if atall. A
pigmy would have been lost amongst rushes, or
carried off by birds of prey.

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

vi Again (and which includes a vast variety of

articulars, and those of the greatest importance ;)
hw close is the suztableness of the earth and sea to
their several inhabitants ; and of these inhabitants,
to the places of their appointed residence !

Take the earth as it is ; and consider the corres- |
pondency of the powers of its inhabitants with the
properties and condition of the soil which they
tread. Take the inhabitants as they are ; and con-
sider 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
jength of their faculties: and such is the constitu-
tion 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 animal capacities and wants ;
so that correspondency remains, The earth in its
nature is very different from the sea, and the sea
from the earth: but one accords with its inhabitants,
as exactly as the other. 4

VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall
mention, is that of sleep to night ; and it appears to
me to be a relation which was expressly intended.
Two points are manifest: first, that the anima!
frame requires sleep; secondly, that night brings
with it a silence, and a cessation of activity, which
allows of sleep being taken without interruption
and without loss. Animal existence is made up of
action and slumber; nature has provided a season
for each. An animal which stood not in need of
rest, would always live in day-light. An animal,
which, though made for action, and delighting in
action, must have its strength repaired by sleep.

4

i78 RIEELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES, &c’

meets, by its constitution, the returns of day and
night. In the human species, for imstance, were
the bustle, the labour, the motion of life, upheld by
the constant presence of light, sleep could not be
enjoyed without being disturbed by noise, and
without expense of that time which the eagerness
of private interest would not contentedly resign.

{t is happy therefore for this part of thecreation, f |

mean that it is conformable to the frame and wants |

of their constitution, that nature, by the very dis-
position of her elements, has commanded, ‘as it
were, and imposed upon them, at moderate inter-
vals, a general intermission of their toils, their oc-
cupations, and pursuits.

But it is not for man, either solely or princi-

pally, that night is made. Inferior, but less per- }

verted natures, taste its solace, and expect its re-
turn, with greater exactness and advantage than he
does. Ihave often observed, and never observed
but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the re-
gularity, with which the greatest part of the irra-

tional world yield to this soft necessity, this grate-

ful 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 rest in the day. With respect even to —

them, it is still true, that there is a change of con- |

dition in the animal, and an external change cor-
responding with it. There is still the relation,
though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of
other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them
to their food or their sport.

If the relation of sleep to night, and, in some in-
stances, its converse, be real, we cannot reflect

ee

without amazement upon the extent to which it |)
earries us. Day and night are things close tous; ||
the change applies immediately to our sensations ;
of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most obvi-

ous and the most familiar to otir experience: but,
in its cause, it belongs to the great motions which
are passing in the heavens. Whilst the earth
glides round her axle, she ministers to the alter-

INSTINCTS. 179

nate 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 the system, of which
that globe is a part; and, still farther, to the con-
gregation of systems, of which theirs is only one.
If this account be true, it connects the meanest in-
dividual with the universe itself; a chicken roost-
ing upon its perch, with the spheres revolving in
the firmament. ;

VIII. Butif 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 resolv-
able into central attraction, we will refer him to
that which certainly is,—to the change of the sea-
sons. Now the constitution of animals susceptible
of torpor, bears a relation to winter, similar to that
which sleep bears to night. Against not only the
cold, but the want of food, which the approach of
winter induces, the Preserver of the world has pro-
/ vided in many animals by migration, in many
others by torpor. As one example out of a thou-
‘sand; the bat, if it did not sleep through the win-
ter, must have starved, as the moths and flying in-
sects upon which it feeds disappear. But the tran-
sition from summer to winter carries us into the
very midst of physical astronomy; that is to say,
into the midst of those laws which govern the solar
system at least, and probably all the heavenly
bodies.

Sateen tee eee

CHAP. XVIII.

Instincts.

Tue order may not be very obvious, by which I
place wmstincts next to relation. But I consider
them as a species of relations. They contribute,
sere with the animal organization, to a joint effect,
in which view they are related to that organization.
In many cases, they refer from one animal to ano.

isd INSTINCTS.

‘ther animal; and, when this is the case, become
strictly relations in a second point of view.

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

We may select out of this catalogue the incuba-
tion of eggs. Ientertain 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. As-
suming this'fact, the thing is inexplicable upon any
other hypothesis than that of an instinct, impress-
edupon the constitution of the animal. For, first,
what should induce the female bird to prepare a
nest before she lays her eggs? It is in vain to sup-
pose her to be possessed of the faculty of reason-
ing: for, no reasoning will reach the case. The
fulness or distension which she might feel in a par-
ticular part of her body, from the growth and so-
lidity of the ege within her, could not possibly in-
form her, that ne was 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 suspi-
cion. The analogy was all against it : for, inevery
other instance, what issued from the body, was
cast out and rejected.

But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be pro-
duced into day; how should birds know that their
eggs contain their young? There is nothing, ei-
ther in the aspect or in the internal 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.

—=_ OS = . es

Pate, ee ae on ae oP eS ee

INSTINCTS. 181

| 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 or-
der 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 nutri-
ment of an animal, (which would be avery bold hy-
pothesis,) we should expect a tadpole dabbling in
the slime, much rather than a dry, winged, fea-

| thered creature ; a compound of parts and proper-
ties impossible to be used in a state of confinement
in the egg, and bearing no conceivable relation,
either in quality or material, to any thing observed ~
init. 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 oi
all machines, the most diversified of all collections
of substances ? Nor would the process of incuba-
| tion, 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 be-
come bones and limbs? Who, that espied two dis-
coloured points first making their appearance in
the cicatrix, would have had the courage to predict,
| that these points were to grow into the heart and
| head of a bird? It is difficult to strip the mind of
its experience. It is difficult to resuscitate surprise
when familiarity has once laid the sentiment asleep.
But could we forget all we know, and which our
| sparrows never knew, about oviparous generation ;
| could we divest ourselves of every information, but
| what we derived from reasoning upon the appear-
ances or quality discovered in the objects presented
| tous; Lam convinced that Harlequin coming out
| of an egg upon the stage, is not more astonishing to
| a child, than the hatching of a chicken both would
be, and ought to be, to a philosopher.
But admit the sparrow by some means to know,
that within that egg was concealed the principle
| of a future bird: from what chymist was she to
learn, that warmth was necessary to bring it to ma-
| turity, or that the degree of warmth, imparted by —

132 INSTINCTS.

the temperature of her own body, was the degree
required ? .

_ To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts
in this process from a sagacity and reason of her
own, is to suppose her to arrive at conclusions
which there are no premises to justify. If our
sparrow, sitting upon ber eggs, expect young spar-
rows to come out of them, she forms, I will venture
to say, a wild and extravagant expectation, in op-
position to present appearances, and to probability.
She must have penetrated into the order of nature, —
farther than any faculties of ours will carry us:
and it hath been well observed, that this deep saga-
city, if it be sagacity, subsists in conjunction with
great stupidity, even in relation to the same sub-
jeet. ‘ A chymical operation,” says Addison,
‘‘ could not be followed with greater art or diligence,
than is seen in hatching a chicken : yet is the pro-
cess carried on without the least glimmering of
thought or common sense. The hen will mistake a
piece of chalk for an egg; is insensible of the in-
crease or diminution of their number; does not
distinguish between her own and those of another
species; is frightened when her suppositious breed
of ducklings take the water.”

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

Of young birds taken in their nests, a few species
breed, when kept in cages; and they which do so,
build their nests nearly in the same manner as m
the wild state, and sit upon their eggs. ‘This is
sufficient to prove an instinct, without having re-
course to experiments upon birds hatched by artifi-
cial heat, and deprived, from their birth, of all com-
munication with their species: for we can hardly
bring ourselves to believe, that the parent bird in-
formed her unfledged pupil of the history of her
gestation, her timely preparation of a nest, her ex-
clusion of the eggs, her long incubation, and of the

INSTINCTS. 193

| joyful eruption at last of her expected offspring ;
| all which the bird in the cage must have learnt in
her infancy, if we resolve her conduct into znstitu-
WOR

Unless we will rather SRO that she remem-
bers her own escape from the egg; had attentively
observed the conformation of the nest in which she
was nurtured; and had treasured up her remarks
| for future imitation: which is not only extremely
improbable, (for who, that sees a brood of callow
| birds in their nest, can belicve that they are taking
| a plan of their habitation ?) but leaves unaccounted
| for, one principal part of. the difficulty, “ the pre~
paration of the nest before the laying of the egg.
This she could not gain from observation in her
infancy. 7 ;

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

There is another case of oviparous economy,
which is still less likely to be the effect of education
than it 1s even in birds, namely, that of moths and
butterflies, which deposit their eggs in the precise
substance, that of a cabbage for example, from
which, not the butterfly herself, but the caterpillar
which is to issue from her egg, draws its appropri-
ate food. The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage.
Cabbage is no food for her: yet in the cabbage, not
by chance, but studiously and electively, she lays
her eges. ‘There are amongst 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

ier caterpillar state. She never knew her parent.
i do not see, therefore, how knowledge acqui-

is4 INSTINCTS.

red by experience, if it ever were such, could be
transmitted from one generation to another. There
is no opportunity either for instruction or imitation.
The parent race is gone, before the new brood is
hatched. And if it be original reasoning in the
butterfly, it is proloune reasoning indeed. She
must remember her caterpillar state, its tastes and
habits: of which memory she shows no signs
whatever. She must conclude from analogy (for
here her recollection cannot serve her,) that the
little round body which drops from her abdomen,
will at a future period produce a living creature, not
jike 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, which we perceive in the preparations
which many irrational animals make for their
young, to be traced to some prebable origin; still
there is left to be accounted for, that which sets
the whole at work, the ersgyn, the parental affec-
tion, which TI contend to be inexplicable upon any
other hypothesis than that of instinct. .

For we shall hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer
their conduct towards their offspring to a sense of
duty, or of decency, a care of reputation, a com-
pliance with public manners, 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 which depends upon
analogy, is all against it. Every thing else which —
proceeds from the body, is cast away, and rejected.
In birds, is it theegg which the hen loves ? or is it
the expectation which she cherishes of a future
progeny, that keeps her upon her nest? What
cause has she to expect delight from her progeny ?

INSTINCTS. 185.

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 any other bird. She dves
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 af-
terward recognises in any shape whatever. Where
shall we find a motive for her efforts and her per-
severance 7? Shall we seek it in argumentation, or in —
instinct 7 The violet crab of Jamaica performs a fa-.
tiguing march of some months’ continuance, from
the mountains to the sea side. When she reaches
the coast, she casts her spawn into the open sea;
and sets out upon her return home.

Moths and butterflies, as hath already been ob-
served, seek out for their eggs those precise situa- .
tions and substances in which the offspring cater-
| pillar will find its appropriate food. That dear ca-
terpillar, 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 main-
tenance 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 des-
tined not to know, can hardly be the object of a
particular affection, if we deny the influence of in-
stinet. There is nothing, therefore, left to her,
but that of which her nature seems incapable, an
abstract anxiety for the general preservation of
the species; a kind of patriotism; a solicitude
lest the butterfly race should cease from the crea-
tion.

Lastly ; the principle of association will not ex-
plain the discontinuance of the affection when the
young animalis grownup. Association, operating
in its usual way, would rather produce a contrary

186 INSTINCTS.

effect. The objeet would become more necessary,
by habits of society : whereas birds and beasts, af-
ter a certain time, banish their offspring: disown
their acquaintance; seem to have even no know-
ledge of the objects which so lately engrossed the
attention of their minds, and occupied the industry
and labour of their bodies. This change, in difler-
ent animals, takes place at different distances of
time from the birth; but the time always corres-
ponds with the ability of the young animal to main-
tain itself; never anticipates it. In the sparrow
tribe, when it is perceived that the young brood
can fly, and shift for themselves, then 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 be-
lieve the same thing is true of all gregarious quad-
rupeds.

In this part of the case, the variety of resources,

expedients, and materials, which animals of the ~

same species are said to have recourse to, under

different circumstances, and when differently sup-

plied, makes nothing against the doctrine of in-
stincts. The thing which we want to account for,
is the propensity. The propensity being there, it
is probable enough that it may put the animal upon
different actions, according to different exigencies.
And this adaptation of resources may look like the
effect of art and consideration, rather than of in-
stinct: 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 in some sort
safe from the hand of man; but that, in the forests of

Guinea and the Brazils,which man seldom frequents, _

the same bird hangs her nest to the twigs of tall
trees; thereby placing them out of the reach of
monkeys and snakes ; 7. e. that in each situation she
prepares against the danger which she has most
occasion to appprehend: 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

* Goldsmith's Natural History, vol. iv. p. 244

INSTINCTS. 187

distinguishing precaution; still the question re-
turns, whence the propensity to build at all ?

Nor does parental affection accompany genera-
tion by any universal law of animal organization, if
such athing were intelligible. Some animals che-
rish 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. . Jn many, the parental
care extends to the young animal; in others, as m
all oviparous fish, it is confined to the egg, and
even, as to that, to the disposal of it in its proper
element. Also, as there is generation without pa-
rental affection, so is there parental instinct, or |
what exactly resembles it, without generation. In
the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the
father nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Pro-
bably the case is the same with ants.

Iam 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
atthe time. Thus the incubation of eggs is ac-
counted for by the pleasure which the bid is sup-
posed to receive from the pressure of the smooth
convex surface of the shells against the abdomen, or
by the relief which the mild temperature of the
egg may afford to the heat of the lower part of the
body, which is observed at this time to be increas-
ed beyond its usual state. This present gratifica-
tion is the only motive with the hen’ for sitting
upon her nest; the hatching of the chickens is,
with respect to her, an accidental consequence.
The affection of viviparous animals for their young
is, in like manner, solved by the relief, and per-
haps the pleasure, which they receive from giving
suck. The young animal’s seeking, in so many
instances, the teat of its dam, is Sebo from its
sense of smell, which is attracted by the odour of
milk. The salmon’s urging its way up the stream
_of fresh water rivers, is attributed to some grati-
fication or refreshment, which, in this particular
state of the fish’s body, she reccives from the

188 INSTINCTS.

change of element. Now of this theory it may
be said,

First, that of the cases which require solution, -
there are few to which it can be applied with tole-
rable probability ; that there are none to which it
can be applied without strong objections, furnished
by the circumstances of the case. The attention of
the cow to its calf, and of the ewe to its lamb, ap-
pear to be prior to theirsucking. The attraction of
the calf or lamb to the teat of the dam, is not ex-

lained by simply referring it to the sense of smell.
hat 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 which it pro-
ceeded? No observation, no experience, no argu-
ment, 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 be-
fore its birth. None of the animals which are not
designed for that nourishment, ever offer to suck,
or to seek out any such food. What is the conclu-
sion, 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 con-
sideration, 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 effectuating of a
purpose beneficial to the species. The above stated
solution would derive these appetencies from or-
ganization ; 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 oid hy-
pothesis. 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 in-
duced to brood upon her eggs by the enjoyment or
relief, which, in the heated state of her abdomen,
she experiences from the pressure of round smooth
surfaces, or from the application of a temperate
warmth : How comes this extraordinary heat or

INSTINCTS. 189

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 want-
ed; when it tallies so exactly with the internal
constitution of the egg, and with the help which that
constitution requires in order to bring it to maturi-
ty? In my opinion, this solution, if it be accepted
as to the fact, ought to increase, rather than other-
wise, our admiration of the contrivance. A gar-
dener 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 ceme
together, they do not meet to confer upon the expe-
diency of perpetuating their species. Asan abstract |
proposition, they care not the value of a barley--
corn, whether the species be perpetuated or not:
they follow their sensations; and all those conse-
quences ensue, which the wisest counsels could
have dictated, which the most solicitous care of
futurity, which the most anxious concern for the
sparrow world, could have produced. But how do
these consequences ensue? The sensations, and
‘the constitution upon which they depend, are as
manifestly directed to the purpose which we see
fulfilled by them; and the train'of intermediate ef-
fects, as manifestly laid and planned with a view
to that purpose : that is to say, design is as com-
pletely evinced by the phenomena, as it would be,
jcven if we suppose the operations to begin, or to be
earried on, from what some will allow to be alone
properly called instincts, that is, from desires di-
§ rected to a future end, and having no accomplish-
nent or gratification distinct from the attainment
of that end. |

Ina word; I should say to the patrons of this
} pinion, Be it so; be it, that those actions of ani-
§ nals which we refer to instinct, are not gone about
vith any view to their consequences, but that they
ure attended in the animal with a present gratifica-
ion, and are pursued for the sake of that gratifica-
ion alone; what does all this prove, but that the
rrospection, which must be somewhere, is not im
he animal, but in the Creator ?

{In treating of the parental affection in brutes,

190 INSTINCTS.

our busmess lies rather with the origin of the prin-
ee than with the effects and expressions of it.
Writers recount these with pleasure and admira-

tion. The conduct of many kinds of animals to-

wards their young, has escaped» no observer, no
historian 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, ina word, perform the
Sen of so many nurses, deputed by the Sovereign

ord and Preserver of the world, to help such

young and shiftless creatures!” Neither ought it,

under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in-
stinct costs the animal which feels it; how much a
bird, for example, gives up, by sittimg upon her
nest; how repugnant it is to her organization, her
habits, and her pleasures. An animal, formed for
liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season
when. every thing invites her abroad : what is more ;
an animal delighting in motion, made for motion,
all whose motions are so easy and so free, hardly
a moment, at other times, at rest, is, for many
hours or many days together, fixed to her nest, as
close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and

wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that)

situation, but I recognize an invisible hand, detain-

ing 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 liberty is not the whole of what

the procreant bird suffers. Harvey tells us, that |

he has often found the female wasted to skin and
bone by sitting upon her eggs.

One observation more, and [I will dismiss the
subject. The pairing of birds, and the non-patring
of beasts, forms a distinction between the two
classes, which shows, that the conjugal instinct is

modified with a reference to utility founded 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 cap

contribute any part to its sustentation. In the jg

wu ole

Se -
SSS SSE SET St.

egies 4), ici

OF INSECTS. 191

| winged race, the young bird is supplied by an im-
| portation of food, to procure and bring home which
m a sufficient quantity for the demand of a nume-
rous brood, requires the industry of both parents.
| In this difference, we see a reason for the vagrant
instinct of the quadruped, and fer the faithful love
of the feathered mate.

eee rE Se

CHAP: XIX.

Of insects.

_ WE are not writing a system of natural history ;
therefore we have not attended to the classes, inte .
which the subjects of that science are distributed.
What we had to observe concerning different spe-
| cies of animals, fell easily, for the most part, within
§ the divisions which the course of our argument led
Hus to adopt. There remain, however, some re-
marks upon the insect tribe, which could not pro-
§ perly be introduced under any of those heads ; and
® which therefore we have collected into a chapter
i by themselves. — | !

# ‘The structure, andthe use of the parts, of insects,
lare less understood than that of quadrupeds and
ibirds, 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,
jare endowed with antenne, which is the name given
ito 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,
bas not yet been ascertained: and it has not been
meascertained, because it admits not of a clear, or
Bevery probable, comparison, with any organs which
ewe possess ourselves, or with the organs of animals
igpwhich resemble ourselves in their functions and
faculties, or with which we are better acquainted,
(than we are with insects. We want a ground of
wanalogy. This difficulty stands in our way as to
some particulars in the insect constitution, which

192 OF INSECTS.

we might wish to be acquainted with. Neverthe-
less, 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 sca-
rabeus 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 un-
like it. It is also, when ak nanida: 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 hu-
midity, 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. hen
the beetle prepares for flying, he raises the integu-
ment, and spreads out his thin membrane to the
air. And it cannot be observed without admiration,
what a tissue of cordage, i. e. of muscular tendons,
must run in various and complicated, but deter-
minate directions, along this fine surface, in order
to enable the animal, either to gather it up into a
certain precise form, whenever it desires to place
its wings under the shelter which nature hath given
to them; or to expand again their folds, when
wanted for action.

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

Many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes
in the earth, environed by hard, rough substances,
and have frequently to squeeze their way through
narrow passages; in which situation, wings so
tender, and so large, could scarcely have escaped
injury, without both a firm covering to defend them,
and the capacity of collecting themselves up under
its protection. ies

If. Another contrivance, equally mechanical, and
equally clear, is the aw/, or borer, fixed at the tails
of various species of flies; and with which they
pierce, in some cases, plants ; in others, wood ; in
others, the skin and flesh of animals; in others,

OF INSECTS. 198

tne coat of the chyrsalis of insects of a different
species from their own; and in others, even lime,
mortar, and stone. I need not add, that having
pierced the substance, they deposit their eggs in
the hole. The descriptions ‘which naturalists give
of this organ, are such as the following: Itis a
sharp-pointed instrument, which, in its mactive
state, lies concealed in the extremity of the abdo-
men, and which the animal draws out at pleasure,
for the purpose of making a puncture in the leaves,
stem, or bark, of the particular plant which is
Suited to the nourishment of its young. In 4.
sheath, which divides and opens whenever the or-
gan is used, there is enclosed a compact, solid,
dendated stem, along which runs a gutter or groove,
vy which groove, after the penetration is effected, ©
the egg, assisted, in some cases, by a paristaltic
motion, passes to its destined lodgement. In the
cestrum or gad-fly, the wimble draws out like the
pieces of a spy-glass ; the last piece is armed with
three hooks, and is able to bore through the hide
of an ox. Can any thing more be necessary to
display the mechanism, than to relate the fact ?
Ill. The stings of insects, though for a different
purpose, are, im their structure, not unlike the
piercer. The sharpness 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 sinallness 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 bee
will pierce through a goat-skin glove. It pene-
trates the human flesh more readily than the finest
point of aneedle. The action of the sting affords
an example of the union of chymistry and mechan-
ism, such as, if it be not a proof of contrivance,
nothing is. First, as to the chymistry ; how high-
ly concentrated must be the venom, which, in so
small a quantity, can produce such powerful effects !
And in the bee we may observe, that this venom is
made from honey, the only food of the insect, but
the last material from which I should have expect-
ed that an exalted <i could, by any process or

ESE a,

194 OF INSECTS.

digestion whatsoever, have been prepared. In thie
next place, with respect to the mechanism, the
sting 1s not a simple, but a compound instrument.
The visible sting, though drawn to a point ex-
quisitely sharp, is in strictness only asheath; for, |}
near to the extremity, may be perceived by the |}
microscope two minute orifices, from which orifi- |}
ces, in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem,
after the point of the main sting has buried itself
mim 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
imto the puncture already made by the exterior
sting. I have said, that chymistry and mechan-
ism are here united ; by which observation I meant,
that all this machinery- would have been useless,
telum imbelle, if a supply of poison, intense in-
quality, in proportion to the smallness of the drop,
had not been furnished to it by the chymical ela-
boration which was carried on in the insect’s body ;
and that, on the other hand, the poison, the result |
of this process, could not have attained its effect, |
oer reached its enemy, if, when it was collected at
the extremity of the abdomen, it had not found there
amechinery, fitted to conduct it to the external
situations in which it was to operate, viz. an awl
to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid.
Yet these attributes, though combined im their ae-
tion, are independent in their origin. The venom
does not breed the sting; nor does the sting con-
eect the venom.

IV. The proboscis, with which many insects are
endowed, comes next in order to be considered. It
is a tube attached to the head of the animal. In
the bee, it is composed of two pieces, connected by
a joint; for, if it were constantly extended, it would
be too much exposed to accidental injuries ; there-
fore, in its indolent state, it is doubled up by means
of the joint, and in that position lies secure under
asealy penthouse. In many species of the butter-
fly, the proboscis, when not in use, is coiled up like
a watch-spring. In the same bee, tha proboscis
serves the office of the mouth, the insect having ne
dther : and how much better adapted it is, than a
mouth would be, for the collecting of the proper

OF INSECTS. 195

nourishment of the animal, is sufficiently evident.
The food of the bee is the nectar of flowers ; a drop
of syrup, lodged deep in the bottom of the corollz,
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, inaccessi-
ble to every other approach. It is observable also,
that the plant is not the worse for what the bee
does to it. The harmless plunderer rifles the
sweets, but leaves the flower uninjured. The ring-
lets of which the proboscis of the bee is composed,
the muscles by which it is extended and contract-
ed, form so many microscopical wonders. The

agility also with which it is moved, can hardly fail

to excite admiration. But it is enough for our pur-
pose 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 depart-
ed from its most general analogy (for, animals be-

ing furnished with mouths are such ) when the pur- |

pose could be better answered by the deviation.

In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue, or
trunk, is shut up ina sharp-pointed sheath: which
sheath, being of a much firmer texture than the pro-
boscis itself, as well as sharpened at the point,
pierces the substance which contains the food, and
then opens within the wound, to allow the enclosed
tube, through which the juice is extracted, to per-
form its office. Can any mechanism be plainer
than thisis; or surpassthis?

-V. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs into
moths and flies, is an astonishing process. A hairy
caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly. Ob-
serve the change. We have four beautiful wings,
where there were none before ; a tubular proboscis,
in the place of a mouth with jaws and teeth; six
long legs, instead of fourteen feet. In another case,
we see a white, smooth, soft worm, turned into
black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with gauze wings.
These, as I said, are astonishing processes, and
must require, as it should seem, a proportionably
artificial apparatus. The hypothesis which appears
to me most probable is, that, in the grub, there
exist at the same time three animals, one within

196 OF INSECTS.

another, all nourished by the same digestion, and
by a communicating circulation; but in different
stages of maturity. The latest discoveries made
by naturalists, seem to favour this supposition.
The insect already equipped with wings, is de-
scried under the membranes both of the worm and
nymph. In some species, the proboscis, the an-
tenng, the limbs, and wings, of the fly, have been
observed to be folded up within the body of the ca-
terpillar; and with such nicety as to occupy 2
small space only under the two first wings. This
being so, the outermost animal, which, besides its
own proper character, serves as an integument to
the other two, being the farthest advanced, dies, as
we suppose, and drops off first. ‘The second, the
pupa or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation.
This also, in its turn, dies; its dead and brittle
husk falls to pieces, and makes way for the appear-
ance of the fly or moth. Now, if this be the case,
or indeed whatever explication be adopted, we have
a prospective contrivance of the most curious kind :
we have organizations three deep; yet a vascular
system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life,
to all of them together.

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

i cu eA | : a dia :

OF INSECTS. 197

The art also with which the young insect is coil-
ed wp in the egg, presents, where it can be exam-

ined, a subject of great curiosity. ‘The insect, fur-

nished with all the members which it ought to have,
is rolled up into a form which seems to contract it
into the least possible space; by which contrac-
tion, notwithstanding the smallness of the egg, it
has room enough in its apartment, and to spare.
This folding of the limbs appears to me to indicate
a special direction ; for, if it were merely the effect
of compression, the collocation of the parts 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 agreat part of them. Other observa-

tions are limited to fewer species ; but not, perhaps,
Jess important or satisfactory.

I. The organization in the abdomen of the szk-
worm, or spider, whereby these insects form their
thread, is as incontestably mechanical as a wire-
drawer’s mill. In the body of the silkworm are
two bags, remarkable for their form, position, and
use. hey wind round the intestine; when drawn
out, they are ten inches in length, though the ani-
mal itself be only two. Within these bags, is col-
lected a glue: and communicating with the bags,
are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a grater,
by a number ofsmall holes. The glue or gum, be-
ing passed through these minute apertures, forms
hairs of almost imperceptible fineness; and these
hairs, when joined, compose the silk which we wind
oft from the cone, in which the silkworm has wrap-
ped itself up : in the spider, the web is formed from
this thread. In both cases, the extremity of the
thread, by means of its adhesive quality, is first at-
tached by the animal to some external hold; and
the end being now fastened to a point, the insect,
by turning round its body, or by receding from that
point, draws out the thread through the holes above
described, by an operation, as hath been observed,
exactly similar tothe drawing of wire. The thread,
like the wire, is formed by the hole through which
it passes. In one respect thereis a difference. The
wire is the metal unaltered, except in figure. In
_ the animal process, the nature of the substance is

SSIES ORT TE OR Ee a Tee

198 OF INSECTS.

somewhat changed, as well as the form; for, as it
exists within the insect, it isa soft, clammy gum,
or glue. The thread acquires, it is probable, its
firmness and tenacity from the action of the air
upon its surface, in the moment of exposure: and
a thread so fine is almost all surface. This pro-—
perty, however, of the paste, is part of the con-
trivance.

The mechanism itself consists of the bags, or re-
servoirs, into which the glue is collected, and of
the external holes communicating with these bags :
and the action of the machine is seen, in the form-
ing of a thread, as wire is formed, by forcing the
material already prepared through holes of proper
dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile
for our discernment, except as we perceive it by
the produce. But one thing answers to another ;
the secretory glands to the quality and consistence
required in the secreted substance ; the bag to its
reception: the outlets and orifices are constructed,
not merely for relieving the reservoirs of their bur-
den, 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.

IJ. Bees, under one character or other, have fur-
nished every naturalist with a set of observations.
I shall, m this place, confine myself to one ; and
that is the relation which obtains between the wax
and the honey. No person, who has inspected a
bee-hive, can forbear remarking how commodious-
ly the honey is bestowed in the comb; and, amongst
other advantages, how effectually the fermentation
of the honey is prevented by mors ia; it into
small cells. The fact is, that when the honey is
separated from the comb, and put into jars, it runs
into fermentation, with a much less degree of heat
than what takes place in a hive. This may be
reckoned a nicety : but, independently of any nicety

‘in the matter, I would ask, what could the bee do

with the honey, if it had not the wax? how, at
least, could it store it up for winter? The wax,
therefore, answers a purpose with respect to the
honey ; and the honey constitutes that purpose with
respect to the wax. This is the relation between |

OF INSECTS. “E99
them. But the two substances, though, ped ya
ofthe 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 un-
dergoes little alteration: is merely collected :
whereas the wax is a ductile, tenacious paste, made
‘out of adry powder, not simply by kneading it with
a liquid, but by a digestive process in the body of
the bee. What account can be rendered of facts
so circumstanced, but that the animal, being in-
tended to feed upon honey, was, by a peculiar ex-
ternal configuration, enabled to procure it? That,

moreover, wanting the honey when it could not be :

ag at all, it was farther endued with the no
ess necessary faculty of constructing repositories
for its preservation? Which faculty, it is evident,
must depend, primarily, upon the capacity of pro-
viding suitable materials. T'wo distinct functions
goto 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, in as much as the art and will of the bee may
be supposed to be concerned in this operation,
there 1s, secondly, that which doth not rest in art
or will,—a digestive faculty which converts the
loose powder into a stiff substance. This is a just
account of the honey, and the honey-comb; and
this account, through every part, carries a creative
intelligence along with it. 5

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

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

{V. St. Pierre tells us,* thatin a fly with six feet

‘(1 do not remember that he describes the species.)

Siitehe eee

ns

® Vol. i. py 399.

. we

200 OF INSECTS.

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 mid-
dle 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 isa —
very exact mechanical distinction. T

V. If the reader, looking to our distributions of —
science, wish to contemplate the chymistry, as well
as the mechanism, of nature, the insett creation
will afford him anexample. I refer to the light in
the tail of a glow-worm. Two pcints 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 in-
quired after, is the singularity, if any such there be,
in the natural history of this animal which should |
render a provision of this kind more necessary for —
it, than for other insects. That singularity seems
to be the difference which subsists between the
male and the female; which difference is greater
than what we find in any other species of animal |
whatever. The glow-worm isa female caterpillar ; |
the male of which is a fly; lively, comparatively
small, dissimilar to the female in appearance, pro-
bably also as distinguished from her in habits, pur-
suits, and manners, as he is unlike in form andex- |
ternal constitution. Here then is the adversity of |
the case. The caterpillar cannot meet her com- |
panion in the air. The winged rover disdains the
ground. They might never therefore be brought
together, did not this radiant torch direct the vola-
tile mate to his sedentary female. ©

In this example, we also see the resources of art
anticipated. One grand operation of chymistry is —
the making of phosphorus: and it was thought an |
~ ingenious device, to make phosphoric matches sup-~
ply the place of lighted tapers. Now this very _
thing is done in the body of the glow-worm. The
phosphorus is not only made, but kindled; and
‘caused to emit a steady and genial beam, for the
purpose which is here stated, and which I believe |
to be the true one. ' es

VI. Nor is the last the only instance that ente

an nn) —llme 2.

OF INSECTS. 201

mology 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 ot

a steam-engine, a stream of water was to be shot
out of the stern of a boat; the impulse of which
stream upon the water in the river, was to pusi:
the boat itself forward ; itis, in truth, the principle
by which sky-rockets ascend in the air. Of the use
or practicability of the plan, I am not speaking ;
nor is it my concern to praise its ingenuity: but it
is certainly a contrivance. Now, if naturalists are
to be believed, it is exactly the device which nature
has made use of, for the motion of some species of
aquatic insects. The larva of the dragon-fly, ac-

cording 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 application of the discove-

ry was, to make a body composed of this substance
bear up, along with its own weight, some heavier
body which was attached to it. This expedient, sce
new to us, proves to be no other than what the Au-
thor of nature has employed in the gossamer spider.

' We frequently see this spider’s thread floating in

!

the air, and extended from hedge to hedge, across
aroad 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 hath laid for it
a path in the atmosphere; and after this manner.
Though the animal itself be heavier than air, the

- thread which it spins fromits bowels is specitically
\ lighter. This is its balloon. The spider, left to it-

—_— =. aa er or

self, would drop to the ground; but being tied to
its thread, both are supported. We have here a
very peculiar provision: and to a contemplative
eye itis a gratifying spectacle, to see this insect

wafted on her thread, sustained by a levity not her
17

262 OF INSECTS.

own, and traversing regions, which, if weexamined
only the body of the animal, might seem to have
been forbidden to its nature. :

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

I. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a me-
chanical, and, if one might so speak concerning the
works of nature, an original contrivance. Other ~
animals have their proper retreats, their hyberna-
cula also, or winter-quarters, but the snail carries
these about with him. He travels with his tent;
and this tent, though, as was necessary, both light
and thin, is completely impervious either to moisture
or air. The young snail comes out of its egg with
the shell upon its back; and the gradual enlarge-
ment which the shell receives, is derived from the
slime excreted by the animal’s skin. Now the apt-
ness of this excretion to the purpose, its property
of hardening into a shell, and the action, whatever
it be, of the animal, whereby it avails itself of its
gifts, and of the constitution of its glands, (to say
nothing of the work being commenced before the
animalis born,) are things which can, with no pro-
bability, be referred to any other cause than to ex-
wress design ; and that not on the part of the ani-
mal alone,in which design, though it might build
the house, could not have supplied the material.
‘The will of the animal could not determine the
quality of the excretion. Add to which, that the
shell of a snail, with its pillar and convolution, is a
very artificial fabric; whilst a snail, as it should
seem, isthe most numb and unprovided of all arti-
ficers. In the midst of variety, there is likewise a
regularity, which would hardly be expected. In the
same syecies 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 calcu-
lated for its warmth and security ; but the cerate
ig not of the same substance with the shell.

OF INSECTS. a

TI. Much of what has been observed of snails,
belongs to shell-fish, and their shells, particularly to
those of the univalve kind; with the addition of two
remarks: one of which is upon the great strength
and hardness of most of these shells. I do not
know whether, the weight being given, art can
produce so strong a case as are some of these
shells. Which defensive strength suits well with
the life of an animal, that has often to sustain the
dangers of a stormy element, and a rocky bottom,
as well as the attacks of voracious fish. The
other remark is, upon the property, in the animal
excretion, not only of congealing, but of congeal-
| ing, or, as a:builder would call it, setting, in water,
and into acretaceous substance, firm and hard.

This property is much more extraordinary, and,
chymically speaking, more specific, than that of
hardening in the air; which may he reckoned a
kind of exsiccation, like the drying of clay into
bricks. 7
- Ii. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles,
muscles, oysters, &c. what contrivance can be so
simple or so clear, as the insertion, at the back, of
a tough tendinous substance, that becomes at once
the ligament which binds the two shells together,
and the hinge upon which they. open and shut ?

IV. The shell of a lobster’s tail, in its articula-
tions 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 lob-
ster’s shell. The same end is to be answered by |
both: the same properties, therefore, are required
in both, namely, hardness and flexibility, a cover-~
ing 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 better than what ne-
ture presents to his observation. Is not this there-
fore mechanism, which the mechanic, having a si-
milar 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

ti

204 OF INSECTS.

the instance before us, may be disposed, possibiy,
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 mecha-
nical contrivance, was exerted in the formation of
natural bodies, as we employ in the making of the
various instruments by which our purposes are
served? The answers to this question are, first,
that it seldom happens, that precisely the same
purpose, and no other, is pursued in any work
which we compare, of nature and of art; secondly,
that it still more seldom happens, that we can imi-
tate nature, if we would. Our materials and our
workmanship are equally deficient. Springs and
wires, and cork and leather, produce a poor sub-
stitute 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 in almost any other
that can be assigned: and the consequence is, as
we have seen, that art gladly borrows from nature
her contrivance, and imitates it closely.

But to returntoinsects. Ithink it is in thisclass
of animals above all others, especially when we
take in the multitude of species which the micro-
scope discovers, that we are struck with what
Cicero has called “ the insatiable variety of nature.”
There are said to be six thousand species of flies ;
seven hundred and sixty butterflies ; each different
from all the rest. (St. Pierre.) The same writer
tells us, from his own observation, that thirty-seven
species of winged insects, with distmetions well
expressed, visited a smgle strawberry-plant im the
course of three weeks.* Ray observed, within the
compass of a mile or two of his own house, two
hundred kinds of butterflies, nocturnal and diurnal.
He likewise asserts, but, I think, without an
grounds of exact computation, that the number o
species of insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may
not be short of ten thousand.t And in this vast

; mn

* Voli. p. 2 + Wisd. of God, p. 23.

OF INSECTS. ab

variety of animal forms (for the observation is not
confined to insects, though more applicable per-
haps to them than to any other class,) we are some-
times led to take notice of the different methods, or
rather of the studiously diversified methods, by
which one and the same purpose is attained. In
the article of breathing, for example, which was to
be provided for in some way or other, besides the
ordinary varieties of lungs, gills, and breathing-
holes (for insects in general respire, not by the
mouth, but through holes inthe sides,) thenymphe
of gnats have an apparatus to raise their backs to
the top of the water, and so take breath. The
hydrocanthari de 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 tuft, when expand-
ed upon the surface, the insect both supports itself
in the water, and draws in the air which is neces-
sary. Inthe article of natural clothing, we have
the skins of animals invested with scales, hair, fea-
thers, mucus, froth; or itself turned into a shell or —
crust: m the no less necessary article of offence
and defence, we have teeth, talons, beaks, horns,
stings, prickles, with (the most singular expedient
for the same purpose) the power of giving the elec-
tric shock, and, as is credibly related of some ani-
mals, of driving away their pursuers by an intole-
rable feetor, or of blackening the water through
which they are pursued. The consideration of
these appearances might induce us to believe, that
variety itself, distinct from every other reason, was
@ 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 cor-
responding variety of animal appetites. For the
final cause of this we have not far to seek. Did all
animals covet the same element, retreat, or food, it
is evident how much fewer. conld be supplied and
accommodated, than what at present live conve-
miently together, and find a plentiful subsistence.

» ™ Derham, p. 7.

||
206 OF PLANTS. |

What one nature rejects, another delights in:
Food which is nauseous to one tribe of animals, be-
comes, by that very property which makes it nau-
seous, analluring 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. | :

CHAP. XX.

Of plants. = b|
J THINK a designed and studied mechanism to |
be, in general, more evident in animals than in
plants: and it is unnecessary to dwell upon a
weaker argument, where a stronger is at hand.
There are, however, a few observations upon the |
vegetable kingdom, which lie so directly m our |
way, that it would be improper to pass by them
without notice.
The one great intention of nature in the struc-
ture of plants seems to be the perfecting of the
seed; and, what is part of the same intention, the
preserving of it until it be perfected. This inten-
tion shows itself, in the first place, by the care
which appears to be taken, to protect and ripen, by
every advantage which canbe given to them of
situation in the plant, those parts which most im-
mediately contribute to fructification, viz. the an-
there, 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
trom the concave side of thecup. What is called
also the sleep of plants, is the leaves or petals dis-
posing themselves in such a manner as to shelter

OF PLANTS. 207

the pulp has ac-
quired a certain degree of consistency. In some

papilionaceous tribe, enclose the parts of fructifi-
ion within a beautiful folding of the interna!
etimes called, from its shape, the
1;, itself also protected under a pent-
‘mgd by the external petals. This struc-
ture is very artificial: and, what adds to the value
of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very
general. It has also this farther advantage, (and
it is an advantage strictly mechanical,) that all the
blossoms turn their backs to the wind, whenever the
gale blows strong enough to endanger the delicate
parts upon which the seed depends. I have ob-
served this a hundred times ina field of peas in
blossom. It is an aptitude which results from the
figure of the flower, and, as we have said, is strict~
ly mechanical; as much so, as the turning of a
weather-board or tin cap upon the top of a chim-
ney. 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
iving to it that position; and in that position it is
impenetrable by rain or moisture. When the head
has acquired its size, and is ready to open, the
stalk erects itself, for the purpose, as it should
seem, of presenting the flower, and with the flower,
the instruments of ‘fructification, to the genial in-
fluence of the sun’s rays. This always struck me
as a curious property ; and specifically, as well as
originally, provided for in the constitution of the
plant: for, if the stem be only bent by the weight
of the head, how comes it to straighten itself when
the head is the heaviest? These instances show
the attention of nature to this principal object, the

* Philos, Transact. part ii. 1796 ; p. 502.

208 OF PLANTS.

safety and maturation of the parts upon which the
seed depends. . at

In trees, especially in those which are natives of
colder climates, this point is taken up earlier.
Many of these trees (observe in particular the ask

and the horse-chesnet) produce the embryos of the” _

leaves and flowers in one year, and bring them to
perfection the followmg. ‘There is a winter there-
gore to be gotten over. Now what we are to re-
mark is, how nature has prepared for the trials and

severities of that season. These tender embryos —

are, in the first place, wrapped up withggeeompact-
ness, which no art can imitate: in Wameh state,
they compose what we call the bud. This is not ~

all. The bud itself is enclosed in seals
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 preser-
vative is added, by the bud having a coat of gum or
resin, which, being congealed, resists the strong-
est frosts. On the approach of warm weather,
this gum is softened, and ceases to be a hinderance
to the expansion of the leaves and flowers. All this
care is part of that system of provisions which has
for its object and consummation, the production and
perfecting of the seeds. .
The sEEDs themselves are packed up in a capsule,
#@vessel composed of coats, which, compared with
the rest of the flower, are strong and tough. From
this vessel projects a tube, through which tube the
farina, or some subtile fecundating effluvium that
issues from it, is admitted to the seed. And here
also occurs a mechanical variety, accommodated to
the different circumstances under which 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 anthere 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 posi-
tion, the farina, in its fall, would be carried from
the stigma, and not towards it? The relative
iength of the parts is now inverted. The pistil in
these flowers is usually longer, instead of shorter,

tT
ait

J)

OF PLANTS. 209

than the stamina, that its protruding summit may
receive the pollen as it drops to the ground.—
In some cases (as in the niged/a,) where the shafts
of the pistils or stiles are disproportionably long,
they bend down their extremities upon the an-
there, that the necessary approximation may be
effected. 3
But (to pursue this great work in its progress,)
the impregnation, to which all this machinery re-
lates, being completed, the other parts of the flower
fade and drop off whilst 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 diversified, we have the seed, at
length, in stone-fruits and nuts, incased in a strong
shell, the shell itself enclosed ina pulp or husk, by
which the seed within is, or hath been, fed; or,
more generally, (as in grapes, oranges, and the nu-
merous kinds of berries,) plunged over-head in a
glutinous syrup, contained within a skin or blad-
der : at other times (as in apples and pears) imbed-
ded in the heart of a firm fleshy substance; or (as
in geal ig 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

* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even
without experience, to suppose, that part of this provision was destin-
ed for the utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision
itself seems to go beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp
of an orange, the meat of a plumb, the fatness of the olive, appear to
be more than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel. The
event shows, that this redundancy, if it be one, miuisters 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 ano-
ther purpose, it is not unfair to conclude that beth purposes were con-
templated together. It favours this view of the subject to remnrk,
that fruits are not (which they might have been) ready ail together,
but that they ripen ia succession throughout a great part of the year ;
some in summer; some in autumn; that some require the slow matu-
ration of the winter, and supply the spring; also that the coldest
fruits grow in the hottest places. Cucumbers, pine-apples, melons,

ad

210 OF PLANTS.

trees, and shrubs, and flowers; the variety of the

seed-vessels is incomputable. We have the seeds

(as in the pea tribe) regularly disposed in parch-
ment pods, which, though soft and membranous,

completely exclude the wet even in the heaviest

rains; the pod also, not seldom, (as in the bean,)

lined with a fine down; at other times (as in the

senna) distended like a blown bladder: or we have

the seed enveloped in wool, (as in the cotton-plant,)

lodged (as in pines) between the hard and compact

scales of a cone, or barricadoed (as in the artichoke

and thistle) with spikes and prickles; in mush-
rooms, placed under a penthouse; in fearns, within

slits in the back part of the leaf; or (which is the

most general organization of all) we find them co-

vered by strong, close.tunicles, and attached to the

stem according to an order appropriated to each

plant, as is seen in the several kinds of grains and

of grasses. ) j

In which enumeration, what we have first to no-

tice is, unity of purpose under variety of expedients.

Nothing can be more single than the design; more

diversified thanthe 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 cases,

the purpose is fulfilled within a just and Limited de-

gree. e can perceive, that if the seeds of plants

were more strongly guarded than they are, their

greater security would interfere with other uses.

are the natural produce of warm climates, and contribute greatiy, by
their coolness, to the refreshment of the inhabitants of those coun-
tries.

T will add to this note the following observation communicated to
me by Mr. Brinkley :

** The eatabie part of the cherry or peach first serres the purposes
ef 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 functious. But the substance surrounding the stone is not then
thrown away as useless. ‘That which was before only an instrument
fer perfecting the kernel, now receives and retains to itself the whole
of the sua’s influence, and thereby becomes a grateful food to man.
Also what an evident mark of design is the stone protecting the ker-
nel ! The intervention of the stone prevents the second use from in-
terfering with the first.’ )

OF PLANTS. 211

Many species of animals would suffer, and many
perish, if they could not obtain access to them.—
The plant would overrun the soil; or the seed be
wasted for want of room to sow itself. It 1s, some-
_ times, 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 provi-
sions for the preservation of seeds appear to be di-
rected) chiefly against the inconstancy of the ele-
ments, or the sweeping destruction of inclement
seasons. The depredation of animals, and the in-
juries 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, whilst it remains confined in the cap-
sule. After the seeds therefore are ripened, the
pericarpium opens to let them out; and the open-
ing 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 extraor-
dinary ; nuts and shells, which we can hardly crack
with our teeth, divide and make way for the little
tender sprout which proceeds from the kernel.—
Handling the nut, 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
toa distance. We all however know, that many
seeds (those of most composite flowers, as of the
thistle, dandelion, &c.) are endowed with what are
not improperly called wings; that is, downy ap-
pendages, by. which they are enabled to float in the
air, and are carried oftentimes by the wind to great
distances from the plant which produces them. It
is the swelling also of this downy tuft within the
seed-vessel, that seems to Overcome the resistance
of its coats, and to open a passage for the seed to

| escape.

But the constitution of seeds is still more admira-
ble than either their preservation or their disper.

212 OF PLANTS.

sion. In the body of the seed of every. species of |
plant, or nearly of every one, provision is made for
two grand purposes: first, for the safety of the ©
germ; secondly, for the temporary support of the
iuture plant. ‘The sprout, as folded up im the seed,

is delicate and brittle beyond any other substance.

Tt cannot be touched wiuhout being broken. Yet |
in beans, peas, grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so |
fenced on all sides, so shut up and protected, that, —
whilst the seed itself is rudely handled, tossed into —
sacks, shovelled to heaps, the sacred particle, the —
miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is wonderful —
also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help of
their integuments, and perhaps of their oils, stand |
out against decay. A grain of mustard seed has |
been known to lie in the earth for a hundred years;
and, as soon as it had acquired a favourable situa- —
tion, to shoot as vigorously as if just gathered from —
the plant. Then, as to the second point, the tem- —
porary support of the future plant, the matter
stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels, and
pippins, the germ composes avery small part of the
seed. The rest consists of a nutritious substance,
from which the sprout draws its aliment for some jf
considerable time after it is put forth; viz. untilthe |
fibres, shot out from the other end of the seed, are |
able to imbibe juices from the earth, in a sufficient
quantity for its demand. It is owing to this con-
stitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts —
make a considerable progress, without any earth
atall. 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 egg, the
residence of the living principle, the cicatrix forms
avery minute part of the contents. The white
and the white only is expended in the formation of .
the chicken. The yolk, very little altered or di- ©
minished, is wrapped up in the abdomen of the
young bird, when it quits the shell: and serves for
its nourishment, till it have learnt to pick its own
food. This perfectly resembles the first nutrition
ofa plant. In the plant, as well as in the animal,
the structure has every character of contrivance
belonging to it: in both it breaks the transition

OF PLANTS. 213

from: prepared. to unprepared aliment ; in both, it
is prospective and compensatory. In animals
which suck, this intermediate nourishment. is sup-
plied by a different source. .

In all subjects, the most common observations
are the best, when it is their truth and strength
| which have made them common. There are, of
| this sort, two concerning plants, which it falls with-
| in our plan to notice. The first relates to, what has
already been touched upon, their germination.
| When a grain of corn is cast into the ground, this
| is the change which takes place. From one end
| of the grain issues a green sprout ; from the other
a number of fibrous threads. -How can this be exe
plamed? Why not sprouts from both ends? why
not fibrous threads from both ends ? To what is the ©
difference to be referred, but to design ; to the dif-
ferent uses which the parts are thereafter to serve ;
| uses which discover themselves in the sequel of the
process? The sprout, or plumule, struggles into
the air ; and becomes the plant, of which, from the
first, it contained the rudiments: the fibres shoot
into the earth; and, thereby, both fix the plant to
the ground, and collect nourishment from the soil
for its support. Now, what is not a little remarka-
ble, the parts issuing from the'seed take their re-
spective directions, into whatever position the seed
| itself happens to be cast. Ifthe seed be thrown
| into the wrongest possible position ; that is, if the
| ends point im the ground, the reverse of what they
ought to do, every thing, nevertheless, goes on
right. The sprout, after being pushed down a
little way, makes a bend, and turns upwards; the
fibres, on the contrary, after shooting at first up-
wards, turn down. Of this extraordinary vegeta-
ble fact, an account has lately been attempted to be
given. “ The plumule (it is said) is stimulated by
| the atr into action, and elongates itself when it is
thus most excited; the radicle is stimulated by
moisture, and elongates itself when 7 is thus most
excited. Whence one of these grows upward in
quest of its adapted object, and the other down-
| ward.”* Were this account better verified by ex-

—

* Darwin’s Phytologia, p. 144,

214 OF PLANTS.

periment than it is, it only shifts the contrivance.
it does not disprove the contrivance; it only re-
moves it a little farther back. Who, to use our
author’s own language, ‘‘adapted the objects ?”’
Who gave such a quality to these connate parts,as
to be susceptibie of hs aber “‘ stimulation ;”’ as to
be “excited” each only by its own element, and
precisely by that which the success of the vegeta-
tion requires? I say, ‘which the success of the —
vegetation requires:” for the toil of the husband- |
man would have 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 oneseed
out of a hundred would fall in a right direction.
Our second observation is upon a general proper-
ty of climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical.
In these plants, from each knot or joint, or, as
botanists call it, axilla, of the plant, issue, close to
each other, two shoots: one bearing the flower
and fruit; the other, drawn out into a wire, a long,
tapering, spiral tendril, that twists itself round any
thing which lies within its reach. Considering,
that in this class two purposes are to be provided
for, (and together,) fructification and support, the
fruitage of the plant, and the sustentation of the
stalk, what means could be used more effectual, 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 different and appropriate forms, spring
from the same joint, from contiguous points of the
same stalk ? It never happens thus im robust plants,
or intrees. ‘“ We see not (says Ray) so much as
one tree, or shrub, or herb, that hath a firm and
strong stem, and that is able to mountup andstand |)
alone without assistance, furnished with these ten- |
drils.”” 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 circumstance
not to be overlooked, that in the pea tribe, these
clasps do not make their appearance till they are

OF PLANTS. is

wanted; till the plant has grown toa 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
stalks of plants. There may be other uses of these
oma but the fact is, and it appears to be, at
east, oné purpose designed by them, that they
corroborate the stem; which, by its length and hol-
lowness, 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 in- |
habitants. Cattle feed upon their leaves; birds.
upon their smaller seeds; men upon the larger’:
for, few readers need be told that the plants which
produce our bread-corn, belong to this class. In
those tribes, which are more generally considered
as grasses, their extraordinary means and powers
of preservation and increase, their hardiness, their.
almost unconquerable disposition to spread, their
faculties of reviviscence, coincide with the intention
of nature concerning them. They thrive under a
treatment by which other plants are destroyed.
The more their leaves are consumed, the more their
roots increase. ‘The more they are trampled upon,
the thicker they grow. Many of the seemingly
dry and dead leaves of grasses revive, and renew
their verdure,in the spring. In lofty mountains,
where the summer heats are not sufficient to ripen
the seeds, grasses abound, which are viviparous,
and consequently able to propagate themselves
without seed. It is an observation, likewise, which
has often been made, that herbivorous animals at-
tach 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
‘properties common to large portions of that king-
‘dom, are almost all which the compass of our ar-

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

216 OF PLANTS.

gument allows to bring forward. It is impossible
to follow plants into their several species. We
may be allowed, however, to single out three or
four of these species as worthy of a particular no-
tice, either by some singular mechanism, or by
some peculiar provision, or by both. |

I. In Dr. Darwin’s Botanic Garden (1. 395, note,)
is the following account of the vallisneria, as it has
been observed in the river Rhone.—“ They have
roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The “flowers of
the female plant float on the surface of the water,
and are furnished with an elastic, spiral stalk, which
extends or contracts as the water rises or falls ;
this rise or fall, frem the torrents which flow
into the river, often amounting to many feet ina
few hours. The flowers of the male plant are pro-
duced under water ; and, as soon as the fecundating
farina is mature, they separate themselves from the
plant; rise to the surface; and are wafted by the
air, or borne by the currents, to the female flowers.”
Our attention in this narrative will be directed to
two particulars : first, to the mechanism, the “ elas-
tic, spiral stalk,” which lengthens or contracts |
itself according as the water rises or falls , second-
ly, to the provisiou which is made for bringing the
male flower, which is produced under water, to the
female flower which floats upon the surface.

IJ. My second example I take from Withering’s
Arrangement, vol. ii. p. 209. ed.3. ‘“‘ The cuscuta —
europea 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 nourish- |
ment.” The “little spiral body” proceeding from —
the seed, is to be compared with the fibres which ©
seeds send out in ordinary cases: and the ecompa- —
rison ought to regard both the form of the threads
and the direction. They are straight ; thisis spi- ©
ral. They soot downwards ; this points upwards. ||).
In the rule, and in the exception, we equally per-
ceive design.

Ill. A better known parasitical plant is the ever-
vreen_shrub, called the mistletoe. What we have to
remark in it, is a singular instance of compensation,

At

a es. ee oe —

OF PLANTS. 217

No art hath yet made these plants take root in the
earth. Here therefore might seem to be a mortal
defect in their constitution. Let us examine how
this defect is made up to them. The seeds are en-
dued with an adhesive quality, so tenacious, that if
they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost any
tree, they will stick to it. And then what follows ?
Roots springing from these seeds, insinuate their
fibres into the woody substance of the tree; and the
event is, that a mistletoe plant is produced next
winter.* Ofno other plant do the roots refuse to
shoot into the ground; of no other plant do the
seeds possess this adhesive, generative quality,
when applied to the bark of trees.

{V. Another instance of the compensatory system .

is in the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron (col-
chicum autumnale.) I have pitied this poor plant a
thousand times. Its blossom rises out-of the ground
in the most forlorn condition possible; without a
sheath, a fence, a calyx, or even a leaf to protect
it: and that, not in the spring, not to be visited by
summer suns, but under ali the disadvantages of the
declining year. When we come, however, to look
/more closely into the structure of this plant, we
find that, instead of its being neglected, Nature has
gone out of her course to provide for its security,
and to make up to it for all its defects. The seed-
vessel, which in other plants is situated within the
cup of the flower, or just. beneath it, in this plant
lies buried ten or twelve inches under ground with-
in the bulbous root. The tube of the flower, which
is seldom more than a few tenths of an inch long,
in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles
a allcases reach the seed-vessel ; but it is in this,
yy an elongation unknown to any other plant. All
these singularities contribute to one end. “ As this
plant blossoms late in the year, and, probably,
would not have time to ripen its seeds before the
access of winter, which would destroy them; Pro-
vidence has contrived its structure such, that this
important office may be performed at a depth in the
earth out of reach of the usual effects of frost.’’+

—,

ne ee ee

* Vrithering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p, 203, ed, 24.
+ Withering, ubi supra, p. 360.
18

,

218 OF PLANTS.

That is to say, in the autumn nothing is done above
ground but the business of impregnation ; which is
an affair between the anthere and stigmata, and is
probably soon over. The maturation of the impreg-
nated seed, which in other plants proceeds within a
capsule, exposed together with the rest of the flower
to the open air, is here carried on, and during the
whole winter, within the heart, as we may say, of
the earth, that is, ‘“‘ out of the reach of the usual
effects of frost.” But then a new difficulty presents

itself: Seeds, though perfected, are known not to — |

vegetate at this depth in the earth. Our seeds,
therefore, though so safely lodged, would, after all,
be lost to the purpose for which all seeds are in-
tended. Lest this should be the case, ‘‘a second
admirable provision is made to raise them above the
snrface when they are perfected, and to sow them

at a proper distance ;” viz. the germ grows up im ||
the spring, upon a fruit-stalk, accompanied with

leaves. The seeds now, in common with those of —
other plants, have the benefit of the summer, and —
are sown upon the surface. The order of vegeta-

tion externally is this:—The plant produces its

flowers in September ; its leaves and fruits in the

spring following.

V. I give the aceount of the dionce muscipula, an
extraordinary American plant, as some late authors
have related it: but whether we be yet enough ac-
quainted with the plant, to bring every part of this
account to the test of repeated and familiar observa-
tion, Jam unable to say. “Its leaves are jointed
and furnished with two rows of strong prickles ;
their surfaces covered with a number of minute
glands, which secrete a sweet liquor that allures
the approach of flies. When these parts are touch-
_ed by the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf in-
stantly spring up, the rows of prickles lock them-
selves fast together, and squeeze the unwary animal
to death.”* Here, under a new model, we recog-
nise the ancient plan of nature, viz. the relation of
parts and provisions to one ancther, to a common
ofice, and to the utility of the organized body to
which they belong. The attracting syrup, the

_ * Smellie’s Phil. of Nat. Hist. vol. i. p. 5.

THE ELEMENTS. alg
rows of strong prickles, their position so as to in-
terlock the joints of the leaves; and, what is more
than the rest, that singular irritability of their sur-

faces, by which they close at a touch; all beara

contributory part in producing an effect, connected
oe with the defence or with the nutrition of the
plant. —

rea
% °

CHAP. XXI.

The elements.

WueEN we come to the elements, we take leave
of our mechanics ; because we come to those things,
of the organization of which, if they be organized,
we are confessedly ignorant. This ignorance is
implied by their name. ‘To say the truth, our in-
vestigations are stopped long before we arrive at
this point. But then it is for our comfort to find,
that a knowledge of the constitution of the elements
is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison
has well observed, “‘ we know water sufficiently,
when we know how to boil, how to freeze, how to
evaporate, how to make it fresh, how to make it
run or spout out, in what quantity and direction we
please, without knowing what water is.’”? The ob-
servation of this excellent writer has more proprie-
ty in it now, than it had at the time it was made:

for the constitution, and the constituent parts, of

water, appear in some measure to have been lately
discovered ; yet it does not, I think, appear, that we
can make any better or greater use of water since
the discovery, than we did before it.

Wecan never think of the elements, without re-
flecting upon the number of distinct uses which are
consolidated in the same substance. The air sup-
plies the lungs, supports fire, conveys sound, re-
flects light, diffuses smells, gives rain, wafts ships,
bears up birds. E% vdarosr ra ravrae: water, besides
maintaining its own inhabitants, is the universal
nourisher of plants, and through them of terrestrial
animals; is the basis of their juices and fluids; di-
lutes their food ; quenches their thirst, floats their
burdens. Fire warms, dissolves, enlightens; is the

99) THE ELEMENTS.

great promoter of vegetation and life, if not neces-
sary for the support of both.

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

I. Air is essentially different from earth. There

appears to be no necessity for an atmosphere’s in-

vesting our globe; yet it does invest it; and we
see how many, how various, and how important,
are the purposes which it answers to every order of
animated, not to say of organized, beings, which
are placed upon the terrestrial surface. I thik that
every one of these uses will be understood upon the
first mention of them, except it be that of reflecting
light, which may be explained thus :—If I had the
power of seeing only by means of rays coming di-
rectly from the sun, whenever I turned my back
upon the luminary, I should find myself in darkness.
If IT 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 illuminoted, as it is illumi-
nated, by the light of the sun being from all sides,
and in every direction, reflected to the eye, by par-
ticles, as numerous, as thickly scattered, and as
widely diffused, as are those of the air.

Another general quality of the atmosphere is the
power of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of
this quality to our use is seen in its action upon
the sea. In the sea, water and salt are mixed to-
gether 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 evaporation be solution, (which seems to be pro-
bable,) then the air dissolves the water, and not the
sult. Upon whatever it be founded, the distinction
is critical ; so much so, that when we 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 distastefulness, of the marine substance : and

after all it is owing to this original elective power _

» Mave

THE ELEMENTS. 221

in the air, that we can effect the separation which
we wish, by any art or means whatever. ;
By evaporation, water is carried up into the air ;

by the converse of evaporation, it falls down.

upon the earth. And how does it fall ? Not by the
clouds being all at once reconverted into water,
and 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 render-
ed unfit for the support of animal life. By the
constant operation of these corrupting principles,
the whole atmosphere, if there were no restoring
causes, would come at length to be deprived of its
necessary degree of purity. Some of these causes
seem to have been discovered ; and their efficacy
ascertained by experiment. And so far as the dis-
covery has proceeded, it opens to us a beautiful
and a wonderful economy. Vegetation proves to
be one of them. A sprig of mint, corked up with
a small portion of foul air, placed in the light, ren-
ders it again capable of supporting life or flame.
Here, therefore, is a constant circulation of benefits
maintained between the two great provinces of or-
ganized nature. The plant purifies, what the ani-
mal has poisoned ; in return, the contaminated air
is more than ordinarily nutricious to the plant.
Agitation with water turns out to be another of
these restoratives. The foulest air, shaken in a
bottle with water for a sufficient length of time, re-
covers a great degree of its purity. Here then
again, allowing for the scale upon which nature
works, we see the salutary efiects of storms and
tempests. The yesty 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 salubri-
ty of their atmosphere. It ought to reconcile us
therefore to these agitations of the elements, of
which we sometimes deplore the consequences, to
know, that they tend powerfully to restore to the

a —

222 THE ELEMENTS.

air that purity, which so many causes are con-
stantly impairing. | : .
II. In water, what ought not a little to be admir-
ed, are those negative qualities which constitute its
purity. Had it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid;
had the sea been filled, or the rivers flowed, with
wine, or milk; fish, constituted as they are, must
have died ; plants, constituted. as they are, would
have withered; the lives of animals which feed
upon plants, must have perished. | Its very insipid-
ity, which is one of those negative qualities, ren-
ders it the best of all menstrua. Having no taste of

its own, it becomes the sincere vehicle of every other.

Had there been a taste in water, be it what it might,
it would have infected every thing we ate or drank,
with an importunate repetition of the same flavour.

Another thing in this element, not less to be ad-
mired, is the constant round which it travels; and
by which, without suffering either adulteration or
waste, it is continually offering itself to the wants
of the habitable globe. From the sea are exhaled
those vapours which form the clouds~ these clouds
descend in showers, which, penetrating into the
crevices of the hills, supply springs: which springs
flow in little streams into the valleys; and there
uniting, become rivers; which rivers, in return,
feed the ocean. So there is an incessant circula-
tion of the same fluid ; and not one drop probably
more or less now than there was at the creation.
A particle of water takes its departure from the
surface of the sea, in order to fulfil certain impor-
tant 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 we have too much wa-
ter upon the globe, the sea occupying above three-
quarters of its whole surface. But the expanse of
ocean, immense as it is, may be no more than suffi-
cient to fertilize the earth. Or, independently of
this reason, I know not why the sea may not have
as good a right toits place asthe land. It may pro-
portionably support as many inhabitants ; minister to
as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The landonly
affords a habitable surface; the sea is habitable to
a great depth.

— — i = ee

* THE ELEMENTS. 223

ill. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The
only idea probably which this term raised im the
reader’s mind, was that of fire melting metals,
resins, and some other substances, fluxing ores,
running glass, and assisting us in many of our ope-
rations, chymical or culinary. Now these are only
uses of an occasional kind, and give us a very im-

erfect notion of what fire does forus. The grand
importance of this dissolving power, the great
office indeed of fire-in the economy of nature, is
keeping things in a state of solution, that is tosay,
in a state of fluidity. Were it not for the presence
of heat, or of a certain degree of it, all fluids would
befrozen. The ocean itself would be a quarry of
ice ; universal nature stiff and dead. ~ .

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

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

Light travels from the sun at the rate of twelve
millions of miles ina minute. Urged by such a
velocity, with what force must its particles drive
against (I will not say the eye, the tenderest ani-
mal substances, but) every substance, animate or
inanimate, which stands in its way! It mightseem
tobe a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the hard-
est bodies.

How then is this effect, the consequence of such
prodigious velocity, guarded against? By a pro-
portionable mznuteness of the particles of which
light is composed. It is impossible for the human
mind to imagine to itself any thing so small asa
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 afarthing candle,
shall ee 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

.
;
:

a oe ae ae ee 7 eer ed , ——" —— — 1 “=

224 THE ELEMENTS.

an eye, wherever it be placed within the hemi-
sphere, shall be sure to receive some of them.
What floods of light are continually poured from
the sun, we cannot estimate; but the immensity of
the sphere which is filled with particles, even if it
reached no farther than the orbit of the earth, we
can in some sort compute : and we have reason to
believe, that, throughout this whole region, the
particles of light lie, in latitude at least, near to
one another. ‘The spissitude of the sun’s rays at
the earth is such, that the number which falls upon
a burning-glass of an inch diameter, is sufficient,
when concentrated, to set wood on fire.

The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light,
as ascertained by separate observations, may be
said to be proportioned to each other; both sur-
passing our utmost stretch of comprehension ;
but proportioned. And it is this proportion alone
which converts a tremendous element into a wel-
come visiter.

It has been observed to me by a learned friend,
as having often struck his mind, that if hight had
been aide by acommon artist, itwould have been
of one uniform colour, whereas, by its present
composition, we have that variety of colours,
which is of such infinite use to us for the distin-
guishing of objects: which adds so much to the
beauty of the earth, and augments the stock of our
innocent pleasures. :

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

ASTRONOMY. 29

i SO Sewer RAP. KOCH. -

sii Sabaneta, Sait ace STOUT 9:

_ My opinion of Astronomy has always been, that
it is mot the 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 purpose of argument. We are destitute of
the means‘ of examining the constitution of the
heavenly bodies. The very simplicity of their ap-
pearance is against them, We see nothing, but
bright points, luminous circles, or the phases of
spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them.
Now we deduce design from relation, aptitude, and
correspondence of parts. Some degree therefore of
complexity is necessary to render a subject fit for
this species of argument. But the heavenly bodies
do not, except perhaps in the instance of Saturn’s
ring, present themselves to our observation as com-
pounded of parts at all. This, which may be a
perfection in them, is a disadvantage to us, as im-
quirers after their nature. They donot come with-
in our mechanics.

And what we say of their forms, is true of their
motions. Their motions are carried on without any
sensible immediate apparatus; whereby we are
eut off from one principle ground of argumenta-
tion, analogy. We have nothing wherewith to
compare them; no invention, no discovery, no ope-
ration or resource of art, which, in this respect,
resembles them. Even those things which are
made to imitate and represent them, such as orre-
ries, planetaria, celestial globes, &c. bear no affini-
ty to them, in the cause and principle by which
shore motions are actuated. I can assign for this

er

* For the articles in this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am
indebted to some obliging communications received (through the
hands of the Lord Bishop of Elphin) from the Rey. J. Brinkley,
M, A. Andrew’? Professor of Astronomy io the’ University of
Poblin. rte

Set 19

226 ASTRONOMY.

difference a reason of utility, viz) a reason wit,
though the action of terrestrial bodies upon each
other be, in almost all cases, through the interven-
tion of solid or fluid substances, yet central attrac-
tion does not operate in this manner. If was ne-
cessary that the intervals between the planetary
orbs should be devoid of any izert matter either
fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance
would, by its resistance, destroy those very mo-
tions, which attraction 1s employed to preserve.
This may be a final cause ofthe difference ; but stil!
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 ufil:-
ties, relations, and subserviencies, which we per-
celve upon our own globe. ‘ ag eH

After all; the real subject of admiration is, that
we understand so much of astronomy as We do.
That an animal confined to the surface of one of
the planets; bearing a less proportion to it than
the smallest microscopic insect does to the plant it
lives upon; that this little, busy, inquisitive crea-
ture, by the use of senses which were given to it
for its domestic necessities, and by means of the as-
sistants of those senses which it has had the art to
procure, should have been enabled to observe the
whole system of worlds to which its own belongs ;
the changes of place of the immense globes which
compose it; and with such accurary, as to mark
out beforehand, the situation in the heavens im
which they will be ‘ound at any future point of
time; and that thest 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 won-
derful, whether we refer our admiration to the
constancy of the heavenly motions themselves, or to
the perspicacity and precision with which they
have been noticed by mankind. Nor is this the
whole, nor indeed the chief part, of what astrono-
my teaches. By bringing reason to bear upon ob-
servation, (the acutest reasoning upon the exactest
observaticn,) the astronomer has been able, out of

:
:
7
.

}
ASTRONOMY. 227

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

gazZer upon the skies, to elicit their order and their

real paths. |
Our knowledge therefore of astronomy is admi-
rable, though imperfect : and, amidst the confessed
desiderata and desideranda, which impede our in-
vestigation of the wisdom of the Deity in these the
grandest of his works, there are to be found, in the
phenomena, ascertained circumstances and laws,

sufficient to mdicate an mele agency in three
mn

of its principal operations, viz.
termining, in regulating; in choosing, out of a
boundless variety of suppositions which were
equally possible, that which is beneficial; in deter-
mining, What, left to itself, had a thousand chances
against conveniency, for one in its favour: inregu-
lating subjects, as to quantity and degree, which,
by their nature, were unlimited with respect to ei-
ther. It will be our business to offer, under each
ef these heads, a few instances, such as best admit
of a popular explication. ee

I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing the
source of light and heat in the centre of the system.
The sun is ignited and luminous; the planets,
which move round him, cold and dark. There
seems to be no antecedent necessity for this order.
The sun might have been an opaque mass; some
one, or two, or more, or any, or all, the planets,
globes of fire. There is nothing in the nature of
the heavenly bodies, which requires that those

‘which are stationary should be on fire, that those

which move should be cold: for, in fact, comets are
bodies on fire, or at least capable of the most in-
tense heat, yet revolve round a centre: nor does
this order obtain between the primary planets and
their secondaries, which are all opaque. When
we consider, therefore, that the sun is one; that
the planets going round it are, at least, seven; that
it is indifferent to their nature, which are luminous
and which are opaque; and also, in what order,
with respect to éach other, these two kinds of bo-
dies are disposed ; we may judge of the improbabi-

choosing, in de--

OO 88 Lee ee

228 ASTRONOMY.

lity of the present arrangement taking place by
chance. . 1 GT aygeeee

If, by way of accounting for the state in which
we find the solar system, it be alleged, (and this is
one amongst the guesses of those who reject an in-
telligent 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 héis,drom eternity. Thisconsequence
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 originally masses of matter, struck off in a
state of fusion, from the body of the sun by the per-
cussion of a comet, or by a shock from some other
cause, with which we are not acquainted: 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 incapable of an eternal duration in the
state in which we see it, either for the time to come,
or the time past.

The preference of the present to any other mode
of distributing luminous and opaque bodies, I take
to be evident. It requires more astronomy than I
am able to lay before the reader, to show, in its
particulars, what would be the effect to the system, ~
of a dark body at the centre, and of one of the pla-
nets being luminous: but I think it manifest, with-
out either plates or calculation, first, that supposing

the necessary proportion of magnitude between the

central and the revolving bodies to be preserved,
the ignited planet would not be sufficient to illumi-
nate and warm the rest of the system; secondly,
that its light and heat would be imparted to the
other planets much more irregiffarly than light and
heat are now received from the sun. L AD

*) I]. Another thing, in which a choice appears
to be exercised, and in which, amongst the possibi-
lities out of which the choice was to be made, the
mumber of those which were wreng bore an infinite

ASTRONOMY. 929

sh

a wrong axis. And what would have been the
consequence? ‘The difference between a perma-
nent axis and another axis is this: When a sphe-
roid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a per-
manent axis, it keeps there; it remains steady and
faithful to its position; its poles preserve their di-
rection with respect to the plane and to the centre
of its orbit : but, whilst it turns upon an axis which
is not permanent, (and the number of those we have
seen infinitely exceeds the number of the other,) it
is always liable to shift and vacillate from one axis
to another, with a corresponding change in the in-
clination of its poles, Therefore, if a planet once
set off revolving upon any other than its shortest,
or one of its longest axes, the poles on its surface
would keep perpetually changing, and it never
would attain a permanent axis of rotation. The
effect of this unfixedness and instability would be,
that the equatorial parts of the earth might become
the polar, or the polar the equatorial ; to the utter
destruction of plants and animals, which are not
capable of interchanging their situations, but are
respectively adapted to their own. As to ourselves

20 ASTRONOMY.

instead of rejoicing in our zone, and an-
nually preparing for the moderate scien or
rather the st ae succession uae seasons, which
we experience and expect, we come to
local oe in the ice and darkness of the aretic cir-
cle, with bodies neither inured to its rigours, nor
provided with shelter or defence agamst 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
ean live under greater varieties of latitude than any
other animal; stil] more noxious would this trans- _-
oe of Sen bes proved to - a, the be of
the creation; and, most perhaps in plants.
The habitable earth, and its beautiful variety,
might have been destroyed, by a simple mischance
in the axis of rotation.

(*) IIL All this, however, proceeds a sup-
position of the earth having been ved at first an
oblate spheroid. There is another ition -
and perhaps our limited information will not enable
us to decide between them. The second supposi-
tion is, that the earth, being a mixed mass some-

a point in the history of earth, which our ob-
servations are not sufficient to determine. For 2
very smal] depth below the surface, (but extremely
small, less, perhaps, than an eight-thousandth part,
compared with the depth of the centre,) we find
vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this must
have gone down many hundred times farther than
we can penetrate, to enable the earth to take its
present oblate form: and whether any traces of
this kind exist to that depth, we are ignorant. Cal-
culations were made a few years ago, of the mean
density of the earth, by comparing the force of its
attraction with the force of attraction of a rock of
granite, the bulk of which could be ascertained:
pare oe SS eters pe cna ahies,
upon an average, its :
haz twice the density of erasite, or We times
that of water. Therefore it cannot be a

ASTRONOMY. 233

sheil,.< seus have formerly supposed ; nor car
its inter parts be occupied by central fire, or by
water. iat soli ge hg must greatly exceed the
fluid parts : "and the probability is, that itis a solid
inass throug ighout, composed of substances more pon-
derous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, we may
conceive the present face of the earth to have ori-
ane from the revolution of a sphere, covered by
a surface of a compound mixture ; the fluid and
solid p separating, as the eurface becomes qui-
escent. ere then comes in the moderoting hand
ofthe Creator. If the water had exceeded its pre-
roportion, even but by a trifling quantity com- |
par ‘ith the whole globe, all the land would
iave been covered : had there been much less than
there is, t there would not have been enough to fer-
tilize the continent. Had the exsiccation been
gressive, such as we may suppose to fisve
produced by an evaporating heat, how came it té
stop at the, point at which we see it? Why did it
not stop sooner? why at all? The mandate of the
Deit mall account for this ; nothing else wil].
. OF CENTRIPETAL FoRcCES. By virtue of
the simplest law that can be imagined, riz. that a
body continues i in the state in which it is, whether
of motion or rest; and, if in motion, goes on in the
line in which it was proceeding, and with the same
velocity, unless there be some cause forchange - by
virtue, t. say, of this law, it comes to pass s (what
may appear to be a strange consequence,) that
cases arise, in which attraction, incessantly draw-
oat body towards a centre, never brings, nor ever
bring, the body to that centre, but keep it in
eternal Nine round it, If it were possible to
fire off a cannon ball with a velocity of five miles in
a second, and the resistance of the air could be
taken away, the cannon-ball would for ever wheel
round the carth, instead of falling down upon it.
his is the pe conle Bi which, sustains the heavenly
motions. _The Deity, havin goppanes this law to
cond hoe (than which as we we ve said before, no law
more simple,) has turned it to a wonderful
cee 2 in constructing etary systems. =
_ The aetuating cause in these systems, is an at-
traction which varies reciprocally as the square of

232 ASTRONOMY.

the distance; that is, at double the distance, has «

uarter of the force; at half the distance, four
times the strength; and so on. Now, concerning
this law of variation, we have three things to ob-
serve: First; that attraction, for any thing we
know about it, was justas capable of one law of va-
riation, as of another: Secondly ; that, out of an
infinite number of possible Jaws, those which were
admissible for the purpose of supporting the heaven-
ly motions, lay within certain narrow hmits: Third-
ly ; that of the admissible laws, or those which come
within the limits prescribed, the law that actually
prevails is the most beneficial. So far as these pro- |
positions can be made out, we may be said, I think,
_ to prove choice and regulation : choice, out of bound-
less variety; and regulation, of that which, by its
own nature, was, in respect of the property regu-
lated, indifferent and indefinite.

I. First then, attraction, for any thing we know
about it, was originally indifferent towall laws of
variation depending upon change of distance, 7. e.
just as susceptible of one law as of another. Itmight
have been the same at all distances; it might have
increased as the distance inereased: or it might
have diminished with the increase of the distance,
set in ten thousand different proportions from the
present; it might have followed no stated law at
all. If attraction be what Cotes, with many other
Newtonians, thought it to be, a prnnordial proper-
ty of matter, not dependant upon, or traceable to,
any other material cause ; then, by the very nature
and definition of a primordial property, it stood in-
different to all laws. If it be the ageney of some-
thing immaterial ; then also, for any thing we know
of it, it was mdifferent to all laws. If the revolu-
tion of bodies round a centre depend upon vortices,
neither are these limited toone law more than an-
other. 5a 38 2

There is, I know, an account given of attraction,
which should seem, in its very cause, to erp to
it the law which we find it to observe; and which,
therefore, makes that law, a law, not of choice, but
of necessity : and it is the account, which aseribes
attraction to an emanation from the attracting body~
Tt is probable, that the influence of such an emana-

»

ASTRONOMY. 238

tion will be proportioned to the spissitude of the
rays of bach it is composed ; which Spissitude
supposing the rays to issue in right lines on al
sides from a pomt, will be reciprocally as the
square of the distance. The mathematics of this
solution we do not call in question: the question
with us is, whether there be any sufficient reason
for believing that attraction is produced by an ema-
nation. Yor my part, I am totally at a loss to com-
prehend how particles streaming from a centre
should draw a body towards it. The impulse, if im-
puctes be, is all the other way. Nor shall we find
ess difficulty in conceiving a conflux of particles,
incessantly flowing to a centre, and carrying down ~ 4
all bodies along with it, that centre also itself being 4
in a state of rapid motion through absolute space ;
for, by what source is the stream fed, or what be-
comes of the accumulation? Add to which, that it
seems to imply a contrariety of properties, to sup-
pose.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 na-
ture of inert matter, powerless and perfectly yield-
ing with respect to the motions which result from
the projectile impulse. By calculations drawn
from ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can
ie that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance
as had no sensible effect upon the moon’s motion
for two thousand five hundred years. The truth is,
that, except this one circumstance of the variation
of the attracting force at different distances agree-
ing with the variation of the spissitude, there is no
reason whatever to support the hypothesis of an
emanation ; and, as it seems to me, almost insupera-
ble reasons against it.
(*) If. Our second proposition is, that, whilst the
possible laws of variation were infinite, the adzmis-
sible laws, or the laws compatible with the preserva-
tion 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 have taken
place. The direct simple proportion of the distance
would, it is true, have produced an ellipse : but the
perturbing forces would have acted with so much

4

934 ASTRONOMY.

advantage, as to be continually changing the di-.
mensions of the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent
with our terrestrial creation. For instance; if the
planet Saturn, so large and so remote, had attract-.
ed the Earth, both in proportion to the quantity of
matter contained in it, which it does; and also in
any proportion to its distance, 7. e. if it had pulled
the harder for being the farther off, (instead of the
reverse of it,) it would have dragged out of its
course the globe which we inhabit, and have per-
plexed its motions, toa degree incompatible with
our security, our enjoyments, and probably our ex-
istence. Of the inverse laws, if the centripetal
force had changed as the cube of the distance, or in
any higher proportion, that is, (for I speak to the,
unlearned,) if, at double the distance, the attractive

force had been diminished to an eighth part, or to |

Jess than that, the consenuceaaamon’ save been,

that the planets, if they once began to approach.

the sun, would have fallen into his body ; if they
once, though by ever so little, mereased their dis-.
tance from the centre, would for ever have receded
fromit. The Jaws therefore of attraction, by which
a system of revolving bodies could be upholden in.
their motions, lie within narrow limits, compared.
with the possible laws. JI much underrate the re-
striction, when I say that, ina scale of a mile, they

are confined to an inch. All direct. ratios of the _|
distance are excluded, on account of danger from.

perturbing forces : all reciprocal ratios,execept what,
lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the de-
monstrable consequence, that every the least
change of distance would, under the operation of
such laws, have been fatal te the repose and order
of the system. We do not know, that is, we sel-
dem reflect, how interested we are in this matter.
Small irregularities may be endured; but, changes
within these limits being allowed for, the perma-

nency of our ellipse is a question of life and death |

to our whole sensitive world. © 5
(*) II. That the subsisting law of attraction
falls within the limits which utility requires, when
these limits bear so small Pipes ne og
of possibilities upon which chance might equalls
have east it, is not, with any appearance of reason,

ASTRONOMY. 235

to be accounted for by-any other cause than a re-
gulation proceeding from a designing mind. But
our next proposition carries the matter somewhat
farther. We say, in the third place, that, out of
the different laws which lie within the limits of ad-
missible 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. Whilst this law prevails between each par-
ticle of matter, the wnited attraction of a sphere,
eomposed 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 aproperty which belongs to no other law of at-
traction that is admissible. The law of variation
of the united attraction is in no other case the same
as the law of attraction of each particle, one case
excepted, and that is of the attraction varying di-
rectly as the distance ; the inconveniency of- which
law, in other respects, we have already noticed. —
We may follow this regulation somewhat farther,
and still more strikingly perceive that it proceeded
from a designing rita A law both admissible and
convenient was requisite. In what way is the law of
the attracting globes obtained? Astronomical obser-
vations and terrestrial experiments show 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 gravitating by the united gravitation of their
parts, unless each particle of matter were attracted
by a force varying by one particular law, viz. vary-
‘ing mversely as the square of the distance: for, if
‘the action of the particles be according to any
‘other law whatever, the admissible and convenient
law, which is adopted, could not be obtained. Here
‘ then are clearly shown regulation and design. A
‘law both admissible and convenient was to be ob-
‘ tained : the mode chosen for obtaining that law was
by making each particle of matter act. After this
» choice was made, then farther attention was to be
given to each particle of matter, and one, and one

236 ASTRONOMY.

only, particular law of action to be assigned toits |

No other law would have answered the purpose in-
tended. — ig ey ete )

(*) 2. All systems must be liable to perturbations.
And, therefore, to guard against these perturba-
tions, or rather to guard against their running to
destructive lengths, is perhaps the strongest evi-
dence of care and foresight that ean 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
unavoidable influences; that the action of the parts
of our system upon one another will not cause per-
manently increasing irregularities, but merely pe-
riodical 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 follow-
ing properties concur, viz. that the foree shall be
inversely as the square of the distance ; the masses
of the revolving bodies small, compared with that
of the body at the centre; the orbits not much in-
clined to one another ; and their eccentricity little.
I 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 fluc-
tuation of temperature and season, ‘The same as
to the obliquity of the planes of the orbits. For in-
_ stance, the inclination of the ecliptic to the equator
will never change above two degrees, (out of nine-
ty,) and that will require many thousand years in
performing. : eae et ee

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

If it be said, that the planets are nave been
sent round the sun in exact circles, in which case, no
change of distance from the centre taking place, the.

. .

ASTRONOMY. — 257

law of variation of the attracting power would have
never come in question, one law would have served.
as well as another; an answer to the scheme may
be drawn from the consideration of these same per-
turbing forces. The system retaining in other re-
‘Spects its present constitution, though the planets
had been at first sent round in exact circular or-
bits, they could not have kept them: and if the law
of attraction had not been what it is, or, at least, if
the prevailmg law had transgressed the limits
above assigned, every evagation would have been
fatal: the planet once drawn, as drawn it necessa-
rily must have been, out of its course, would have
wandered in endless error.

- (*) V. What we have seen in the law of the cen-
tripetal force, viz. a choice guided by views of
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 planetary orbits. It was
not enough to fix the law of the centripetal force,
though by the wisest choice; for, even under that
law, it was still competent to the planets to have
moved in paths possessing so great a degree of ec-
centricity, as, in the course of every revolution, to
be brought very near to the sun, and carried away
to immense distances from hin. The comets ac-
tualiy move in orbits of this sort: and, had the
planets done so, instead of going round in orbits
nearly circular, the change from one extremity of
temperature to another must, in ours at least, have
destroyed every animal and plant upon its surface,
Now, the distance from the centre at which a planet
sets off, and the absolute force of attraction at that
distance, being fixed, the figure of its orbit, its
being a circle, or nearer to, or farther off from a
circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval, depends

upon two things, the velocity with, and the direc-
| tion in which, the planet is projected. And these,
in order to produce a right result, must be both
brought within certain ’narrow limits. One, and
only one, velocity, united with one, and only one,
direction, will produce a perfect circle. And the
| velocity must be near to this velocity, and the di- |
rection also near to this direction, to ‘produce or-
| bits, such’ as the preety. orbits are, nearly cir:
| cular; that is, ellipses with small eccentricities.

258 ASTRONOMY.

The velocity and the direction must doth be right.
if the velocity be wrong, no direction will cure the |
error; if the direction be in any considerable de-
gree oblique, no velocity will produce the orbit re- |
quired. ‘Take for example the attraction of gravity |
at the surface of the earth. The force of that at- |
traction being what it is, out of all the degrees of —
velocity, swift and slow, with which a ball might |
be shot off, none would answer the purpose of which |
we are speaking, but what was nearly that of five |
miles in a second. Ifit were less than that, the body
would not get round at all, but would come to the
ground ; if it were in any considerable degree more |
than that, the body would take one of those eccen-
tric courses, these long ellipses, of which we have |
noticed the inconyeniency. If the velocity reach-
ed the rate of seven miles in a second, or went be- |
yond that, the ball would fly off fromthe earth, and |
never be heard of more. In like manner with re-_
spect to the direction ; out of the imnumerable an-—
gles in which the ball might be sent off, (I mean
angles formed with a line drawn to the centre,) none |
would serve but what was nearly a right one: out
of the various directions in which the cannon might
be pointed, upwards and downwards, every one
would fail, but what was exactly or nearly horizon-
tal. Thr same thing holds true of the planets : of |.
our own amongst 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 re- |
tain it in a ctreular form 7? Why not one of the in- }
finite number of velocities, one of the infinite num- |
ber of directions, which would have made it ap-
proach much nearer to, or recede much farther |
from, the sun? ; . |
The planets going round, all in the same direc-
tion, and all nearly in the same plane, afforded to
Buffon a ground for asserting, that they had all
been shivered from the sun by the same stroke ofa |
comet, and by that stroke projected into their pre- |
sent orbits. Now, beside that this is to attribute }
to chance the fortunate concurrence of velocity and |
direction which we have been here noticing, the
hypothesis, as I apprehend, is inconsistent with |

@
2

‘ASTRONOMY. | :

the physical laws by which the heavenly motions
are governed. Ifthe 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 sepa-
rated large fragments from it, pushed the sun him-
self out of his place; for, the consequence of this
would be, that the sun and system of shattered
fragments would have a progressive motion, which,
indeed, may possibly be the case with our system ;
but then each fragment would, in every revolution,
return to the surface of the sun again. The hypo-
thesis is also contradicted by the vast difference
which subsists between the diameters of the plane-
tary orbits. The distance of Saturn from the sun
{to say nothing of the Georgium Sidus) is nearly.
five-and-twenty times that of Mercury ; a dispari-
ty, which it seems impossible to reconcile with
Buffon’s scheme. Bodies starting from the same
place, with whatever difference of direction or ve-
locity they set off, could not have been found at
these different distances from the centre, still re-
taining their nearly circular orbits. They must
have been carried to their proper distances, before
they were projected.* :

To conelude ; in astronomy, the great thing is
to raise the imagination toithe subject, and that
oftentimes in opposition to the impression made
upon the senses. An illusion for example, must be
gotten over, arismg from the distance at which
we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent

36
39

é

* Lt 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 dis-
tances, project them in their several diyections, 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 cuntrivance and powerful influences of an intelligent, free,
and most potent agent. ‘The same powers, therefore, which, at pre-
sent, govern the material universe, and conduct its various motions,
are very different from those which were necessary to have produced
it from nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form ia
which it now proceeds,"—MMaclaurin’s Account of Newton’s Phil,

yr 407. ed. 3. pe ;

240 ASTRONOMY.

slowness of their motions. The moon shail 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, 1s, all this while, driving through the heavens
at the rate of considerably more than two thousand
miles in an hour; which is more than double of
that with which a‘ball is shot off from the mouth of
acannon. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as much
under government, as if the planet proceeded ever
so slowly, or were coded! in its course inch by
inch. It isalso difficult to bring the imagination to
conceive (what yet, to judge tolerably of the mat-
ter, it is necessary to conceive) how doose, if we
may so-express it, the heavenly bodies are. Enor-
mous globes, held by nothing, confined by nothing,
are turned into free and boundless space, each to
seek its course by the virtue of an invisible princi-
ple, but a principle, one, common, and the same in
all; and ascertainable.. ‘l'o preserve such bodies
from being lost, from running together in heaps, from
hindering and distracting one another’s motions in e
-degree inconsistent with any continuing order ; 7. c.
to cause them to form planetary systems, systems
that, when formed, can be upheld, and most especi-
ally, systems accomodated to the organized and sen-
sitive natures which the planets sustain, as we know
to be the case, wheresalone we can know what the
case is, upon our earth: all this requires an intel-
ligent interposition, because it can be demonstrated
concerning it, that it requires an adjustment of
force, distance, direction, and velocity, out of the
reach of chance to have produced ; an adjustment,
in its view to utility, similar to that which we see
in ten thousand subjects of nature which are near-
er to us, but in power, and in the extent of space
through which that power is exerted, stupendous.
But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and
fixed stars, are stationary. Their rest must be the
effect of an absence or of an equilibrium of attrac-
tions. It proves also that a Pinienes inpase was
originally given to some of the heavenly bodies,
and not teothers. But farther; if attraction act
at all distances, there can only be one quiescent
centre of gravity in the universe? and all bodies .

)

PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 24)

whatever must be approaching this centre, or ré-
volving round it. According to the first of these —
suppositions, if the duration of the world had been
lone enough to allow of it, all its parts, all the
great bodies of which it is composed, must have
been gathered together in a heap round this point.
No changes however which have been observed,
afford us the smallest reason for believing, that
either the one supposition or the other is true: and
then it will follow, that attraction itself 1s con-
trolled or suspended by a superior agent ; that there
is a power above the highest of the powers of ma-
terial nature; a will which restrains and circum-
scribes the operations of the most extensive.*

CHAP. XXIII.

Of the personality of the Deity.

CONTRIVANCE, if established, appears to me fc
prove every thing which we wish to prove. Amongst
other things, it proves the personality df the Deity,
as distinguished from what is sometimes called na-
ture, sometimes called a principle: which terms,
in the mouths of those who use them philosophical-
ly, seem to be intended, to admit and to express an
efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a persona!
agent. Now that which can contrive, which can
design, must be a person. These capacities con-
stitute personality, for they imply consciousness
and thought. They require that which can per-
ceive an end or purpose; as well as the power of

_. *® Tt must here however be stated, that many astronomers deny
that any of the heavenly bodies are absolutely stationary. Some of
the brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small motions ; and of
the rest the distance is too great, and the intervals of our observa-
tion too short, to enable us to pronounce with certainty that they
may not have the same. The motions in the fixed stars which have
been observed, are considered either as proper to each of them, or
as compounded of the motion of our system, and of motions proper
to eachgtar. Bya comparison of these motions, a motion in our

“eystem is supposed to be discovered. By continuing this analogy

‘to other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose that attraction
isunlimited, and that the whole material universe is revolving

. Found some fixed point within its containing sphere of space.

ee OS a “se ied

=

242 © OF THE PERSONALITY

providing means, and of directing them to their
end.* They require a centre in which percep-
tions 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

erson. The seat of intellect is a person. We

ave no authority to limit the properties of mind
to any corporeal form, or to any particular circum-
scription of space. These properties subsist, in
created nature, under a great variety of sensible
forms. Also every animated being has its senso-
rium ; 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 universe; and, being so ima-

ined, may serve to furnish us withas good a no-
tion, ag we are capable of forming, of the zmen-
sity of the Divine Nature, z. e. of a Being, infinite,
as well in essence as in power; yet nevertheless
@ person.

‘‘No man hath seen God at any time.” And
this, I believe, makes the great difficulty. Now it
is a difficulty which chiefly arises from our not
duly estimating the state of our faculties. The
Deity, it is true, is the object of none of our senses :
but reflect what limited capacities animal senses
are. Many animals seem to have but one sense, or
perhaps two at the most ; touch and taste. Ought
such an animal to conclude against the existence
of odours, sounds, and colours? To another spe-
cies is given the sense of smelling. This is an ad-
vance in the knowledge of the powers and proper-
ties of nature: but, if this favoured animal should
infer from its superiority over the class last de-
scribed, that it perceived every thing which was
perceptible in nature, it is known to us, though
perhaps not suspected by the animal itself, that it
proceeded upon a false and presumptuous estimate
of its faculties. To another is added the sense of
hearing; which lets ina class of sensations entire-
ly unconceived by the animal before spoken of ;
not only distinct, but remote from any which it had
ever experienced, and greatly superior to them.

* Priestley’s Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, p. 153, 40. 2.

S| ett Same rr ee eat

OF THE DEITY. sss 48
Yet this last animal has no more ground for bee |
lieving, that its senses comprehend all things, and
all properties of things, which exist, that might
have been claimed by the tribes of animals beneath
it; for we know, that it is still possible to possess
another sense, that of sight, which shall disclose
to the percipient a new world. This fifth sense
makes ihe 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 unwarranta-
ble a conclusion, as that which might have been
made by any of the different species which pos-
sessed fewer, or even by that, if such there be,
which possessed only one. The conclusion of the
one-sense animal], and the conclusion of the five-
sense animal, stand upon the sayne authority.
There may be more and other senses than those
which we have. There may be senses Suited to
the perception of the powers, properties, and sub-
stance, of spirits. These may belong to higher
orders of rational agents; for there’is not the
smallest reason for supposing that we are the
highest, or that the scale of creation stops with us.
The great energies of nature are known to us only
by their effects. The substances which produce
them, are as much concealed from our sense as the
divine essence itself. Gravitation, though constant-
ly present, though constantly exerting its influence,
though every where around us, near us, and within
us; though diffused throughout all space, and pe-
netrating the texture of al] bodies with which we
are acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a
fluid which, though both powerful and universal in
its operation, is no object of sense to us: if upon
any other kind of substance.or action, upon a sub-
stance and action from which we receive no dis-
tinguishable impressions. Is it then to be wonder-
ed at, that it should, in some measure, be the same
with the Divine nature ? :

_ Of this however we are certain, that whatever
the Deity be, neither the 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

O44 OF THE PERSONALITY

ig out_of the question: and organized substances
inelude marks of contrivance. But whatever in-
cludes marks of contrivance, whatever, in its con-
stitution, testifies design, necessarily carries us to
something beyond itself, to some 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 de-
sign with which they were constructed. That sup-
position involves all the absurdity of self-creation, »
z.é. of acting without existing. Nothing can be |
God, which is ordered by a wisdom anda will,
which itself is void of ; which is indebted for any
of its properties to contrivance abeatra. The not —
having that in his nature which requires the exer- __
tion of another prior being, (which property is |
sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes
self-comprehension,) appertains to the Deity, as his
essential distinction, and removes his nature from
that of all thmgs which we see. Which considera-
tion contains the answer to a question that has
sometimes been asked, namely, Why, since some-
thing or other must have existed from eternity,
may not the present universe be that something ?
The contrivance perceived in it, proves that to be
impossible. Nothing contrived,:can, in a strict and
proper sense, be eternal, forasmuch as the contriver
must have existed before the contrivance.
Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are
fed for its cause. to an intelligent author. And this
transition of the understanding if founded upon uni-
form experience. We see intelligence constantly
contriving ; that is, we see intelligence constantly
producing effects, marked and distinguished by
certain properties ; not certain particular proper-
ties, but by a kind and class of properties, such as
relation to an end, relation of parts to one another,
and toa common purpose. We see, wherever we
are witnesses to the actual formation of things, no-
thing except intelligence producing effects so mark-
ed and distinguished. Furnished with this experi-
ence, we view the productions of nature. We ob-
serve them also marked and distinguished in the
same manner. We wish to account for their
origin. Our experience suggests acause perfectly

- OF THE DEITY. | 245

Jeqitate to this account. No experience, no.
sin ee Sipe example, can be offered in favour

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 con-
clude any ancient appearances to have been the
effects of volcanoes or inundations ; namely, because
they resemble the effects which fire and water pro-
duce before our eyes ; and because we have never
known these effects to result from any other opera~
tion. And this resemblance may subsist in so
many circumstances, as not to leave us under the
smallest doubt in forming our opinion. Men are
not deceived by this reasoning : for whenever it
happens, as it sometimes does happen, that the
truth comes to be known by direct information, it
turns out to be what was expected. In like man-
ner, and upon the same foundation, (which in truth
is that of experience,) we conclude that the works
of nature proceed from intelligence and design ;
because in the properties of relation toa purpose,
subserviency toa use, they resemble what intelli-
gence and design are constantly producing, and
what nothing except intelligence and design ever
produce at all. Of every argument, which would
raise a question as to the safety of this reasoning,
it may be observed, that if such argument be listen-
ed to, it leads to the inference, not only that the
present order of nature is insufficient to prove the
existence of an intelligent Creator, but that noima-
ginable order would be sufficient to prove it; that
no contrivance, were it ever so mechanical, ever so
precise, ever so clear, ever so perfectly like those
which we ourselves employ, would support this
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 noticed,* and we must here notice again,
the misapplication of the term “ law,” and the mis-

cere ne ee

et a en ne

* Ch, I, sect, vii

.
}
:

a

246 OF THE PERSONALITY

take concerning the idea which that term expresses
tn physics, whenever, such idea is made to take the
place of power, and still more of an intelligent
power, and, as such, to be assigned for the cause
of any thing, or of any property of any thing, that
exists. This is what we are secretly apt to do,
when we speak of organized bodies, (plants for in-
stance, or animals,) owing their production, their
form, their growth, their qualities, their beauty,
their use, to any law or laws of nature; and when
we are contented to sit down with that answer to
our inquiries concerning them. I say once more,
that it is a perversion of language to assign any
law, as the efficient, operative cause of any thing.
A law presupposes an agent, for itis only the mode
according to which an agent proceeds; it implies a
power, for it is the order according to which that
power acts. Without this agent, without this
power, which are both distinct from itself, the
*“‘ law” does nothing ; is nothing.

What has been said concerning “ Jaw,’ holds
true of mechanism. Mechanism is not itself power.
Mechanism, without power, can do nothing. Let
a watch be contrived and constructed ever so in-
genlously ; be its parts ever so many, ever so com-
plicated, ever. so finely wrought or artificially put
together, it cannot go without a weight or spring,
z, e, without a force independent of, and ulterior to,
its mechanism. The spring acting at the centre,
will produce different motions and different results,
according to the variety of the intermediate mecha-
nism. One and the self-same spring, acting in one
and the same manner, viz. 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 ; e. g. may point out the hour of
the day, the day of the month, the age of the moon,
the position of the planets, the cycle of the years,
and many other serviceable notices; and these
movements may fulfil their purposes with more or
less perfection, according as the mechanism is bet-
ter or worse contrived, or better or worse executed,
or in a better or worse state of repair: but in all
cases, it is necessary that the spring act at the centre.

OF THE DEITY. | OAT
‘The course of our reasoning upon such a subject

would be this : By inspecting the watch, even when
standing still, we get a proof of contrivance, and of
a contriving mind, having been employed about it.
In the form and obvious relation of its parts, we
see enough to convince us of this. If we pull the
works in pieces, for the purpose of a closer exami- —
nation, we are still more fully convinced. But,
when we see the watch going, we see proof of an-
other point viz. that there is a power somewhere,
and somehow or other, applied to it; a power in
action ;—that there is more in the subject than
the mere wheels of the machine ;—that there is a
secret spring, or a gravitating plummet ;—in a
word, that there is force, and energy, as well as
mechanism.

So then, the watch in motion establishes to the
observer two conclusions; One; that thought, con-
trivance, and design, have been employed in the
forming, proportioning, and arranging, of its parts ;
and that whoever or whatever he be, or were, such
acontriver there is, or was: The other; that force
or power, distinct from mechanism, is, at this pre-
sent time, acting upon it. If I saw a hand-mill
even at rest, I should see contrivance : but if Isaw
it grinding, I should be assured that a hand was
at the windlass, though in another room. It is the
same in nature. In the works of nature we trace
mechanism ; and this alone proves contrivance :
but living, active, moving, productive nature,
proves also the exertion of a power at the centre ;
tor, wherever the power resides may be denomi»
nated the centre.

The intervention and disposition of what are
called “‘ second causes,’ fall under the same obser-
vation. ‘This disposition is or is not mechanism,
according aS we can or cannot trace it by our
senses and means of examination. That is all the

‘difference there is; and it is a difference which
respects our faculties, not the things themselves,
Now where the order of second causes is mecha-
nical, what is here said of mechanism strictly ap-
plies to it. But it would be always mechanism,
{natural chymistry, for instance, would be mecha-
nism,) if our senses were acute enough to descry

second causes, (for I think that they are. th
thing,) excuses the necessity of an agen
from both. . eS; ge Oe

If, in tracing these causes, it be said
find certain general properties of matter which
have nothing 1n them that bespeaks intelligence, I
answer, that, still, the managing of these proper-
ties, the pointing and_ directing them to the uses
which we see made of them, demands int nee
in the highest degree. For example: suppose ani-
mal secretions to be elective attractions, and that
such and such attractions universally belong to such
and such substances; in all which there is no in-
tellect concerned; still the choice and collocation
of these substances, the fiximg upon right substan-
ces, and disposing them in right places, must be an
act of intelligence. What mischief would follow,
were there a single transposition of the secretor
organs; a single mistake in arranging the glands
which compose them!

There may be many second causes, and many
courses of second causes, one behind another, be-
tween what we observe of nature, and the Deity ;
but there must be intelligence somewhere ; there
mnst be more in nature than what we see; and,
amongst the things unseen, there must be an in+
telligent, designing author. The philosopher be-
holds with astonishment the production of things
around him. Unconscious particles of matter take
their stations, and severally range themselves in
an order, so as to become collectively plants or ani-
mals, 7. e. organized bodies, with parts bearing
strict and evident relation to one another, and to
the utility of the whole: and it should seem that
these particles could not move in any other way
than as they do; for they testify not the smallest
sign of choice, or liberty, or discretion, There
may be particular intelligent beings, guiding these
motions in each case: or they may be the result
ef trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed before-
hand by an intelligent appoimtment, and kept m ac-
tion by a power at the centre. But, ineither case,
there must be intelligence.

OF THE DEITY. — 249

The minds of most men are fond of what they
wall a principle, and of the appearance of simplicity,
in accounting for phenomena. Yet this principle,
this simplicity, resides merely in the name ; whic
name, after all, comprises, perhaps, under it a di-
versified, multifarious, or progressive operation,
distinguishable into parts. The power in organized
bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, is one.
of these principles. Give a philosopher this, and
he can get on. But he does not reflect, what this
mode of production, this principle (if such he choose
to call it) requires; how much it presupposes ;
‘what an apparatus of instruments, some of which
are strictly mechanical, is necessary to its success ;
what a train it includes of operations and changes,
one succeeding another, one related toanother, one
ministering to another ; all advancing, by interme-
diate, and, frequently, by sensible steps, to their
ultimate result! Yet, because the whole of this
complicated action is wrapped up in a single term,
SZeneration, we are to set it down as an elementary
ote ark and to suppose, that when we have re-
solved the things which we see into this principle,
we have sufficiently accounted for their origin,
without the necessity of a designing, intelligent
Creator. The truth is, generation is not a princi
ple, but a process. We might-as well call the cast-
ing of metals a principle; we might, so far as ap-
pears to me, as well call spinning and weaving
principles : and then, referring the texture of cloths,
the fabric of muslins and calicoes, the patterns of
diapers and damasks, to these, as principles, pre-
tend to dispense with intention, thought, and con-
trivance, 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 fabrica-
tion of the machinery by which the manufacture
was carried on. 3
And, after all, how, or in what sense, is it true,
that animals produce their ike? 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 fect. A frog produces a
j tadpole. A black beetle, with gauze wings, and e
_ Crusty covering, —— ® white, smooth, soft

(.

250 OF THE PERSON ALITY

worm; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait maggot.
These, by a progtess 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, belongs to them, not as-a pri- |
mordial property, not by any blind necessity inthe _
nature of things, but as the effect of economy, wis-
dom, and desien ; because the property itself as-
sumes diversities, and submits to deviations dictated
by intelligible utilities, and serving distinct pur-
poses of animal happiness. ° :
The opinion, which would consider “ generation”
asa principle in nature ; and which would assign
this principle as the cause, or endeavour to satisfy
our minds with such a cause, of the existence of
organized bodies ; is confuted, in my judgment, not
only by every mark of contrivance discoverable in
those bodies, for which it gives us no contriver, of-
fers no account whatever : but also by the farther
consideration, that things generated, possess a
clear relation to things mot generated. If it were
merely one part of a generated body bearing a rela-
tion to another part of the same body ; as the mouth
of an animal to the throat, the throat to the sto-
mach, 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 an-
other 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 con-
tended, that the whole of this correspondency was
attributable to generation, the common Ee se
which these substances proceeded. But what shall
we say to agreements which exi: 2n thin:
enerated, and things not. generai
oubted, was it ever doubted, but th
animals bear a relation to th
ly elastic fluid? They act init
cannotact without it. Now,ifigeners

—_ pele Tee Ti ee

OF THE DEITY. | 251

the animal, it did not produce the air: yet their
properties correspond. ‘The eye is made for light,
ond teks for the eye. The eye would be of nouse_
without light, and light poRAape of little without
eyes ; yet one is produced by generation, the other
not, The ear depends upon undulations of air.
Here are two sets of motions : first, of the pulses of
the air; secondly, of the drum, bones, and nerves,
of the ear; sets of motions bearing an evident re-
ference to each other: yet the one, and the appa-
ratus for the one, produced by the intervention of
generation; the other altogether independent of it.
If it be said,.that the air, the light, the elements,
the world itself, is generated ; I answer, that I do
not comprehend the proposition. If the term mean
any thing similar to what it means when applied to
| plants or animals, the proposition iscertainly with- -
out proof; and, I think, drawsas near to absurdity,
as any proposition can do, which does not include
a contradiction in its terms. I am ata loss to con-
ceive, how the formation of the world can be com-
_ pared to the generation of an animal. Ifthe term
| generation signify something quite different from
what it signifies on ordinary occasions, it may, by
'the same latitude, signify any thing. In which
case, a word or phrase taken from the language of
'Otaheite, would convey as much theory concerning
| the origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its
beans generated.

e know a cause (intelligence) adequate to the
‘appearances which we wish to account for: we
‘have this cause continually producing similar ap-
| pearances; yet, rejecting this cause, the sufficiency
of which we know, and the action of which is con-

stantly before our eyes, we are invited to resort to
suppositions, destitute of a single fact for their sup-
port, and confirmed 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 ig not only popular
but vulgar, (which may arise from the cogency of
the proof, and be indeed its highest recommenda-
tion,) and because it is a species almost of puerility

202 OF THE PERSONALITY

to takeup with it; for these reasons, minds, whicl
are habitually in search of invention and originali-
ty, feel a resistless inclination to strike off into ether
solutions and other expositions. The truth is, that
many minds are not so indisposed to any thing
which can_ be offered to them, as they are tothe
flatness of being content with common reasons: and, |
what is most to be lamented, minds conscious of |
superiority, are the most liable to this repugnancy.

The “‘ suppositions” here alluded to, all agree
in one character: they all endeavour to dispense
with the necessity in nature, of a particular, per-
sonal intelligence ; that is to say, with the exer-
tion of an intending, contriving mind, in the struc-
ture and formation of the organized constitutions
which the world contains. They would resolve al!
productions into unconscious energies, of a like
kind, in that respect, with attraction, magnetism,
electricity, &&c. ; without any thing farther.

In this, the old system of atheism and the new
agree. And I much doubt, whether the new
schemes have advanced any thing upon the old, or
done more than changed the terms of the nomencla-
ture. For instance, I could never see the difference
between the antiquated system of atoms, and Buf-
fon’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 co-
met ; and having set it in motion, by the same stroke,
both round its own axis andthe sun ; finds his next —
difficulty to be, how to bring plants and animals |
upon it. In order to solve this difficulty, we are to |
suppose the universe replenished with particles,
endowed with life, but without organization or |
senses of their own; and endowed also with a >
tendency to marshal themselves into organized
forms. ‘The concourse of these particles, by virtue |
of this tendency, but without intelligence, will, or —
direction, (for 1 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 preten-
sion in them, than the challenging you to show the |
direct impossibility of the hypothesis. Inthe pre: |

OF THE DEITY. | 253

| sent example, there seemed to be & positive objec-

tion to the whole scheme upon the very face of it ;
which was that, if the case were as here represent-
ed, 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 philo-
sopher has an answer. Whilst 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 propagation. By

which means, things keep their ancient course.

| But, says the same philosopher, should any general

loss or destruction of the. present constitution of or- —
ganized bodies take place, the particles, for want of
** moulds” into which they might enter, would run
into different combinations, me replenish the waste
with new species of organized substances.

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

| paired ; any desert thus repeopled ?

So far.as I remember, the only natural appear-

‘ance mentioned by our author, by way of fact

whereon to build his hypothesis, is the formation

‘of worms in the intestines of animals, which is here
ascribed to the coalition of superabundant organic
particles, floating about in the first passages ; and
| which have combined themselves into these simple

animal forms, for want of internal moulds, or of va-
eancies in those moulds, into which they might be
received. The thing referred to, is rather a species
of facts, thana single fact; as some other cases

'may, with equal reason, be included under it. But

to make it a factat all, or, in any sort, applicable to

the question, we must begin with asserting an

: equivocal generation, contrary to analogy, and with-

out necessity: contrary to an analogy, which ac-
companies us to the very limits of our knowledge

or inquiries ; for wherever, either in plants or ani-

mals, we are able to examine the subject, we find
procreation from a parent form: without necessity ;
for I apprehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest

254 OF THE PERSONALITY

methods, by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invi-
sible rudiments 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 phi-
losopher, if, in truth, any question remained upon
the subject. a:

Lastly: These wonder-working instruments
these “‘ internal moulds,’”’ what are they after all?
what, when examined, but a name without signifi-
cation ; unintelligible, if not self-contradictory ; at
the best, differing in nothing from the “ essential
forms” of the Greek philosophy? One short sen-
tence of Buffon’s work exhibits his scheme as fol-
lows: *‘ When this nutricious and prolific matter,
which is diffused throughout all nature, passes
through the internal mould of an animal or vegeta-
ble, and finds a proper matrix, or receptacle, it
gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same
species.”” Does any reader annex a meaning to
the expression ‘‘ 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 speak of an
artificer or an architect, we talk of whatiscom- |
prehensible to our understanding, and familiar to

gur experience. We use no other terms than what
refer us for their meaning to our conscionsness and
observation ; what express the constant objects of
both: whereas names like that we have mentioned
refer us to nothing ; excite no idea; conveya sound
to the ear, but I think do no more.

Another system which has lately been brought
forward, and with much ingenuity, is that of appe-
tencies. The principle, and the short account of
the theory, is this: Pieces of soft, ductile matter,
being endued with propensities or appetencies for
particular actions, would, by continual endeavours,

* T trust I may be excused, for not citing, as another fact which
isto confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this writer, that
the branches of trees upon which the stag feeds, break out again in
bis horns. Such facts merit no discussieu, ;

ee ee ee See eee

oe

_ OF THE DEITY. 200
earried on through a long series of generations,
work themselves gradually into suitable forms;
and, at length, acquire, though perhaps by obscure
| and almost imperceptible improvements, an organie
|| Zation fitted to the action which their respective
_| propensities led them to exert. A piece of animated
matter, for example, that was endued with a pro-
pensity to fly, though ever so shapeless, though no
other we will suppose than a round ball to begin
with, would, in a course of ages, if not in a million
ef years, perhaps in a hundred millions of years,
(for our theorists, having eternity to dispose of, are
never sparing in time,) acquire wings. 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 produc-
tion of fins; in a living substance, confined to the
solid earth, would put out legs and feet ; or, if it
took a different turn, would break the body into
ringiets, 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 atheistic scheme, for two reasons :
first, because, so far as I am able to understand it,
the original propensities and the numberless varie-
ties of them, (so different, in this respect, from the
laws of mechanical nature, which are few and sim-
ple,) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the ordina-
tion. and appointment of an intelligent and de-
signing Creator : secondly, because, likewise, that
ire postulatum, which is all along assumed
and presupposed, the faculty in living bodies of
producing other bodies organized like themselves,
seems to be referred to the same cause; at least is
not attempted to be accounted for by any other. In
one important respect, however, the theory before
us coincides with atheistic systems, viz. in that, in
the formation of plants and animals, in the struc-
ture and use of their parts, it does away final
causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or animal,
-or the particular structure of the parts, having
been intended for the action or the use to which we
see them applied; according to this theory, they
have themselves ore out of that action, sprung
from that use. The theory therefore dispenses

236 _ OF THE PERSONALITY
with that which we insist upon, the necessity, in
each particular case, of an intelligent, designing
mind, for the contriving and determining of the
forms which organized bodies bear. Give our phi-
losopher 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, m every stage of
their alteration, of propagating their like; and, if
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 objection with other conjectures of a similar
tendency, viz. a total defect of evidence. No changes
ike those which the theory requires, have ever
been observed. All the changes in Ovid’s Meta-
morphoses might have been effected by these ap-
petencies, if the theory were true: yet not an ex-
ample, nor the pretence of an example, is offered of
a single change being known to have taken place.
Nor is the order of generation obedient to the prin-
ciple upon which this theory is built. The mam-
mz* of the male have not vanished by imusitation ;
nec curtorum, per multu secula, Judeorum propagint
deest preeputium. It is easy to say, and it has been
said, that the alterative process is too slow to be
perceived ; that it has been carried on through
tracts of immeasurable time ; and that the present
order of things is the result ofa gradation, of which
no human records ean trace the steps. It is easy
to say this: and yet it is still true, that the hypothe-
sis remains destitute of evidence.

The analogies which have been alleged, are of the
following kind: The bunch of acamel, is said to be
no other than the effect of carrying burdens ; a ser-
vice in which the species has been employed from —
the most ancient times of the world. The first

* J confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reason, either
inal or efacient, for this part of the animal frame ; unless there be
scme feundation for an opinion, of which I draw the hint from a
paper of Mr. Everard Home (Phil. Transact. 1799, p. 2,) viz. that
the mamma of the fetus may be formed, before the sex is deter-
mined. : " ;

OF THE DEITY.

race, by the daily loading of the back, would pro-
bably find mre | grumous tumour to. be formed m
the flesh of that part. The next progeny would
bring this tumour into the world with them. The
life to which they were destined, would increase it.
The cause which first generated the tubercle being
continued, it would go on, through every succes- —
sion, 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 account-
ed 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 wetness, became 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 pas-
sive habits ; and that is the pouch of the pelican.
The description which naturalists give of this or-
xan, 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 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 widest 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 extra-
ordinary conformation is nothing more, say our

—

* Goldsmith, yol. vi, p. 52,

258 OF THE PERSONALITY |

hilosophers, than the result of habit; not of the
abit or effort of a single pelican, or of a single
race of pelicans, but of a habie perpetuated through
a long series of generations. The pelican soon
found the conveniency of reserving in its mouth,
when its appetite was glutted, the remainder of its
prey, which is fish. The fulness produced by this
attempt, of course stretched the skin which lies be-
tween the under chaps, as being the most yielding
part of the mouth. Every distension increased the
cavity. The original bird, and many generations
which succeeded him, might find difficulty enough
in making the pouch answer this purpose: but fu-
ture pelicans, entering upon life with a pouch de-
rived from their progenitors, of considerable capa-
city, would more readily accelerate its advance to
perfection, by frequently :pressing down the sac
with the weight of fish which it might now be made
to contain. - ery
These, or of this kind, are the ‘analogies relied
upon. Now, in the first place, the instances them-
selves are unauthenticated by testimony; and, in
theory, to say the least of them, open to great objec-
tions. Who ever read of camels without bunches,
or with bunches Jess than those with which they
are at present usually formed? A bunch, not un-
like the camel’s, is found between the shoulders of
the buffalo; of the origin of which it is impossible
to give the account here given. Inthe second ex-
ample; Why should the application of water,
which appears to promote and thicken the growth
of feathers upon the bodies and breasts of geese,
and swans, and other water fowls, have divested of
this covering the thighs of cranes? The third in-
stance, which appears to me as plausible as any
that can be produced, has this against it, that it is
a singularity restricted to the species; whereas, if
it had its commencement in the cause and manner
which have been assigned, the like conformation
might be expected to take place in other birds,
which fed upon fish. How comes it to pass, that the
pelican alone was the inventress, and her descend-
ants the only inheritors, of this curious resource ?
But it is the less necessary to controvert the in-
gtances themselves, as it is a straining of analogy

OF THE DEITY. Zao.
beyond all limits of reason and credibility, to assert
that birds, and beasts, and fish, with all their variety
and complexity of organization, have been brought
into their forms, and distinguished into their seve-
ral 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 na-
ture generally, is contradicted by many of the

henomena, and totally inadequate to others. The
igaments, 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 any appetency exciting
these parts intoaction; or by any tendency arising
therefrom. The tendency is al] the other way ; the
conatus in constant opposition to them. Length of
time does not help the case at all, but the reverse.
The valves also in the blood-vessels, could never be
formed in the manner which our theorist proposes.
The blood, in its right and natural course, has no
tendency to form them. When obstructed or re-
fluent, it has the contrary. These parts could not
grow out of their use, though they had eternity to
grow in.

The senses of animals appear to me altogether in-
capable of receiving the explanation of their origin
which this theory affords. Including under the
word “sense” the organ and the perception, we
have no account of either. How will our philoso-
pher get at vision, or make an eye? How should
the blind animal affect sight, of which blind ani-
mals, we know, have neither conception nor desire ?
Affecting it, by what operation of its will, by what
endeavour to see, could it so determine the fluids of
its body, as to incohate the formation of an eye ?
or, suppose the eye formed, would the perception
follow ? The same of the other senses, And this
objection holds its force, ascribe what you will to
- the hand of time, to the power of habit, to changes
too slow to be observed by man, or brought within
any comparison which he is able to make of past
things with the present : concede what you please

260 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

to these arbitrary and unattested suppositions, how
will they help you? Here is no inception. No laws,
no course, no powers of nature which prevail at
present, nor any analogous to these, would give
commencement to a new sense. And it is in vain
to inquire, how that might proceed, whieh 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 cB yrlnd 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 formed
by action and exercise, what action or exercise
could form a skull, and fill it with brains? No ef-
fect of the animal could determine the clothing of
its skin. What conates 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 notable to give
a signification to the term, which can be transferred
from animals to plants; or which is common to
both. Yet a no less successful organization is
found in plants, than what obtains in animals. A
solution is wanted for one as well as the other.

Upon the whole; after al] the schemes and strug-
gles of a reluctant philosophy, the necessary re-
sort is to a Deity. The marks of design are too
strong to be gotten over. Design must have had a
designer. That designer must Seen been a person.
That person is Gop.

CHAP. XXIV. *

_ Of the natural attributes of the Deity.

It isan immense conclusion, that there isa Gon ;
a perceiving, intelligent, designing Being ; at the
head of creation, and from whose will it proceeded.
The attributes of such a Being, suppose his reality
to be proved, must be adequate to the itude,
extent, and multiplicity, of his operations: which
are-not only vast beyond comparison with those
performed by any other power; but, so far as re~

OF THE DEITY. 261

aspects our conception of them, infinite, because
ey are unlimited on all sides.

Yet the contemplation of a nature go exalted,
however surely we arrive-at the proof of its exist-
ence, overwhelms our faculties. The mind feels
its powers sink under the subject. One conse-
quence of which is, that from painful abstraction
the thoughts seek relief in sensibleimages. Whence
may be deduced the ancient, and almost universal
propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are
the resources of a labouring imagination. False
religions usually fall in with the natural a a
sity ; true religions, or such as have derived them-
selves from the true, resist it.

It is one of the advantages of the revelations
which we acknowledge, that, whilst they reject
idolatry with its many pernicious accompaniments,
they introduce the Deity to human apprehension,
under an idea more personal, more determinate,
more within its compass, than the theology of na-
' ture 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 rela-
tion, or from the history of his providences : which
method suits the span of our intellects much better
than the universality which enters into the idea of
God, as deduced from the views of nature. When,
therefore, these representations are well founded
in point of authority, (for all depends upon that,}
they afford a condescension to the state of our facul-
ties, of which, they who have most reflected on
the subject, will be the first to acknowledge the
want and the value. - .

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

These terms are ; Omnipotence, omniscience, om-

262 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

nipresence, eternity, self-existence, necessary ex-
istence, spirituality.

““ Omnipotence,” ‘ omniscience,” “ infinite’’
power, “ infinite” knowledge, are superlatives ; ex-
pressing our conception of these attributes in the
strongest and most elevated terms which language
supphes. We ascribe power to the Deity under
the name of “‘ omnipotence,” the strict and correct
conclusion being, that a power which could create
such a world as this is, must be, beyond all compari-
sion, greater than any which we experience in our-
selves, than any which we observe in other visible
agents ; greater also than any which we can want,
for our individual protection and preservation, in
the Being upon whom we depend. It is a power,
likewise, to which we are not authorized, by our
observation or knowledge, to assign any limits of
space or duration. : :

Very much of the same sort of remark is appli-
cable to the term “‘ omniscience,” infinite know-
ledge, or infinite wisdom. In strictness of lan-
guage, there is a difference between knowledge and
wisdom ; wisdom always supposing action, and ac-
tion directed by it. With respect to the first, viz.
knowledge, the Creator must know, intimately, the
constitution and properties of the things which he
created; which seems also to imply a foreknow-
ledge of their action upon one another, and of their
changes ; at least, so far as the same result from
trains of physical and necessary causes. His om-
niscience also, as far as respects things present, is
deducible from his nature, as an intelligent being,
joined with the extent, or rather the universality
of his operations. Where he acts, he is; and
where he is, he perceives. The wisdom of the
Deity, as testified in the works of creation, sur-
passes all idea we have of wisdom, drawn from the
highest intellectual operations of the highest class
of intelligent beings with whom we are acquainted;
and, which is of the chief importance to us, what-
ever be its compass or extent, which it is evidently
impossible that we should be able to determine, it
must be adequate to the conduct of that order
things under which we live. And this is enough.
It is of very inferior consequence, by what terms

OF THE DEITY. 263

we express our notion, or rather our admiration, of
this attribute. The terms, which the piety and the
usage of language have rendered habitual to us,
may be as proper as any other. We can trace this
attribute much beyond what is necessary for any
conclusion to which we have occasion to apply it.
The degree of knowledge and power requisite for
the formation of created nature cannot, with re-
Spect to us, be distinguished from infinite.

The Divine “ omnipresence” stands in natural
theology upon this foundation :—In every part and
place of the universe with which we are acquainted,
we perceive the exertion of a power, which we be-
lieve, 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 or-
genized substances, of vegetable or of animated
nature ? Nay, farther, we may ask, What kingdom
is there in nature, what corner of space, in which
there is any thing that can be examined by us,
where we do not fall upon contrivance and design ?
The only reflection perhaps which arises in our
minds from this view of the world around us is,
that the laws of nature every where prevail; that
they are uniform and universal. But what do we
mean by the laws of nature, or by any law ? Effects
are produced by power, not by laws. A law can-
not execute itself. A law refers us to an agent.
Now an agency so general, as that we cannot dis-
cover its absence, or assign the place in which some
effect of its continued energy is not found, may, in
popular language at least, and, perhaps, without
much deviation from philosophical strictness, be
called universal : and, with not quite the same, but
with no inconsiderable propriety, the person, or
Being, in whom that power resides, or from whom
it is derived, may be taken to be omnipresent. He
who upholds all things by his power, may be said
_ to ke every where present.

This is called a virtual presence. There is also
_ what metaphysicians denominate an essential ubi-

264 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES, &c.

quity ; and which idea the language of Scripture
seems to favour; but the former, I think, goes as
far as natural theology carries us. Ay,

_ “Eternity” is a negative idea, clothed with a po-
sitive name. It supposes, in that to which it is
applied, a present existence; and is the negation
of a beginning or anend of that existence. As ap-
plied to the Deity it has not been controverted by
those who acknowledge a Deity at all. Most as-
suredly, there never was a time in which nothing
existed, because that condition must have conti-
nued. The universal blank must have remained ;
nothing could rise up cut of it; nothing could
ever have existed since; nothing could exist now.

In strictness, however, we have no concern with

duration prior to that of the visible world. Upon
this article therefore of theology, it is sufficient to
know, that the contriver necessarily existed before
the contrivance.

“* Self-existence” is another negative idea, viz.
the negation of a preceding cause, @s of a progeni-
tor, a maker, an author, acreator. _— 7,
. “ Necessary existence” means demonstrable ex-
istence. |

“‘ Spirituality” expresses an idea, made up of a
negative part, and of a positive part. ‘The nega-
tive part consists in the exclusion of some of the
known properties of matter, especially of solidity,
of the vis inertic, and of gravitation. The positive
part comprises perception, thought, will, power,
action ; by which last term is meant, the origina-
tion of motion ; the quality, perhaps, in which re-
sides the essential superiority of spirit over matter,
‘‘which cannot move, unless it be moved ; and
cannot but move, when impelled by another.”* 1!
apprehend that there can be no difficulty in apply-
ing to the Deity both parts of this idea. ae

_

_* Bishop Wilkiu’s Principles of Natural Religion, p, 106.

6

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aoe
is
AD
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“Oo
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J
ee
Cs
wok
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re
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Unity o r the Deity. -
ae the proof is, the
ervable in the universe. - The

ieiyfect of ‘gravitation causes a stone to drop to-
he the « rth, and the moon to wheel round it.---
ne law of ant traction carries all the different planets
abou ee i. This philosophers demonstrate.—
here are iio other points of agreement amongst

em, which may be considered as marks of the
eat of their origin, and of their intelligent Au-
oe In ‘all are found the conveniency and stabili-

ived from gravitation. They all experience’
| relies of days and nights, and changes of sea-

They all, at least Jupiter, Mars, and Venus,

Festal the same advantages from their atmosphere as
we have. In al] the planets, the axes of rotation
_ are permanent. Nothing is more probable than that

h rad attracting influence, acting according to
‘St tule, reaches to the fixed stars: but, if
wa e only probable, another thing is certain, viz.
that the same element of light does. The light
from. a fixed star affects our eyes in the same man-
ner, is refracted and reflected according to the same
laws, 2 s the light of a candle. The velocity of the
light the fixed stars is also the same as the velo-
city of the light of the sun, reflected from the sa-
tellites 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 coun-
tries are continually discovered, but the old laws
ef nature are always found in ‘them : new plants
perhaps, or animals, but always in company with

plants and animals which we already know; and
y always possessing many of the same general pro-
perties. We never get amongst such original, or
totally different, modes of existence, as to indicate,
_ that we are come into the province of a different
‘Creator, or under the — of a different will.

266 THE UNITY

in truth, the same order of things attends us, wlier-
ever we go. The elements act upon one another,
electricity operates, the tides rise and fall iB
netic needle elects its position, in one regi n of
earth and sea, as well as in another. tien:
sphere invests all parts of the globe, and sepzeets
all; one sun illuminates, one mooniexerts its s a
cific attraction upon all parts. If there be a varie
ty in natural effects, as e. g. in the tides of Cfacal
seas, that very variety is the result of. the same
cause, acting under different circumstances. In
many cases this i is proved; in all, is probable.

The inspection and comparison of living forms,
add to this argument examples without number.
Of all large terrestrial animals, the structure is very
much alike; their senses nearly the same ; their
natural functions and passions nearly the ‘same ;
their viscera nearly the same, both in substance,
shape, and office: digestion, nutrition, ¢ircul ulation,
secretion, gO on, in a similar manner, im all: the
great circulating fluid is the same; for, I think, ne
difference has been discovered in the properties of
blood, from whatever animal it be drawn. The ex-
_periment of transfusion proves, that the b
one animal will serve for another. sie
also of the larger terrestrial animal, show pari
lar varieties, but still under a creat general
ty. The resemblance is somewhat less, yet s
ciently evident, between quadrupeds and bi
They are all alike in five respects, for one in.
they differ. :

In fish, which belong to another department, as
it were, of nature, the points of comparison become
fewer. But we never lose sight of our ates: ve
we still meet with a stomach, a liver, a spine; with
bile and blood; with teeth; with eyes (which eyes
are only slightly varied from our own, and which
yariation, in truth, demonstrates not an. interrup-
tion, but a continuance of the same exquisite plan ;
for it is the adaptation of the organ a element,
viz. to the different refraction of light passin, g into
the eye out of a denser medium.) The foie vince
also, themselves of water and earth, are connect
by the species of animals which inhabit both ; el
also by a large tribe ofaquatic animals, which close-

: OF THE DEITY. 267
‘y resemble the terrestrial in their internal struc-

ture; mean the cetaceous tribe, which have hot
‘blood, 1 piring lungs, bowels, and other essential

e those of land animals. This similitude,
espeaks the same creation and the same

and different ranks, and classes, and degrees of
them, may be employed.

268 a ;

~ CHAP. XXVL

The goodness of din Dett, ye

Tue proof of the Divine goodness rea
propositions : each, as we contend, cape
ing made out by observations drawn fr
pearances of nature. en

The first is, “‘ that, ina vast plurality o
in which contrivance is perceived, the dt
the contrivance is beneficial.” ee

The second, ‘‘that the Deity has supera ed
pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was ne~
cessary for any other purpose, or when the purpose, ,
so far as it was necessary, might have bela ct= —
ed by the operation of pain.” SS

First, ‘in a vast plurality of instances m which
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contriv= 3
ance is beneficial.”

No productions of nature display contrivance so
manifestly as the parts of animals ; and the parts of
animals have all of them, I believe, ar al, 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 considered,
the number of parts in each, their figure and fit-
ness, the faculties depending upon them, the va-
riety of species, the complexity of structure, the
success, in so many cases, and felicity of the re-
sult, we can never reflect, ‘without the profou st
adoration, upon the character of that Being fr
whom all these things have proceeded: we cannot
help acknowledging, what an exertion of beneva-
lence creation was; of a benevolence how minute
in its care, how vast in its comprehension ! oe

‘e
When we appeal to the parts and faculties of ani-
mals, and to the limbs and senses of animals in
particular, we state, Iconceive, the proper medium
of proof for the conclusion which we wish to
blish. Iwill not say, that the insensible ’ eerie of
nature are made solely for the sensitive p : but
this I say, that, when we consider the benevc lenee
of the Deity, we can only consider it in relation to —
sensitive being. Without this reference, or refer-
red to any thing else, the attribute has no object ;

craks a

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ate)
eS

their frolies in it, (which I have a <

duce to show their excess of spirits, and are simply
the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side, |}
in a calm evening, upona sandy shore, and with an

elbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appear-
~ ance of a dark cloud, or, rather, very thick mist,
hanging over the edge of the water, to the height, »
perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two |
or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as
the eye could reach, and always retiring with the |
water. When this cloud came to be examined, it |
proved to be nothing else than so much space, filled
with young shrimps, in the act of bounding into the |
air from the shallow margin of the water, or from |
the wet sand. If any motion ofa 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 ! es dah

The young of all animals appear tome to receive |)
pleasure simply from the exercise of their limbs and |
bodily faculties, without reference to any end tobe |
attained, or any use to be answered by the exertion. |
A child, without knowing any thing of the use of
language, is in a high degree delighted with being
able to speak. Its incessant repetition of a few ar- |
ticulate sounds, or, perhaps, of the single word |
which it bas learnt to pronounce, proves this point
clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first suc- |
cessful endeavours to walk, or rather torun, (which |
precedes walking,) although entirely ignorant of |
the importance of the attainment to its future life, |
and even without applying it to any present pur- |
pose. Achild is delighted with speene: without
having any thing to say ; and with walking, with-
out knowing where to go. And, prior to both these,
I am disposed to believe, that the walking hours of |

{ens

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aA ad Ale up 95 be Be ara: . mF Sif — a * i
OF THE DEITY. O71.
* at nie ihe ’ 4

infancy are agreeably taken up with the exercise of

Ae Peraspeptnore, eepperly, Speaking ith)
Peeene Loece. ey ee AB
— But ee not for youth alone that the great Parent
of creation hath provided. Happiness is found with
the purring cat,‘no less than with the playful kit-
ee in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in
“either the sprightliness of the dance or the anima-~
tion of the chase. To novelty,to acuteness of sen-
sation, to hope, to ardour of pursuit, succeds, what
is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equivalent for
them all, “‘ perception of ease.” Herein is the ex-
act 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 vigour of . a
youth was to be stimulated to action by impatience
“of rest; whilst to the imbecility of age, quietness :
sand repose become positive gratification. In one |
quae respect the advantage is with the old.
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 renders old age acon-
dition of great comfort; especially when riding at
its anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is
well described by Roussean, to be the interval of
repose and enjoyment, between the hurry and the
_end of life. How far the same cause extends to
- other animal natures, cannot be judged of with cer-
_ tainty. The appearance of satisfaction, with which
'most animals, as their activity subsides, seek and
enjoy rest, affords reason to believe, that this source
_ Of gratification is appointedto advanced life, under ©
ll, or most of its various forms. In the species
‘with which we are best acquainted, namely, our
; own, Iam far, even as an observer of human life,
from thinking that youth ‘is its happiest season,
“much less the only happy one: as a Christian, I
(am willing to believe that there isa great deal of
truth im the following representation given by ».

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proving conscience; and looks forward with hum- | '
ble confidence in the mercy of God, and with de-_ | °
vout aspirations towards his eternal and ever-in-~
creasing favour.” Sage
What is seen in different stages of the same life, | "
is still more exemplified in the fives of different ani- |
mals. Animal enjoyments are infinitely diversified. | '
The modes of life, to which the organization of
different animals respectively determines them, are | "
not only of various but of opposite kinds, Yet each . |!
is happy in its own. For instance : animals of prey | !
live much alone; animals of a milder constitution, | °
in society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals,
and the sheep, which lives in flocks, are not more |!
happy in a crowd, or morecontented amongst their | '
companions, than is the pike or the lion, with the ||
deep solitudes of the poolor theforest. == ¢
_ But it wil be said, that the instances which we_ |!
haye here brought forward, whether of vivacity or | |
repose, or of apparent enjoyment derived from | ‘
either, are picked and favourable instances. We |"
answer, first, that they are instances, nevertheless, |!
which comprise large provinces of sensitive exist- |!
ence; thatevery case which we have described, is |!
the case of millions. At this moment, in every j|'
zivyen moment of time, how many myriads of ani- » |!
mals are eating their food, gratifying their appe- |!
tites, ruminating in their holes, accomplishing their |!
wishes, pursuing their pleasures, taking their pas- _ |!
times! In each individual, how many things must | $
so right for it tobe at ease; yet how large a pro-. |!
portion out of every species is So mevery assigna-_ |!
ble instant! Secondly, we cmyead, inthe terms of ||
our original proposition, that vai de whole »
4 fe
b
j

of life, as it is diffused in nature, and ; far;

. + F

|

OF THE DEITY. — ws

are acquainted with it, looking to the average of
sensations, the plurality and the preponderancy is
in favour of happiness by a vast excess. In our
own species, in which perhaps the assertion may
be more questionable than in any other, the pre-
-pollency of good over evil, of health, for example,
and ease, over pain and distress, is evinced by the
very notice which calamities excite. What inqui-
ries does the sickness of our friends produce $ what
conversation their misfortunes! This shows that
the common course of things 1s in favour of happi-
ness; that happiness is the rule, misery the excep-
tion. Were the order reversed, our attention would
be called to examples of health and competency,
instead of disease and want.

One great cause of our insensibility to the good-

ness of the Creator, is the very extensiveness of his ©

bounty. We prize but little what we share only
in common with the rest, or with the generality of
our species. When we hear of blessings, we think
forthwith of successes, of prosperous fortunes, of
honours, riches, preferments, z.e. of those advan-
tages and superiorities over others, which we hap-
pen either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to
covet. The common benefits of our nature entire-
ly escape us. Yet these are the great things.
These constitute what most properly ought to be
accounted blessings of Providence ; what alone, if
we might so speak, are worthy of its care. Nightly
rest and daily bread, the ordinary use of our limbs,
and senses, and understandings, are gifts which
admit of no comparison with any other. Yet, be-
cause almost every man we meet with possesses

these, we leave them out of our enumeration. They;

raise no sentiment; they move no gratitude. Now,
herein is our judgment perverted by our self-
ishness. A blessing ought in truth to be the more
satisfactory, the bounty at least of the donor is
rendered more conspicuous, by its very diffusion,
its commonness, its cheapness; by its falling to
the lot, and forming the happiness, of the great bulk
and body of our species, as well as of ourselves.
Nay, even when we do not possess it, it ought to
be matter of thankfulness that others do. But we
have a different way of ore: We court dis-~

ee eee

974 THE GOODNESS

tinction. That is not the worst; we see nothing —
but what has distinction to recommend it. This
necessarily contracts our views of the Creator’s be-
neficence within a narrow compass: and most un-
justly. It is im those things which are so common
as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of the
divine benignity is perceived.

But pain, no doubt, and privation exist,in nume-
rous imstances, and to a degree, which, collectively,
would be very great, if they were compared with
any other thing than with the mass of animal frui-.
tion. For the application, therefore, of our propo-
sition to that mixed state of things which these ex-
ceptions induce, two rules are necessary, and both,
§ think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard
those effects alone which are accompanied with
proofs of intention: the other, that when we can-
not resolve allappearances into benevolence of de-
sign, we make the few give place to the many; the
little to the great; that we take our judgment from
a large and decided preponderancy, if there be one.

I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what
J have said upon this subject in my Moral Philoso-

oN eae

‘When God created the human species, either
he wished their happiness, or he wished their mise-
ry, or he was indifferent and unconeerned about
either, .

‘‘Tf he had wished our misery, he might have
made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses to
be so many sores and pains to us, as they are now
instruments of gratificatiou and enjoyment: or by
placing us amidst objects, so ill suited to our per-
ceptions 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 we saw, loathsome;
every thing we touched, a sting; every smell, a
stench; and every sound, a discord. |

“Tf he had been indifferent about our happiness
or misery, we must impute to our good fortune (as
all design by this supposition is excluded) both the
capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and
supply of external objects fitted to produce it.

‘< But either of these, and still more both of them,

7

OF THE DEITY. 29

being too much to be attributed to accident, no-
thing remains but the first supposition, that God,
when he created the human species, wished their
happiness; and made for them the provision which
hs has made, with that view and for that purpose.
“The same argument may be proposed in differ- _
ent terms; thus: Contrivance proves design: and
the predominant tendency of the contrivance indi-
cates the disposition of the designer. The world
abounds with contrivances; andall the contrivances
which we are acquainted with, are directed to be-
neficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists; but is
never, that we can perceive, the object of contri-
vance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache:
‘ their aching now and then is incidental to the con-
trivance, perhaps inseparable from it: or even, if
you will, let it be called a defect in the contrivance :
but itis not the object of it. This is a distinction
which well deserves to be attended to. In describ-
ing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say
of the sickle, that it is made to cut the reaper’s
-hand; though from the construction. of the instru-
ment, and the manner of using it, this mischief of-
ten follows. But if you had occasion to describe
imstruments of torture, or execution: this engine,
you would say, is to extend the sinews: this to dis-
locate the joints; this to break the bones; this to
scorch the soles of the feet. Here, pain and mise-
ry are the very objects of the contrivance. Now,
nothing of this sort is to be found in the works of
nature. We never discover a train of contrivance
to bring about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever
discovered a system of organization calculated to
produce pain and disease; or, in explaining the
parts of the human body, ever said, this is to irri-
tate; this to inflame; this duct is to convey the
gravel to the kidneys; this gland to secrete the hu-
mour 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 sus-
pects that it is put there to incommode, to annoy,
or to torment.”

The Two cAszEs which appear to me to have the
most of difficulty in them, as forming the most of
the appearance of exception to the representation

276 THE GOODNESS

here given, are those of venomous animals, and of
animals preying upon one another. These proper-
ties of animals, wherever they are found, must, I
think, be referred to design; because there is in all
cases of the first, and in most cases of the second,
an express and distinct 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 incon-
testably beneficial. And the same thing must, un-
der 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 spi-
der’s web, and of numberless weapons of offence.
belonging to different tribes of voracious imsects.
We cannot, therefore, avoid the difficulty by say-
ing, that the effect was not intended. The only
question open to us is, whether it be ultimately evil.
From the confessed and felt imperfection of our
knowledge, we ought to presume, that there may
be consequences of this economy which are hidden
from us; from the benevolence which pervades the
general designs of nature, we ought also to pre-
sume, that these consequences, if they could enter
into our calculation, would turn the balance on the
favourable side. Both these I contend to be rea-
sonable presumptions. Not reasonable presump-
tions, if these two cases were the only cases which
nature presented to our observation; but reasonable
presumptions under the reflection, that the cases
in question are combined with a multitude of inten-
tions, 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 extenuate the
difficulty, are the followimg.

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

1. That, the animal itself being regarded, the fa-
culty complained of is good : being conducive, in all
cases, to the defence of the animal; in some cases,
to the subduing of its prey; and in some, pr y;
to the killing of it, when caught, by a mortal wound,
inflicted in the passage to the stomach, which may

OF THE DEITY. 207

be no less merciful to the victim, than salutary to
the devourer. In the viper, for instance, the poison-
ous fang may do that which, in other animals of
prey, is done by the crush ofthe teeth. Frogs and
mice might be swallowed alive without it.

_ 2. But it will be said, that this provision, when it
comes to the case of bites, deadly even to human
bodies and to those of large quadrupeds, is greatly
overdone ; that it might have fulfilled its use, and
yet have been muchless deleterious than it is. Now
I believe the case of bites, which produce death in
large animals (of stings I think there are none) to
be very few. The experiments of the Abbe Fon-
tana, which were numerous, go strongly to the
proof of this point. He found that it required:the
action of five exasperated vipers to kill a dog of a
moderate size: but that, to the killing of a mouse
or a frog, n single bite was sufficient; which agrees
with the use we assign to the faculty. The Abbe
seemed to be of opinion, that the bite even of the
rattlesnake, would not usually be mortal: allowing,
however, that in certain particularly unfortunate
cases, aS when the puncture had touched some very
tender part, pricked a principal nerve for instance,
or, as it is said, some more considerable lymphatic
vessel, death might speedily ensue.

3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked,
concerning serpents; that, whilst only a few spe-
cies possess the venomous property, that property

uards 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 serpents, described by

Linneus, amount to two hundred and eighteen, of |

which thirty-two only are poisonous.

4, It seems to me, that animal constitutions are
provided, not only for each element, but for each
_ State of the elements, 7. e. for every climate, and
for every temperature; and that part of the mis-
chief complained of, arises from animals (the hu-
man animal most especially) occupying situations
upon the earth, which do not belong to them, nor

, ee =

i i i

278 THE GOODNESS

were ever intended for their habitation. The folly
and wickedness of mankind, and necessities pro-
ceeding from these causes, have driven multitudes
of the species to seek a refuge amongst burning
sands, whilst countries, blessed with hospitable
skies, and with the most fertile soils, remain al-
most without a human tenant. We invade the ter-—
ritories of wild beasts and venomous reptiles, and
then complain that we are infested by their bites
and stings. 4

Some accounts of Africa place this observation
in a strong point of view. ‘“‘ The deserts,” says
Adanson, “ are entirely barren, except where they
are found to produce serpents: and im such quan-
tities, that some extensive plains are almost entirely
covered with them.” These are the natures ap-
propriated to the situation. Let them enjoy their
existence; let them have their country. Surface
enough will be left to man, though his numbers
were increased a hundred-fold, and left to him,
where he might live, exempt from these annoy-
ances. |

The SECOND CASE, viz. that of animals devouring
one another, furnishes a consideration of much
larger extent. To judge whether, asa general pro-
vision, this can be deemed 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 ques-
tion. Without death there could be no generation,
no sexes, no parental relation, 2. e. as things are
constituted, no animal happiness. The particular
duration of life, assigned to different animals, can
form no part of the objection; because, whatever
that duration be, whilst it remains finite and limit-
ed, 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 amongst them.

The term then of life in different animals br
the same as it is, the question is, what t
— it away is the hest even for the animal it-
self. . ila,

at
by
5: oe

OF THE DEITY. 279

Now, according to the established order of na-
ture, (which we must suppose to prevail, or we
cannot reason at all upon the subject,) the three
methods by which life is usually put an end to,
are, acute diseases, decay, and violence. The sim-
ple and natural life of brutes, is not often visited by
acute distempers: nor could it be deemed an im-
provement of their lot, if they were. Let it be con-
sidered, therefore, in what a condition of suffering
and misery a brute animal is placed, which is left
to perish by decay. In human sickness or infirmi-
ty, there is the assistance of man’s rational fellow-
creatures, if not.to alleviate his pains, at least to
minister to his necessities, and to supply the place
of his own activity. <A brute, in his wild and natu-
ral state, does every thing for himself. When his

strength, therefore, or his speed, or his limbs, or

his senses, fail him, he is delivered over, either to
absolute famine, or to the protracted wretchedness
of a life slowly wasted by the scarcity of food. Is
it then to see the world filled with drooping, super-
annuated, half-starved, helpless, and unhelped ani-
mals, 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 the bu-
siness of another part. And even of this latter
tribe, we have no reason to suppose, that their hap-
piness is much molested by their fears. Their dan-
ger exists continually; and, in some cases, they
seem to beso 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 (hap-
pily for themselves) they do not possess. 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 animal destruction ought always to be considered

— Sl.

280 THE GOODNESS

in Strict connexion with another property of ani-
mal nature, viz. superfecundity. ‘They arecounter-
vailing qualities. One subsists by thecorrection of
the ete In treating, therefore, of the subject un-
der this view, (which is, I believe, the true one,)
our business will be, first, to point out the advanta-
ges which are gained by the powers in nature of a
superabundant multiplication : and, then, to show,
that these advantages are so many reasons for ap-
pointing that system of national hostilities, which
we are endeavouring to account for.

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 inha-
bitants of England amount to. A thousand other in-
stances of prolific generation might be stated, which,
though not equal tothis, would carry on the increase
of the species with a rapidity which outruns caleula-
tion, and to an immeasurable extent. The advan-
tages of such a constitution are two; first, that it
tends to keep the world always full; whilst second-
ly, it allows the proportion between the severa!
species of animals to be differently modified, as dit-
ferent purposes require, or as different situations
may afford for them room and food. Where this
vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to re-
ceive the species, there it operates with its whole
effect ; there it pours in its numbers, and replenish-
es the waste. Wecomplain of what we call the ex-
orbitant multiplication of some troublesome insects ;
not reflecting, that large portions of nature might
be left void without it. If the accounts of travel-
lers may be depended upon, immense tracts of fo-
rest 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 msects.’’—
Thus it is, that where we looked for solitude and
death-like tee — with ara activi-
ty, enjoyment; with a busy, a happy, and a peo-
pled workih Again, hosts of mice are reckoned
amongst the plagues of the north-east part of Eu-
rope ; whereas vast plains in Siberia,as we learn from
good authority, would be lifétess without them.—

OF THE DEITY. 281

The Caspian deserts are converted by their pre-
sence into crowded warrens. Between the Volga
and the Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcania, ee
ground, says Pallas, isin many places covered with
| little hills, raised by the earth cast out in forming
| the burrows. Do we so envy these blissful abodes
as to pronounce the fecundity by which they are
supplied with inhabitants, to be an evil: a subject
of complaint and not of praise? Farther, by virtue
of this same superfecundity, what we term destruc-
tion, becomes almost instantly the parent of life.—
What we call blights, are, oftentimes, legions of
animated beings, claiming their portion in the
bounty of nature. What corrupts the produce of
the earth to us, prepares it for sh And itis by
means of their rapid multiplication, that they take

possession of their pasture; a slow propagation

would not meet with the opportunity.

But in conjunction with the occasional use of
this fruitfulness, we observe, also, that it allows the
proportion between the several species of animals
to be differently modified, as different purposes of
utility may require. When the forests of America
come to be cleared, and the swamps drained, our
gnats will give place to other inhabitants. If the
population of Europe should spread to the north
and the east, the mice will retire before the hus-
bandman 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 Provi-
dence, that the earth should be inhabited by a shift-
ing, or perhaps a circulating population. In this
economy, it is possible that there may be the fol-
lowing advantages : when old countries are become
exceedingly corrupt, simpler modes of life, purer
morals, and better institutions, may rise up in new
ones, whilst fresh soils reward the cultivator with
more plentiful returns. Thus the different por-
tions of the globe come into use in succession as
the residenve of man; and, in his absence, enter-
tain other guests, which, by their sudden multipli-

cation, fill the chasm. In domesticated animals,

we find the effect of their fecundity to be, that we
can always command numbers ; we can always have
as many of any particular species as we please, or

i i ei i lt i

282 THE GOODNESS

as we can support. Nor do we complain of its ex-
cess; it being much more easy to regulate abun-
dance, than to supply scarcity. .

But then this superfecundity, though of great oc-
casional use and importance, exceeds the ordinary
capacity of nature to receive or support its pro-
geny. Allsuperabundance supposes destruction,
or must destroy itself. Perhaps thereis no species
of terrestrial animals whatever, which would not
overrun the earth, if it were permitted to multiply
in perfect 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 re-
straint, the food of other species would be exhaust-
ed by their maintenance. It is necessary, there-
fore, that the effects of such prolific faculties be

-curtailed. In conjunction with other checks and
limits, all subservient to the same purpose, are the
thinning 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 insects rids us of
another species; or reduces their ranks. A third
species, perhaps, keeps the second within bounds :
and birds or lizards are a fence against the inordi-
nate increase by which even these last might infest
us. In other, more numerous, and possibly more
important, instances, this disposition of things, al-
though 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 which seems to be studiously guarded
against. Though there may be the appearance of
failure in some of the details of Nature’s works, in
her great purposes there never are. Her species
never fail. The provision which was originally
made for continuing the replenishment of the world,
has proved itself to be effectual througha longsuc-
eession of ages. om

What farther shows, that the system of destrue-
tion amongst animals holds an express relation to
the system of fecundity ; that they are parts indeed
of-one compensatory scheme; is, that, in each
species, the fecundity bears a proportion to the

smallness of the animal, to the weakness, to the
shortness, of its natural term of life, and to the
dangers and enemies by which it is surrounded.
An elephant produces but one calf; a butterfly lays
six hundred eggs. Birds of prey seldom produce
more than two eggs: the sparrow tribe, and the
duck tribe, frequently sit upon a dozen. In the
rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows for one
pike: in the sea, a million of herrings for a single
shark. Compensation obtains throughout. De-
fencelessness and devastation are repaired by
fecundity. ib QR

We have dwelt the longer on these considera-
tions, because the. subject to which they apply,
namely, that of animals 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 utility
can be called in question. The case of venomous
animals is of much inferior consequence to the case
of prey, and, in some degree, is also included
under it. To both cases it is probable that many
more reasons belong, than those of which we are in
possession. ;

Our FIRST PROPOSITION, and that which we
have hitherto been defending, was, ‘ that, in a
vast plurality of instances, in which contrivance
pegnes the design of the contrivance is bene-

al. |

ur 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 asit was necessary, might have
been effected by the operation of pain.”

This proposition may be thus explained: The
capacities, which, according to the established
course of nature, are necessary to the support or
preservation of an animal, however manifestly they
may be the result of an organization contrived for
the purpose, can only be deemed an act or a part
of the same will, as that which decreed the exist-
ence of the animal itself; because, whether the
creation proceeded from a benevolent or a malevo-
_ lent being, these capacities must have been given,
the animal existed at all. Animal properties.

— eS

— oo

OF THE DEITY. 283 ©

284 THE GOODNESS
_ therefore, which fall under this description, do not
strictly prove the goodness of God: they may
prove the existence of the Deity ; the y prove
a high degree of power and intelligen nut they
do not prove his goodness ; forasmuch as they must

have been found in any creation which was capa- —

ble of continuance, although it is ee sup-
pose, that such a creation might have been pro-
duced 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 happiness ; 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 conversation of the individual or of the

A — instance will oe aap joe wy |
suming the necessity of food for pane 5 57a

be pro-

y from
re it does when rubbed upon the palm of the

*

* See this topic considered in Dr. Balgay’s Fevion i the
Divine Benevolence. This cates author first, I thiak, p
posed it; and nearly in the terms in which it is here ra!
Some other observations also under this head are taken fre
treatise. aa ri

is concerned, they were not wanted, or wherein ©

a a == ——« F

~~ Gh wh Gin Ce eae) eee cee Abe.

OF THE DEITY. 28)

| pears to me, can be resolved into nothing but the
pure benevolence ofthe Creator. Eating is neces-
sary; but the pleasure attending it is not necessa-—
ry : and that this pleasure depends, not only upon
our being in possession of the sense of taste, which
is different from every other, but upon a particular
state of the organ in which it resides, a felicitous
adaptation of the organ to the object, will be con-
fessed by any one, who may happen to have expe-
rienced that vitiation of taste which frequently oc-
curs 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. Iam net 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 brows-
ing 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
im the mouth, is it an improbable conjecture, that
the seat of taste with them is in the stomach ; or, at
least, that a sense of pleasure, whether it be taste
or not, accompanies the dissolution of the food in
that receptacle, which dissolution in general is car-
‘ried on very slowly ? If this opinion be right, they
‘are more than repaid for the defect of palate. ‘The
feast lasts as long as the digestion.

In seeking for argument, we need not stay to in-
‘gist upon the comparative importance of our exam-
ple; for the observation holds equally of all, or of
three at least, of the other senses. The necessary
purposes of hearing might have been answered
without harmony ; of smell, without fragrance ; of
vision, without beauty. Now, “ifthe Deity had
been indifferent about our happiness or misery, we
_ Inust impute to our good fortune (as all design by

this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of

286 THE GOODNESS

our sensés to receive pleasure, and the supply of
external objects fitted to excite it.” I allege these
as two felicities, for they are different thin,
both necessary : the sense being formed, the ¢ ;
which were applied to it, might not have suited it ;
the objects being fixed, the sense might not have
agreed with them. A coincidence is here required,
which no ‘accident can aecount for. There are
three possible suppositions upon the subject, and no
more. The first; that the sense, by its original
constitution, was made to suit the object: the se-
cond, that the object, by its original constitution,
was made to suit the sense ‘the t hd, 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. Whichever of these
suppositions we adopt, the effect evinces, on the
part of the Author of nature, a studious benevo-
lence. Ifthe pleasures which we derive from any
of our senses, depend upon an original congruity
between the sense and the properties perceived by
it, we know by experience, that the Bintan de-
manded, with respect to the qualities which were
conferred upon the objects that surround us, not
only choice and selection, out of a boundless varie-
ty of possible qualities with which these objects

might have been endued, but a proportioning also of |

degree, because an excess or defect of intensity
spoils the perception, as much almost as an error
in the kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the
degree of dulness or acuteness in the sense itself, is
no arbitrary thing, but, in order to preserve the
congruity here spoken of, requires to be in an exact
or near correspondency with the strength of the
impression. The dulness of the senses forms the
complaint of old age. Persons in fevers, and, I be-
lieve, in most maniacal cases, experience great tor-~
ment from their preternatural acuteness, An in-
creased, no less than an unpaired sensibility, in-
duces a state of disease and suffering. |

The doctrine of a specific congruity between ani-
mal senses and their objects, is strongly favoured
by what is observed of insects in the election of
their food. Some of these will feed upon one kind
of plant or animal, and upon no other ; some cater-

OF THE DEITY. 287

pillars upon the a Se some upon the
black currant alone. The species of caterpillar
which eats the vine, will starve upon the elder ;
nor will that which we find upon fennel, touch the
rose-bush. Some insects confine themselves to
two or three kinds of plants or animals. Some
- again show so strong a preference, as to afford rea-
son 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 imita-
tion. - -

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 spe-
cies, the human species most particularly, there is
reason to attribute something,) we have then before .
us an animal capacity, not less perhaps to be ad-
mired than the native congruities which the other
scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to result from
any fixed necessity in nature, that what is frequent-
ly applied to 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 ap-
pear 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 holden,
that all secretion is pleasurable; and that the com-
placency which in health, without any external as-
signable object to excite it, we derive from life it-
self, 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
At to appointment, |

te
2

288 THE GOODNESS

We can give no abeohnt whatever of our piea-
sures in the simple and original perception ; and,
even when physical sensations are assumed, we
ean seldom account for them in the secondary and
complicated shapes, in which they take the name of
diversions. I never yet met witha 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 fishin
myself, and in its cheerful solitude have passe
some of the happiest hours of a sufficiently happy
life; but, to this moment, I could never trace out
the source of the pleasure which it afforded me.

The ‘ quantum in rebus inane!” whether ap-
plied to our amusements or to our graver pursuits,
{to which, in truth, it sometimes equally belongs,)
is always an unjust complaint. If trifles engage,
and if trifles make us happy, the true reflection
suggested by the experiment, is upon the tendency
of nature to gratification and enjoyment; which is,
in other words, the goodness of its Author towards
his sensitive creation. ed

Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities
which help to confirm the tfuth of our position.
The degree of understanding found in mankind, is
usually much greater than what is necessary for
mere preservation. The pleasure of choosing for
themselves, and of prosecuting the object of their
choice, should seem to be an original source of en-
joyment. The pleasures received from things,
zreat, beautiful, or new, from imitation, or from the
liberal arts, are, in some measure, not only super-
added, but unmixed, gratifications, having no pains
to balance them.*

1 do not know whether our attachment to proper-
ty 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 longest. It endears
to the child its plaything, to the peasant his cot-
tage, to the landholder his estate. It st ome
place of prospect andscenery. Instead of coveting

a + =e

* Balguy on the Divine Benevolence.

”
>

——

OF THE DEITY. 289

the beauty of distant situations, it teaches every
man to find it in hisown. It gives boldness and
grandeur to plains and fens, tinge and colouring to
clays and fallows.

All these considerations come in aid of our se-

cond proposition. The reader will now bear in
mind what our two propositions were. They were,
‘firstly, that in a vast plurality of instances, in which
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contri-
vance 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 effected by the operation of pain.

Whilst these propositions can be maintained, we
are authorized to ascribe to the Deity the character ©
of benevolence: and what is benevolence at all,
must in him be infinite benevolence, by reason ofthe
infinite, that is to say, the incalculably great, num-
ber of objects, upon which it is exercised.

Of the ORIGIN OF EVIE, no universal solution
has been discovered; I mean, no solution which |
reaches to all cases of compiaint. The most com-
prehensive is that which arises from the considera-
tion of gencral rules. We may, I think, without
much difficulty, be brought to admit the four follow-
ing points: first, that important advantages may
accrue to the universe from the order of nature
proceeding according to general laws: secondly,
that general laws, however well set and constitu-
ted, often thwart and cross one another: thirdly,
that from these thwartings and crossings, frequent

_ particular inconveniences will arise: and fourthly,
that it agrees with our observation to suppose, that
some degree of these inconveniences takes place

inthe works of nature. ‘These points-may be al»
lowed; and it may also be asserted, that the ge-
neral laws with which we are acquainted, are di-
| rected to beneficial ends. On the other hand, with
many of these laws we are not acquainted at all, or
we are totally unable totrace them in their branch
es, and in their re ; the effect of which ig-

990 THE GOODNESS

norance is, that they cannot be of importance tous
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 un-
informed of their value or use ; uninformed, conse-
quently, when, and how far, they may or may not
be suspended, or their effects-turned aside, by a
presiding and benevolent will, without incurring |
greater evils than those which would be avoided.
The consideration, therefore, of general laws, al-
though it may concern the question of the origin of —
evil very nearly, (which I think it does,) nests in
views disproportionate to our faculties, and in a
knowledge which we do not possess, , it serves
ig

rather to account for the obscurity ect,
than to supply us with distinct answers to our diffi--
culties. However, whilst we assent tothe above-
stated propositions as principles, whatever uncer>) _
tainty we may find in the application, we laya
ground for beheving, that eases of apparent evil,
for which we can suggest no particular reason,
are governed by reasons, which are more general,
which lie deeper in the order of second causes, and
which on that account are removed to a greater
distance from us. ;

- The doctrine of imperfections, or, as it is called,
of evils of imperfection, furnishes an account, found-
ed, like the former, in views of universal nature.
The doctrine is briefly this :—It is probable, that
creation may be better replenished by sensitive be-
ings of different sorts, than by sensitive beings all
of one sort. Itis likewise probable, that it may be
better replenished by different orders of beings
rising one above another in gradation, t an by be=
ings possessed of equal degrees of perfection. Now,
a gradation of such beings, implies a gradation of
imperfections. No class can justly complain of
the imperfections which belong to its place in the
scale, unless it were allowable for it to complet f
that a scale of being was appointed in nature ; for #
which appointment there appear to be reasons of
wisdom and goodness. +) ie ae ae

In like manner, finiteness, or what is r¢

into finiteness, in inanimate subjec

can never
a just subject of complaint; beca se if it were ¢

:

|
}

]
H
1|

OF THE DEITY. 291

20, it would be always so: we mean, that we can
never reasonably demand that things should be
larger or more, when the same demand might be
made, whatever the quantity or number was.

And to me it seems, that the sense of mankind
has so far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we |
‘seldom complain of evils of this class, when we
clearly perceive them to be such. What I have to
add, therefore, is, that we ought not to complain of
- some other evils, which stand upon the same foot
of vindication as evils of confessed imperfection.
We never complain, that the globe of our earth is
too small: nor should we complain, if it were even
much smaller. But where is the difference to us,
between a less globe, and part of the present being
uninhabitable? The inhabitants of an island may
be apt enough to murmur at the sterility of some
parts of it, against its rocks, or sands, or Swamps :
but no one thinks himself 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 | think they are)
in right reasoning ; but they are of a nature too
wide to be brought under our survey, and it is
often difficult to apply them in the detail. Our
speculations, therefore, are perhaps better employ-
ed when they confine themselves within a narrower
circle.

The observations which follow, are of this more
limited, but more determinate, kind. '

Of bodily pain, the principal observation, no
doubt, is that which we have already made, and al-
ready dwelt upon, viz. “ that it is seldom the object
of contrivance ; that when it is so, the contrivance
rests ultimately in good.” a

To which, however, may be added, that the an-
nexing of pain to the means of destruction is a sa-
lutary provision ; inasmuch as it teaches vigilance
and caution; both gives notice of danger, and ex-
cites those endeavours which may be necessary to
preservation. The evil consequence, which some-
times arises from the want of that timely intima-

ea

292 THE GOODNESS ©

tion of danger which pain gives, is known to the
inhabitants of cold countries by the example of
frost-bitten hmbs. I have conversed with patients
who had lost toes and fingers by this cause. They
have in general told me, that they were totally un-
conscious of any local uneasiness at the time.
Some I have heard declare, that, whilst they were
about their employment, neither their situation,
nor the state of the air‘was unpleasant. They felt
no pain; they suspected no mischief; till, by the
application of warmth, they discovered, too late,
the fatal injury which some oftheir extremities had
suffered. Isay that this shows the use of pain,
and that we stand in need of such a monitor. Ibe-
lieve also that the use extends farther than we sup-
pose, or can now trace; that to disagreeable sen-
gations we, and all animals, owe, or have owed,
many habits of action which are salutary, but
which are become so familiar, as not easily to be
referred to their origin.

Patwn also itself is not without itsallewiations. It
may be violent and frequent; but it is seldom both
violent and Jong-continued : and its pauses and in-

termissions become positive pleasures. It hasthe

power of shedding a satisfaction over intervals of
ease, which, I believe, few enjoyments exceed. A
man resting from a fit of the stone or gout, is, for
the time, in possession of feelings which undisturb-
ed 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. Iam far from being sure, that a
man is not a gainer by suffermg a moderate inter-
ruption of bodily ease for a couple of hours out of
the four-and-twenty. ‘Two very common obserya-
tions favour this opinion: one is, that remissions
of pain call forth, from those who experience them,
stronger expressions of satisfaction and of gratitude
towards both the author and the instruments of
their relief, than are excited by advantages of any
other kind : the second is, that the spirits of sick
men do not sink in proportion to the acuteness of
their sufferings; but rather appear to be roused
and supported, not by pain, but by the high degree

;
yy OS |

a ? . Te ee ee ee ae

OF THE DEITY. — 293

of comfort which th sy derive from its cessation, or
even its subsidency, whenever that occurs; and
which they taste with a relish, that diffuses some.
portion of mental complacency over the whole of
that mixed state of sensations in which disease has
placed them. : ;

In connexion with bodily pain may be considered
bodily disease, whether painful or not.” Few diseases
are fatal. I have before me the account of a dis-
pensary in the neighbourhood, which states six
years’ experience as follows :

©

AEE, 5. os x 32, > o,48%-. OED
NN iF i ig hn aaa Falk
|_| SEL OE TERESA aE <

And this Isuppose nearly to agree with what other |

similar institutions exhibit. Now, in all these cases,
some disorder must have been felt, or the patients
would-not have applied for a remedy ; yet we see
how large a proportion of the maladies which were
'brought forward, have either yielded to proper
“treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of
their own accord. We owe these frequent recover-
ies, and, where recovery does not take place, this
_ patience of the human constitution under many of
the distempers by which it is visited, to two bene-
factions 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 confines of which it only suffers a gradual dimi-
nution. Different quantities of food, different de-
grees of exercise, different portions of sleep, differ-
ent states of the atmosphere, are compatible with
the possession of health. So likewise it is with
the secretions and excretions, with many internal
functions of the body, and with the state, probably,
of most of itsinternalorgans. They may vary con-
siderably, not only without destroying life, but with-
out occasioning any high degree of inconveniency.
The other property of our nature, to which we are
still more beholden, is its constant endeavour to
restore itself, when disordered, to its regular course.
The fluids of the body appear to possess a power of
Separating and expelling any noxious substance

|
;
‘
|

———— tS —_—- °-—

4 THE GOODNESS
which may, have mixed itself with them, This they

_ do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of despumation, as |
Sydenham calls it, analogous in some measure to |

the intestine action by which fermenting liquors
work the yest to the surface. ‘The solids, on their
part, when their action is obstructed, not only re- |
sume that action, as soon as the obstruction is re-
moved, but they struggle with the impediment. |
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 ina |
wonderful manner, and, oftentimes, by a mild and
imperceptible gradation. Every man who has been |
placed in a situation to observe it,issurprised with |
the change which has been wrought in himself,
when he compares the view which he entertains of |
death upon a sick-bed, with the heart-sinking dis-
may with which he should some time ago have met
it in health. ‘There is no similitude between the
sensations of a man led to execution, and the calm
expiring of a patient at the close of his disease.
Death to him is only the last ofa long train of
changes; in his progress through which, it is pos-
sible that he may experience no shocks or sudden
transitions.

Death itself, as a mode of removal and of suc-
cession, is so connected with the whole order of our
aninal 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 percep-
tion 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 apprehen-
sion of death just sufficiently to put them upon the
means of preservation, and no farther. But would
a human being wish to purchase this immunity at
the expense of those mental powers which enable
him to look forward to the future ? earl

Death implies separation : and the loss of those

a, "- * 7 ¥ ee le = a

OF THE DEITY. 995

whom we love, must necessarily, so far as we can
cone ive, be accompanied with pain. To the brute
feation, nature seems to have stepped .in with
‘some secret provision for their relief, under the rup-
“ure of their attachment. In their instincts towards
‘their offspring, and of their offspring to them, I
‘nave often been surprised to observe how ardently
‘they love, and how soon they forget. The perti-
‘aacity of human sorrow (upon which, time also, at
length, lays its softening hand,) is probably, there-
fore, in some manner connected with the qualities
of our rational or moral nature. One thing how-
ever is Clear, viz. that it is better that we should
possess affections, the sources of so many virtues,
and. so many joys, although they be exposed to the
incidents of life, as wellas the interruptions of mor-
tality, than, by the want of them, be reduced to a
state of selfishness, apathy, and quietism.

Of other external evils, Be confining ourselves
to what. are called physical or natural evils) a con-
siderable part come within the scope of the follow-
ing observation :—The great principle of human
satisfaction is engugement. It is a most just dis-
tinction, which the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt upon
so largely in his works, between pleasures in which
we are passive, and pleasures in which we are ac-
tive. And, I believe, every attentive observer of
human life will assent to his position, that, however
grateful the sensations may occasionally be in
which we are passive, it is not these, but the latter
elass of our pleasures, which constitute satisfac-
tion ; which supply that regular stream of moderate
and miscellaneous enjoyments, in which happiness,
as distinguished from voluptuousness, consists.
‘Now for rational occupation, which is, in other
words, for the very material of contented existence,
there would be no place left, if either the things
with which we had to do were absolutely imprac-
ticable to our endeavours, or if they were too obe-
dient to our uses.. A world, furnished with advan-
tages on one side, and beset with difficulties, wants,
and inconveniences, on the other, is the proper
abode of free, rational, and active natures, being
the fittest to stimulate and exercise their faculties.
‘The very refractoriness of the objects. they have to

296 THE GOGDNESS

‘deal with, contributes to this purpose. A world in
which nothing 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
attainments, from the application of which they
draw, if not their highest, their most permanent
gratifications, would be insignificant, if things could
be either moulded by our volitions, or, of their own
accord, conform themselves to our views and
wishes. Now itis in this refractoriness that we
discern the seed and principle of physical evil, as
far as it arises from that which is external to us.
Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are much
more easily disposed of, than physical evils ; be-
cause they are, in truth, of much less magnitude,
and also because they result, by a kind of necessi-
ty, not only from the constitution of our nature, but
from a part of that constitution which no one would
wish to see altered. The case is this, Mankind will

in every country breed up to a certam point of dis- .

tress. That point may be different in different
countries or ages, according to the established

usages of life in each. It will also shift upon the ©

scale, so as to admit of a greater or less number of
inhabitants, according as the quantity of provision,
which is either produced in the country, or supplied
to it from other countries, may happen to vary. But
there must always be such a point, and the species
will always breed up to it. The order of generation
proceeds by something like a geometrical progres-
sion. The increase of provision, under circum-
stances even the most advantageous, can only as-
sume 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 difficult
therefore, along with its attendant circumstan
must be found in every old country : and these ¢
cumstances constitute what we call poverty,
necessarily, imposes labour, servitude, restraint. _

It seems impossible to people a country with in-

a resi
? >
i ie ee ™

* See a statement of this subject, ina late treatise on population.

OF THE DEITY. 297

habitants who shall be all easy in circumstances.
For suppose the thing to be done, there would be
such marrying and giving in marriage amongst
them, as would in a few years change the face of
affairs entirely : 7. e. as would increase the con-
‘sumption of those articles, which supplied the na-
tural or habitual wants of the country, to such a
degree of scarcity, as must leave the greatest part
of the inhabitants unable to procure them without
toilsome endeavours,.or, out of the different kinds
of these articles, to procure-any kind except that
which was mosteasily produced. And this, in fact,
describes the condition of the mass of the commu-
nity in all countries ; a condition unavoidably, as
it should seem, resulting from the provision which
_is made in the human, in common with all animal .
constitutions, for the perpetuity and multiplication
of the species.

It need not, however, dishearten any endeavours
for the public service, to know that population na-
turally treads upon the heels of improvement. If
the condition of a people be meliorated, the conse-
quence will be either that the mean happiness will
be increased, or a greater number partake of it; or,
' which is most likely to happen, that both effects
will take place together. ‘There may be limits fix-
ed by nature to both, but they are limits not yet
attained, nor even approached, in any country of
‘the world.

And ‘when we speak of limits at all, we have re-
| spect only to provisions for animal wants. There are
sources, and means, and anxiliaries, and augmen-
tations, of human happiness, communicable with-
out restriction of numbers; as capable of being
pessessed by a thousand persons as by one. Such
are those, which fiow from a mild, contrasted with
a tyrannic government, whether civil or domestic ;
those which spring from religion; those which
‘grow out of a sense of security ; those which de-
pend ppon habits of virtue, sobriety, moderation,
order ; those, lastly, which are found in the pos-
‘session of weli-directed tastes and desires, com-
pared with the dominion of tormenting, pernicious,
contradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable pas-
‘SIONS,

20

298 THE GOODNESS

_ The distinctions of civil life are apt enough to be
regarded as evils, by those who situnderthem; but, |
in my opinion, with very little reason. .

In the first place the advantages which the higher
conditions of Jife 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 ;
beauty than dress; appetite, digestion, and tran-
quil bowels, than all the studies of cookery, or |
than the most costly compilation of forced or far- - |
fetched dainties ! . |

Nature has a strong tendency to equalization.
Habit, the instrument of nature, is a great leveller ;
the familiarity which it induces, taking off the edge
both of our pleasures and our sufferings. Indul-
gences which are habitual, keep us in ease, and can-
not be carried much farther. So that, with re-
spect to the gratifications of which the senses are
capable, the difference is by no means proportiona-
ble to the apparatus. Nay, so far as superfluity |
generates fastidiousness, the difference is on the
wrong side. i

It is not necessary to contend, that the advan-
tages derived from wealth are none, (under due re-
gulations they are oo 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 labour with liberty. It
is, moreover, the stimulant of enterprise in all pro-
jects and undertakings, as well as of diligence in
the most beneficial arts and employments. Now
did affluence, when possessed, contribute nothing
to the happiness, or nothing beyond the mere sup-
ply 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, de-
rived to us through this important medium. Not
only would the tranquillity of social life be put in
peril by the want of a motive toattach men to their
private concerns; but the satisfaction which all
men receive from success in their respective oc-
cupations, which collectively constitutes the great
mass of human comfort, would be done away in |
its very principle. . ’ ]

ie A os a il 1

OF THE DEITY. 999

With respect to station, as it is distinguished
from riches, whether it confer authority over others,
or be invested with honours which apply solely to
sentiment and imagination, the truth is, that what
is gained by rising through the ranks of life, is not
more than sufficient to draw forth the exertions of
those who are engaged in the pursuits which lead
to advancement, and which, in general, are such as
ought to be encouraged. Distinctions of this sort
are subjects much more of competition than of en-
joyment: and in that competition their use con-
sists. It is not, as hath been rightly observed, by
what the lord mayor feels in his coach, but by what
the apprentice feels who gazes at-him, that the pub-
lic is served. . |

As we approach the summits of human greatness, -
the comparison of good and evil, with respect to
personal comfort, becomes still more problemati-
cal;-even allowing to ambition all its pleasures.
The poet asks, ‘‘ What is grandeur, what is pow-
er ?” The philosopher answers, ‘‘ Constraint and
plague: ef in maxima quaque fortuna minimum
ficere.””? One very common error misleads the opi-
nion of mankind on this head, viz. that, universally,
authority is pleasant, submission painful. In the
general course of human affairs, the very reverse
of this is nearer to the truth. Command is anxiety,
obedience ease.

Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real
equality. Whether they be hereditary, or be the
homage paid to office, or the respect attached by
public opinion to particular professions, they serve
_toconfrontthat grand unavoidable distinction which
arises from property, and which is most overvear~
ing where there is no other. It is of the nature of
|property, not only to be irregularly distributed,
| but to run into large masses. Public laws should
be so constructed as to favour its diffusion as much
‘as they can. But all that can be done by laws,

consistently with that degree of government of his
property which ought to be left to the subject, wil]
‘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

/

eS a ee oe

300 THE GOODNESS .

grinding, when no pretension is allowed to be set
up against it. wa | ——

So that the evils, if evils they must be called,
which spring either from the necessary subordina-
tions of eivil life, or from the distinctions which
have, naturally, though not necessarily, grown up
in most societies, so long as they are unaccompa-
nied 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
little prejudice to their comfort. st .

The mischiefs of which mankind are the occa-
sion to one another, by their private wickedness
and cruelties, by tyrannical exercises of power ; by
rebellions against just authority; by wars; by na-
tional jealousies and competitions operating to the
destruction of third countries; or by other instan-
ces of misconduct either in individuals or societies,
are all to be resolved into the character of man as
a free agent. Free agency in its very essence con-
tains 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 accountableness, 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 imstances,
in fact made, conducive to its happiness. These _
passions are strong and general; and, perhaps, |
would not answer their purpose unless they were
so. But strength and Seca my it is expe-
dient that particular circumstances should be re-
spected, become, if left to themselves, excess and
misdirection. From which exeess and misdirec-
tion, the vices of mankind, (the causes, no doubt, —
of much misery) appear to spring. This ace 35 |
whilst it shows us the principle of vice, shows us, _
at the same time, the province of reason and of
self-government : the want also of eve! —.
which can be procured to either from the aids of
religion: and it shows this, without having re-

re |

fe be Ot tid Bits Silas | ti Zo ais

OF THE DEITY. 301

nourse to any native, gratuitous malignity, in the
human constitution. Mr. Hume, in his posthumous
dialogues, asserts, indeed, of idleness, or aversion
to labour, (which he states to lie at the root of a
considerable part of the evils which mankind suffer,)
that it is simply and merely bad. But how does
he distinguish idleness from the love of ease? 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 com-
munity there is a large class of its members, whose
idleness is the best quality about them, being the
corrective of other bad ones. If it were possible,
in every mstance, to give a right determination to
industry, we could never have too much of it.—
But this is not possible, if men are to be free.
And without this, nothing would be so dangerous,
aS an incessant, universal, indefatigable activity.
In the civil world, as well as in the material, it is
the vis inertice which keeps things in their places.

NaTuRAL THEOLOGY has ever been pressed
with this question: Why, under the regency of a
supreme and benevolent Will, should there be, in
the world, so much, as there is, of the appearance
of chance ?
~ The question in its whole compass hes beyond
our reach: but there are not wanting, as in the
origin of evil, answers which seem to have consi-
derable weight in particular cases, and also to em-
brace a considerable number of cases.

I. There must be chance in the midst of design;
by which we mean, that events which are not de-
weet necessarily arise from the pursuit of events
which are designed. One man travelling to York,
meets another man travelling to London. Their
meeting 1s by chance, is accidental, and so would
be called and reckoned, though the journeys which
produced the meeting were, both of them, under-
taken with design and from deliberation. The
ia though accidental, was nevertheless hypo-
thetica y vc gr (which is the only sort of ne-

1

cessity that is intelligible :) for if the two journeys

302 THE GOODNESS:

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 meet-
ing could not be avoided. There was not, there-
fore, the less necessity in it for its being chance.
Again, the rencontre might be most unfortunate,
though the errands, upon which each party set out
upon his journey, were the most innocent or the
most laudable. The bye effect may be unfavoura-
ble, without impeachment of the proper purpose,
for the sake of which the train, from the operation
of which these consequences ensued, was put in
motion. Although no cause act without a good
Hg 20 ; accidental consequences, like these, may
e either good or bad. * ;
II. The appearance of chance will always bear a
proportion to the ignorance of the observer. The
cast of a die as regularly follows the laws of mo-
tion, as the going of a watch; yet, because we can
trace the operation of those laws through the works
and movements of the watch, and cannot trace them
in the shaking and throwing of the die, (though the
Jaws 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 de-
pend upon the will of a free and rational agent:
The verdict of a jury, the sentence of a judge, the
resolution of an assembly, the issue of a contested
election, will have more or less of the appearance
of chance, might be more or less the subject of a
wager, according as we were less or more acquaint-
ted with the reasons which influenced the delibera-
tion. The difference resides in the mformation of
the observer, and not in the thing itself; which, im
all the cases proposed, proceeds from intelligence,
from mind, from counsel, from design. |
Now when this one cause of the appearance of
chance, viz. the ignorance of the observer, comes
to be applied to the operations of the Deity, it is
easy to foresee how fruitful it must prove of diffi-
culties and of seeming confusion. It is only to
think of the Deity, to perceive what variety of ob-
jects, what distance of time, what extent of space

Pe ee a at 8 a wy sy De a vv ot ee arti im pe a

THE GOODNESS 303

and action, his counsels may, or rather. must,

comprehend. Can it be wondered at, that, of the
purposes which dwell in such a mind as this, so
small apart should be known to us? It is only
necessary, therefore, to bear in our thought, that
in proportion to the inadequateness of our informa-
tion, will be the quantity, in the world, of apparent
chance. ‘

Ili. Ina great variety of cases, and of cases com-
prehending numerous subdivisions, it appears, for
many reasons, to be better that events rise up by
chance, or raore properly speaking with the appear-
ance 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, in a public meeting, may be determin-
ed by lot. Work and labour may be allotted. Tasks
and burdens may be adlotted -

~

Operumque laborem
Partibus equabat justis, aut sorte trahebat.

Military service and station may be allotted. ‘The
distribution of provision may be made by Jot, as it
is in a Sailor’s mess; in some cases also, the distri-
bution of favours may be made by dot. In all these
cases, it seems to be acknowledged, that there are
advantages in permitting events to chance, superi-
or to those, which would or could arise from regu-
lation. In all these cases also, though events rise
up in the way of chance, it is by appointment that
they do so.

In other events, and such as are independent of
human will, the reasons for this preference of un-
certainty to rule, appears to be still stronger. For
example : it seems to be expedient that the period
of human life should be uncertain. Did mortality
follow any fixed rule, it would produce a security
in those that were at a distance from it, which
would lead to the greatest disorders; and a horror
in those who approached it, similar to that which a
condemned prisoner feels on the night before his
execution. But, that death be uncertain, the young
must sometimes die, as well as the old. Also were
deaths never sudden, they who are in health would

304 THE GOODNESS

be too confident of life. The strong and the active,
who want most to be warned and checked, would
live without apprehension or restraint. On the
other hand, were sudden deaths very frequent, the
sense of constant jeopardy would interfere too much
with the degree of ease and enjoyment intended for
us; and human life be too precarious for the busi-
ness and interests which belong toit. There could
not be dependance either upon our own lives, or the
lives of those with whom we were connected, suffi-
cient to carry on the regular offices of an socie-
ty. The manner, therefore, in which death is made
to occur, conduces to the purpeses of admonition,
without overthrowing thenecessary stability of hu-
man affairs. .

Disease being the forerunner of death, there is the
same reason for its attacks coming upon us under
the appearance of chance, as there is for uncer-
tainty in the time of death itself. - .

The seasons are a mixture of regularity and
chance. They are regular enough to authorize ex-
pectation, whilst their bemg, in a considerable de-
gree, irregular, induces, on the part of the cultiva-
tors of the soil, a necessity for personal attendance,
for activity, vigilance, precaution. [It is this neces-
sity which creates farmers; which divides the pro-
fit of the soil between the owner and the occupier ;
which by requiring expedients, by mcreasing em-
ployment, and by rewarding expenditure, promotes
agricultural arts and agricultural 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 most depressed.
Uncertainty, therefore, has its use even to those
who sometimes complain of it the most. Seasons
of scarcity themselves are not without their advan-
tages. They call forth new exertions; they set
contrivance and ingenuity at work; they give birth
to improvements in agriculture and economy; they
promote the investigation and management of pub-
lic resources. aj

- Again; there are strong intelligible reasons, why
there should exist in human society great disparity

: | ae iy Ne ay SO AS a ee ee AS Pe eA a Oa.
OF THE DEITY. 30%

of wealth and station: not only as these things are
acquired in rent degrees, but at the first setting

out of life. In order, for instance, to answer the
prow demands of civil life, there ought to be
ongst the members of every civil society a di-
versity of education, which can only belong to an
original diversity of circumstances. As this sort”
of disparity, which ought to take place from the be-
ginning of life, must ex hypothest, 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 com-
manding circumstance which in general fixes each
man’s place in civil life, along with every thing
which appertains to its distinctions. It may be the
result of a beneficial rule, that the fortunes or ho-
nours of the father devolve upon the son; and, as
it should seem, of a still more necessary rule, that
the low or laborious condition of the parent be com-
municated to his family ; but with respect to the suc-
cessor himself, it is the drawing of a ticket in a lot-
tery. Inequalities, therefore, of fortune, at least
the greatest part of them, viz. those which attend
us from our birth, and depend upon our birth, may
be left, as they are left, to chance, without any just
cause for questioning the regency of a supreme Dis-
poser of events.

But not only the donation, when by the necessity
of the case they must be gifts, but-even the acquira-
bility of civil advantages, ought, perhaps, in a con-
siderable 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 perceiv-
ing, I suppose, the consequence, that al] the poor
must be wicked. And how such a society could
be kept im subjection to government, has not
been shown; for the poor, that is, they who seek
their subsistence by constant manual labour, must
still form the mass of the community ; otherwise the
necessary labour of life could not be carried on;
the work would 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

ll

306 THE GOODNESS

external circumstances, but for a

of differ-
ent faculties, tastes, and tempers. A yandcon- |
templation, restlessness and quiet, courage = ti- |
ev

midity, ambition and contentedness, not tos
indolence and dulness, are wanted in the world,
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, per-
haps also different bodily constitutions; ar ince,
likewise, it is apparently expedient, that they be
promiscuously scattered amongst the different class-
es of society: can the distribu of talents, dis-
positions, and the constitutions upon which they
depend, be better made than by chance ?

The opposites of apparent chance, are constancy
and sensible interposition; every degree of secret
direction being consistent with it. Now, of con-
stancy, or of fixed and known rules, we have seen in
some cases the inapplicability : and inconveniences
which we do not see, might attend their application
in other cases. :

Of sensible interposition, we may be permitted to
remark, that a Providence, always and certainly
distinguishable, would be neither more nor less
than miracles rendered frequent and common. It
is difficult to judge of the state into which this
would throw us. It is enough to say, that it would
cast us upon a quite different dispensation from
that under which we live. It would be a total and
radical change. And the change would deeply af-
fect, or perhaps subvert, the whole conduct of hu-
man affairs. Ican readily believe, that, Other cir-
cumstances being adapted to it, such a state might
be better than our present state. It may” be the
state of other beings; it may be ours hereafter.
But the question with which we are now concerned
is, how far it would be consistent with our condi-
tion, supposing it in other respects to remain as it
is? And in this question there seem to be reasons
of great moment on the negative side. For in-
stance: so long as bodily labour continues, on so
many accounts, to be necessary for the bulk of man-
kind, any dependency upon supernatural aid, by

Se oe Se Ss Se Sasa a Sees

OF THE DEITY. 30e

stry, might imtroduce negligence, inactivity
disorder, into the most useful occupations of
life; and thereby deteriorate the condition

of human life itself.
As moral agents, we should experience a still
reater alteration; of which, more will be said un-

er 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 |
fact interpose to alter or intercept effects, which
without such interposition would have taken place ;
yet it is by no means incredible, that his provi-
dence, which always rests upon final good, may
have made a reserve with respect to the manifestation
of his interference, a part of the very plan which
he has appointed for our terrestrial existence, and
art-conformable with, or, in some sort, required
y, other parts of the same plan. It is at any rate

} evident, that a large and ample province remains
for the exercise of Providence, without its being
naturally perceptible by us; because obscurity,
| when applied to the interruption of laws, bears a
necessary proportion tv the imperfection of our
knowledge when applied to the laws themselves,
or rather to the effects which these laws, under
their various and incalculable combinations, would
of their own accord produce. And if it be said,
that the doctrine of Divine Providence, by reason
of the ambiguity under which its exertions present
‘themselves, can be attended with no practical influ-
ence upon our conduct ; that, although we believe
ever so firmly that there is a Providence, we must
(prepare, and provide, and act,as if there were
none: I answer, that this is admitted; and that
we farther allege, that so to prepare, and so to pro-
vide, is consistent with the most perfect assurance
of the reality of a Providence: and not only so, but
that it is, probably, one advantage of the present
| state of our information, that our provisions and
preparations are not disturbed by it. Or if it be
still asked, of what use at all then is the doctrine,
| if it neither alter our measures nor regulate our

ae Laie wil 1 eR EL Ce eee ae a TS Rae
7 i y tao

> 2 : 1

308 THE GOODNESS

conduct? I answer again, that it is of the:
use, but that it is a doctrine of sentiment ak ae ot
' ron or rondt

not (immediately at least) of ‘ae
that it applies to the consolati

to their devotions, to the exei :
the support of patience, the keeping z
strengthening of every motive forendea
please our Maker; and that these are gr

WA LIT€
been considered, the most reasonable in
ent is that, which regards it as a state of

from the contrivances of nature, I do not know that

it would be necessary to look for any other a

of it, than what, if’ it may be ca unt, 1s |
contained in the answer, that events up by |

chance. But since the contriva

cidedly evince intention ; and since the course of the

world and the contrivances of nature have the
author ; we are, by the force of this connexi
to beheve, that the appearance, under which

take place, is reconcilable with 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 reconcile them. The mind, how-
ever, which contemplates the works of nature, and,
in those works, sees so much of means directed to
ends, of beneficial effects broughtabout by wise ex-
pedients, of concerted trains of causes, terminating
in the happiest results; so much, m a word, of
counsel, mtention, and benevolence; a mind, Isay,
drawn into the habit of thought which these obser-
vations excite, can hardly turn its view to the con~
dition of our own species, without endeavouring to
suggest to itself some purpose, some design, for
which the state in which we are placed is fitted,
and which it is made to serve. Now we assert the
most probable supposition to be, that it is a state of
moral probation; and that many things im it suit
with this hypothesis, which suit no other. It is
not a state of unmixed happiness, or of happiness
simply ; it is not a state of designed misery, or of
misery simply: it is not a state of retribution: it
is not a state of punishment. It suits with none of

my judg~ |
m. If the course of the world was separated |

oe rr.

OF THE DEITY. | 309

these suppositions. It accords much better with
the idea OF its being a condition calculated for the
production, exercise, and improvement, of moral
* a with a view toafuture state, in which

ese qualities, after being so produced, exercised,

and improved, may, by a new and more favouring

constitution of things, receive their reward, or be-
come their own. If it be said, that this is to enter
upon a religious rather than a philosophical consi-
deration: I answer that the name of Religion ought

_to form no objection, if it shall turn out to be the
_ease, that the more religious our views are, the
' more probability they contain. The degree of be-
-neficence, of benevolent intention, and of power,

exercised in the construction of sensitive beings,

_ goes strongly in favour, not only of a creative, but

of a continuing care, that is, of a ruling Providence. —
The degree of chance which appears to prevail in
the world, requires to be reconciled with this hy-
pothesis. Now it is one thing to maintain the doc-
trine of Providence along with that of a future state,
and another thing without it. In my opinion, the
two doctrines must stand or fall together. For al-
though more of this apparent chance may perhaps,
upon other principles, be accounted for, than is ge-
nerally supposed, yet a future state alone rectifies
all disorders: and if it can be shown, that the ap-
a f disorder is consistent with the uses of
ife as a preparatory state, or that in some respects
it promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypo-
thesis may be accepied, the ground of the difficulty
is done away.

In the wide seale of human condition, there is not
perhaps one of its manifold diversities, which does
not bear upon the design here suggested. Virtue
is infinitely various. There is no situation in which
a rational being is placed, from that of the best in-
structed Christian, down to the condition of the
rudest barbarian, which affords not room for moral
ane for the acquisition, exercise, and display,

7! voluntary qualities, good and bad. Health and
sickness, enjoyment and suffering, riches and po-
verty, knowledge and ignorance, power and subjec-
tion, liberty and bondage, civilization and barbari-
ty, have all their offices and duties, all serve for the

310 THE GOODNESS

cumstances. ‘The best dispositions may
under the most depressed, the most afflicted for-
tunes. A West-Indian slave, who, amidst his
wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my part,
look upon as amongst the foremost of human can-
didates 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 meritorious character: but still he is imferior to
his slave. All however which I contend for, is,
that these destinies, opposite as they may be in
every other view, are both trials ; and equally such.
The observation may be applied to every other con-
dition ; to the whole range of the scale, not except-
ing even its lowest extremity. Savages appear to
us all alike; but it is owmg to the distance at
which we view savage life, that we perceive in it
no discrimination of charaeter. I make no doubt,
but that moral qualities, both good and bad, are
called into action as much, and that they subsist in
as great variety, in these inartificial societies; as they
are, or do, in polished life. Certain at Pe it is,
that the good and ill treatment which each indivi-
dual 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 public laws. So again, to turn
our te to ee end of Pe: scale; enaire that
part of it which is occupied by mankind enjoying
the benefits of learning, together with the lights of
revelation; there also, the advantage is all along
probationary. Christianity itself, [mean the reve-
lation of Christianity, is not only a bless
trial. It is one of the diversified means by which
the character is exercised: and they who require
of Christianity, that the revelation of it should be
universal, may possibly be found to require, thi
one species of probation should be adopted,
to the exclusion of others, at least to the

rs)

=~ money) ee rea a eee Ue ee ee ee, ee ee ae
OF THE DEITY. — 311

ing of that variety which the wisdom of the Deity
hath appointed to this part of his moral economy.*
Now if this supposition be well founded; that is,
if it be true, that our ultimate, or our most perma-
nent happiness, will depend, not upon the tempo-
‘rary condition into which we are cast, but upon
our behaviour in it; then is it a much more fit sub-
"ject of chance than we usually allow or apprehend
it tobe, in what manner the variety of external cir-
cumstances, which subsist in the human world, is
distributed amongst the individuals of the species,
“This life being a state of probation, it is mmate-
' rial,” says Rousseau, ‘‘ what kind of trials we ex-
perience 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 oi .
these two shall appear to be very opposite, whilst
in truth it is the same: for though, in many re-
spects, there be great disparity between the condi-
tions assigned, in one main article there may be
none, viz. in that they are alike trials; have both
their duties and temptations, not less arduous or
less dangerous in one case than the other; so that
if the final award follow that character, the origina!
distribution of the circumstances under which that
character is formed, may be defended upon princi-
ples not only of justice but of equality. What hin-
ders, therefore, but that mankind may draw lots
for their condition? 'They take their portion of fa-
_culties 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 povageed by that which depends upon them-
selves, the application of what they have received.
In dividing the talents, norule was observed; none
was necessary: in rewarding the use of them, that

* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of Chris-
tianity as distinct from Christianity itself. The dispensation may
already be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of
Christ’s name, may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed ina
better condition, with respect to their future state, by his interven~
tion: may be the objects of his benignity and intercession, as well as
of the propitiatory virtue of his passion. But this is not “* natural
theology ;”’ therefore I will not dwell longer upon it. - is,

312 THE GOODNESS 1

of the most pws Ss sates Bboy difference at
jast appears to be, thatthe ri se of more talents
2. €. of 4 greater trust, will be more highly re vard-
ed, than the right use of fewer talents, z. e. of a less
trust. And since, for other purposes, it is expedi-
ent that there be an inequality of concredited talents
here, as well, probably, as an inequality of condi-.
tions hereafter, though all remuneratory ; can any
rule, adapted to that inequality, be more agreeable,
even to our apprehensions of distributive justice,
than this is 2 P F >
We have said, that the appearance of casualty,
which attends the occurrences and events of life,
not only does not interfere with its uses, as a state
of probation, but that it promotes these uses.
Passive virtues, of all others the severestand the
most sublime; of all others, perhaps, the most ac-
ceptable to the Deity ; would, it is evident, be ex-
cluded 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 dis-
couraging, and (what is no less difficult to retain)
a cordial desire for the happiness of others, even
when we are deprived of our own: these disposi-
tions, which constitute, perhaps, the perfection of
our moral nature, would not have found their pro-
per office and object in a state of avowed retribu-
tion; and in which, consequently, 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 parse is a schoo}
of filial piety. The charities of domestic life, ae
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
endeavours to relieve, must be really or apparently
casual. It is upon such sufferings alone that be-
nevolence can operate. For were there vils in
the world but what were punishments, p rly and
intelligibly such, benevolence would only stand in
the way of justice. Such evils, consistently with
the administration of moral government, could not

vai lll, apie Nis eateries, lie

OF THE DEITY. 313

be prevented or alleviated: that isto say, could not
be remitted in whole or in part, except by the an-
thority which inflicted them, or by an appellate or
superior authority. This consideration, which is
founded in our most acknowledged apprehensions
of the nature of penal justice, may possess its
weight in the divine counsels. Virtue, perhaps, is
the greatest of all ends. In human beings, relative
virtues form a large part of the whole. Now rela-
tive virtue presupposes, not only the existence of
evil, without which it could have no object, no ma-
terial, to work upon, but that evils be, apparently
at least, misfortunes ; that is, the effects of apparent
chance. It may be in pursuance, therefore, and in
furtherance of the same scheme of probation, that
the evils of life are made so to present themselves.
_ [T have already observed, that when we let in re-_
ligious considerations, we often let in light upon
the difficulties of nature. So in the faet now to be
accounted for, the degree of happiness, which we
usually enjoy in this life, may be better suited to a.
state of trial and probation, than a greater degree
would be. The truth is, we are rather too much
delighted with the world, than too little. Imper-
fect, broken, and precarious, as our pleasures are,
they are much more than sufficient to attach us to
the eager pursuit of them. A-regard to-a future
state can hardly keep its place as it is. If we were
designed, therefore, to be influenced by that regard,
might not a more indulgent system, a higher, or
more uninterrupted state of gratification, have in-
_terfered with the design! At least it seems expe-
dient, that mankind should be susceptible of this
‘influence, when presented to them: that the condi-
‘tion of the world should not be such, as to exclude
its operation, or even to weaken it more than it does.
'In a religious view, (however we may complain of
them in every other,) privation, disappointment,
and satiety, are not without the most salutary tend-
encies.
26

3i4 CONCLUSION.
CHAP. XXVII. —

, Conclusion. |

In allcases, wherein the mind feels itself in dan-
ger of being confounded by variety, it is sure to rest
upon a few strong points, or perhaps upona single
instance. Amongst a multitude of proofs it is one
that does the business. If we observe in any argu-
ment, that hardly two minds fix upon the same in-
stance, the diversity of choice shows the strength
of the argument, because it shows the number and
competition of the examples. There is no subject
in which the tendency to dwell upon select or sin-
gle 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 me-
chanism I should be apt to draw out from the copi-
ous catalogue which it supplies, are the pivot upon
which the head turns, the ligament within the
socket of the hip-joint, the pulley or trochlear mus-
cles 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
knitting of the intestines to the. mesentery, the
course of the chyle into the blood, and the consti-
tution of the sexes as extended throughout the whole
of the animal creation. ~To these instances, the
reader’s memory will go back, as they areseverally
set forth in their places; thereis 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 conelu-
sion that we build upon them. :

But, of the greatest part of those, who, either in
this book or any other, read arguments to prove the
existence of a God, it will be said, that they leave
off only where they began; that they were never
ignorant of this great truth, never doubted of it ;
that it does not therefore appear, what is gained by
researches from which no new opinion is learnt,
and upon the subject of which no proofs were want-

CONCLUSION. ole

ed. Now J answer that, by investigation, the fol-
lowing points are always gained, in favour of doc-
trines even the most generally acknowledged, (sup-
posing them to be true,) viz. stability and impres-
sion. Occasions will arise to try the firmness of
our most habitual opinions. And upon these occa-
sions, itis a matter of incalculable use to feel our
foundation ; to finda support in argument for what
we had taken up upon authority. In the present
case, the arguments upon which the conclusion
rests, are exactly such, asa truth of universal con-
cern ought to rest upon. ‘‘ They are sufficiently
open to the views and capacities of the unlearned
at the same time that they acquire new strength
and lustre from the discoveries of the learned.” If
they had been altogether abstruse and recondite,
they would not have found their way to the under-
standings of the mass of mankind ; if they had been
merely popular, they might have wanted solidity.
But, secondly, what is gained by research in the
stability of our conclusion, is also gained from it
in impression. Physicians tell us, that there is a
great difference between taking a medicine and the
medicine getting into the constitution. A differ-
ence 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, anda very different thing, to have
properly imbibed its influence. I take the ease to
be this: perhaps almost every man living has a
particular train of thought, into which his mind
glides and falls, when at leisure from the impres-
sions and ideas that occasionally excite it; per-
haps, also, the train of thought here spoken of,
more than any other thing determines the character.
It is of the utmost consequence, therefore, that this
property of our constitution be well regulated.
Now it is by frequent or continued meditation upon
a subject, by placing a subject in different points
of view, by induction of particulars, by variety of
examples, by applying principles to the solution of
phenomena, by dwelling upon proofs and conse-
quences, that mental exercise is drawn into any
particular channel. It is by these means, at least,

eae.

316 CONCLUSION.

that we have any power over it. The train of
spontaneous thought, and the choice of that train,
may be directed to different ends, and may appear
to be more or less judiciously fixed, according to
the purpose, in respect of which we consider it :
but, in a moral view, I shall not, I believe, be con-
tradicted when I say, that if one train of thinking
be more desirable than another, it is that which 1 e-
gards 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 ever

thing which is religious. The world thencefort

becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act
of adoration. The change is no less than this -
that, whereas formerly God was seldom m our
thoughts, we can now scarcely look upon any
thing without perceiving its relation to him. Every
organized natural body, in the provisions which 1%
contains for its sustentation and propagation, testi-
fies 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, wonderfully curious; compared with one
another, no less wonderfully diversified. So that
the mind, as well as the eye, may either expatiate
in variety and multitude, or fix itself down to the
investigation of particular divisions of the science.
And in either case it will rise up from its occupa-
tion, possessed by the subject, in a very different
manner, and with a very different degree of influ-
ence, from what a mere assent to any verbal pro-
position which can be formed concerning the ex-
istence of the Deity, at least that merely comply-
ing assent with which those about us are satisfied,
and with which we are too apt to satisfy ourselves,
will or can produce upon the thoughts. More
especially may this difference be perceived, in the
degree of admiration and of awe, with which the
Divinity is regarded, when represented to the un-
derstanding by its own remarks, its own reflections,
and its own reasonings, compared with what is
excited by any language that can be used by others.
The works of nature want only to be contemplated.
When contemplated, they have every thing in

CONCLUSION. 317

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 intelli-

ent Power arranging planetary systems, fixing,
for instance, the trajectory of Saturn, or construct-
ing a ring of two hundred thousand miles diameter,
to surround his body, and be suspended like a mag-
nificent arch over the heads of his inhabitants :
and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, concert-
ing and providing an appropriate mechanism, for
the clasping and reclasping-of the filaments of the
feather of the humming-bird. We have proof, not
only of both these works proceeding from an intel-
ligent agent, but of their proceeding from the same
agent; for, in the first place, we can trace an iden-
tity of plan, a connexion of system, from Saturn |
to our own globe: and when arrived .upon our
globe, we can, in the second place, pursue the con-

nexion.through all the organized, especially the an- __

imated, bodies which it supports. We can observe
marks of a common relation, as well to one ano-

ther, as to the elements of which their habitation
is composed. Therefore one mind hath planned,
or at least hath prescribed, a general plan for all
these productions. One Being hath been concern-
ed in all.

Under this stupendous being we live. Our hap-
piness, our existence is in his hands. All we ex-
pect must come from him. Nor ought we to feel
‘our situation insecure. In every nature, and in
every portion of nature, which we can descry, we
find attention bestowed upon even the minutest
‘parts. The hinges in the wings of an earwig, and
the joints of its antenne, are as highly wrought, as
if the Creator had nothing else to finish. We see
no signs of diminution of care by multiplicity of ob-
jects, or of distraction of thought by variety. We

ave no reason to fear, therefore, our being forgot-
ten, or overlooked, or neglected.

The existence and character of the Deity, is, in
every view, the most interesting of all human spe-
culations. 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

ae eS eee q
318 CONCLUSION.

what we see. It is a farther step to know, that,
amongst the invisible things of nature, there must
be an intelligent mind, concerned in its production,
order, and support. These points being assured to
us by Natural Theology, we may well leave to Re-
velation 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 go- _
vernor; and not only so, but the more full con-
firmation of other particulars, 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 knowledge. Nothing which he has learnt |
from Natural Theology, will diminish his desire of |
farther instruction, or his disposition to receive it |
with humility and thankfulness. He wishes for |
light: he rejoices in light. His inward veneration —
of this great Being will incline him to attend with
the utmost seriousness, not only to all that can be
discovered concerning him by researches into na-
ture, 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 reli-
gion, does the anterior belief of a Deity bear with
the strongest force upon that grand point, which
gives ndued interest and importance to all the
rest,—the resurrection of the human dead. The
thing might appear hofilless, did we not see a pow-
er at work, adequate to the effect, a power under
the guidance of an intelligent will, and a power pe- |
netrating the inmost recesses of all substance. [
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 neces- _
sary to be persuaded that there is a God, to do so.
This being thoroughly settled in our minds, there —
seems to be nothing in this process (concealed as
we confess it to be) which need to shock our belief.
They who have taken up the opinion that the acts
of the human mind depend upon organization, that
the mind itself indeed consists in organization, are

ae
"

CONCLUSION. 319

supposed to find a greater difficulty than others do,
in admitting a transition by death to a new state of
sentient existence, because the old organization is"
apparently dissolved. But I do not see that,any im-
practicability need be apprehended even by these ;
or that the change, even upon their hypothesis, is
far removed from the analogy of some other opera-
tions, which we know with certainty that the Deity
is carrying on. In the ordinary derivation of plants
and animals, from one another, a particle, in many
cases, minuter than all assignable, all conceivable
dimension ; an aura, an effluvium, an infinitesimal ;
determines the organization of a future body: does
no less than fix, whether that which is about to be
produced, shall be a vegetable, a merely sentient,
or a rational being; an oak, a frog, or a philoso- |
pher; makes all these differences; gives to the fu-
ture body its qualities, and nature, and species.
And this particle, from which springs, and by which
is determined, a whole future nature, itself pro-
ceeds from, and owes its constitution,to, a prior
body: nevertheless, which is seen in plants most
decisively, the incepted organization, though form-
ed within, and through, and by, a preceding or-
ganization, is not corrupted by its corruption, or
destroyed by its dissolution; but, on the contrary,
is sometimes extricated and developed by those
very causes; survives and comes into action, when
the purpose, for which it was prepared, requires its
use. Now an economy which nature has adopted,
when the purpose was to transfer an organization
from one individual to another, may have some-
thing analogous to it, when the purpose is to trans-
mit an organization from one state of being to ano-
ther state: and they who found thought in organi-
zation, may see something in this analogy applica-
ble 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 be-
cause consciousness carries identity and individu-
J ality 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 ani-
mals from one another, the latent organization is

_ either itself similar to the old organization, or has”

320 CONCLUSION, —

the power of communicating to new matter the old
organic form. But it is not restricted to this rule.
There are other cases, especially in the progress
of insect life, in which the dormant organization
does not much resemble that which encloses it, and
still less suits with the situation in which the en-
closing body is placed, but suits with a differen
Situation to which it is destined. In the larva of
the libellula, which lives constantly, and has still
long to live under water, are descried the wings of
a fly, which two years afterward 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 an-
other; and, amongst a thousand other instances, it
shows completely, that the Deity can mould and
fashion the parts of material nature, so as to ful-
filany purpose whatever which he is pleased to
appoint.

They who refer the operations of mind to a sub-
stance totally and essentially different from matter
(as most certainly these operations, though effected
by material causes, hold very little affinity to any
properties of matter with which we are acquainted)
adopt perhaps a juster reasoning and a better phi-
losophy: and by these the considerations above
suggested are not wanted, at least in the same de-

ree. But to such as find, which some persons do
find, an insuperable difficulty in shaking off an ad-
herence to those analogies, which the corporeal
world is continually suggesting to their thoughts ;
to such, I say, every consideration will be a relief,
which manifests the extent of that intelligent pow-
er which is acting in nature, the fruitfulness of its —
resources, the variety, and aptness, and success of
its means; most especially every consideration,
which tends to show that, in the translation of a |
conscious existence, there is not, even in their own |
way of regarding it, any thing greatly beyond, or —
totally unlike, what takes place in such parts (pro- —
bably small parts) of the order of nature, as are ac-
cessible to our observation.

- Again ; if there be those who think, that the con-
tractedness and debility of the human faculties in

CONCLUSION. 32k

our present state, seem ill to accord with the high
destinies which the expectations of religion point
out to us; I would only ask them, whether any
one, who saw a child two hours after its birth,
could suppose that it would ever come to under-
stand fluxions ;* or who then shall say, what far .
ther amplification of intellectual ‘powers; what ac- .
‘eession of knowledge, what advance and improve-
ment, the rational faculty, be its constitution what
it will, may not admit of, when placed amidst new
objects, and endowed with-a sensorium adapted, as

it undoubtedly will be, and as our present senses
are, to the perception of those substances, and of
those properties of things, with which our concern
may lie. . )

Upen the whole; in every thing which respects
this awful, but, as we trust, glorious change, we
have a wise and powerful Being (the author, in na-
ture, of infinitely various expedients for infinitely
various ends) upon whom to rely for the choice ans.
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 cf
bis terrestrial creation. That great office rests
with him; be it ours to hope and to prepare, under
‘a firm and settled persuasion, that, living and dy-

ing, we are his; that life is passed in his constant

site that death resigns us.to his merciful dis-
posal. oo

¥ See Search’s Light of Nature, passim.

a7

Oe

A DEFENCE

@F THE CONSIDERATIONS ON THE PROPRIETY
OF REQUIRING A SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES
OF FAITH, IN REPLY TO A LATE* ANSWER
FROM THE CLARENDON PRESS. ;

THE fair way of conducting a dispute, is to exhi-
bit one by one the arguments of your opponent, and
with each argument, the precise and specific an-
swer you are able to give it. Ifthis method be not
so common, nor found so convenient, as might be
expected, the reason is, because it suits not always
with the designs of a writer, which are no more per-
. haps than to make a book: to confound some argu-
ments, and to keep others out of sight; to leave
what is called an impression upon the reader
without any care to inform him of the proofs or
principles by which his opinion should be govern-
ed. ‘With such views it may be consistent to de-
spatch objections, by observing of some “ that they
are old,” and therefore, like certain drags, have
lost, we may suppose, their strength; of others,
that, “‘ they have long since received an answer ;”
which implies, to be sure. a confutation : to attack
straggling remarks, and decline the main reason-
ing, as “‘ mere declamation ;”’ to pass by one pas-
sage because itis ‘ long-winded,” another because
the answerer ‘ has neither leisure nor inclination
to enter into the discussion of it ;”’ to produce ex-
tracts and_ quotations, which taken alone, imper-
fectly, if at’all, express their author’s meaning ; to
dismiss a stubborn difficulty with a “ reference,”
which ten to one the reader never Jooks at; and,
lastly, in order to give the whole a certain fashion-
able air of candour and moderation to make a con-
cession* or two which nobody thanks him for, or

™ Such as, that “if people keep their opinions to themselves, no
may will burt them, and the like. Answer, p. 43.

OF SUBSCRIPTION, &c. 923

yield up a few points which it is no longer any cre-
dit to maintain.

How far the writer with whom we haveto do is
concerned in this description, his readers will
judge; he shall receive, however, from us, that
justice which he has not shown the author of the

‘ Considerations,’ to have his arguments fully and
distinctly stated and examined.

After complaining, as is usual on these occasions,
of disappointment and dissatisfaction; the answerer
sets Out with an argument which comprises, we are
told, in a “ narrow compass,” the whole merits of
the question betwixt us; and which is neither more
nor less than this, that “‘ it is necessary that those
who are to be ordained teachers in the church
should be sound in the faith, and consequently that
they should give to those who ordain them some.
proof and assurance that they are so, and that the
method of this proof should be settled by public au
thority.” Now the perfection of this sort of rea-
soning is, that it comes as well from the mouth of
the pope’s professor of divinity in the university of
Bologna, as from the Clarendon press. A church
has only, with our author, to call her creed the
“faithful word,” and it follows from Scripture that
““ we must hold it fast.””? Her dissatisfied sons, let
her only denominate as he does,* “ vain talkers
and deceivers,’” and St. Paul himself commands us
to “ stop their mouths.” Every one that questions |
or opposes her decisions she pronounces, with him,
a heretic ; and “ a man that is a heretic, after the
first and second admonition, reject.”’ In like man-
ner, calling her tenets “ sound doctrine,” or ta-
king it for granted that they are so, (which the con-
clave at Rome can do as well as the convocation at
J,ondon,) and “ soundness in the faith being a ne-
cessary qualification in a Christian teacher,” there
is no avoiding the conclusion, that every “ Christian
teacher” (in, and out of the church too, if you can
catch him, “ soundness in the faith” being alike
“‘ necessary” in all) must have these tenets strap-
‘ped about his neck by oaths and subscriptions. An

e & tah * Page 18,

324 OF SUBSCRIPTION

argument which thus fights in any cause, or on ei-
ther side, deserves no quarter. I wet me that
this reasoning, and these applications of Seripture,
are equally competent to the defenders of popery—
they are more so. The popes, whenthey assumed
the eA of the apostles, laid claim also to their
infallibility ; and in this they were consistent.—
Protestant churches renounce with all their might
this infallibility, whilst they apply to themselves
every expression that describes it, and will not part
with a jot of the authority which is built upon 1t.—
But to return to the terms of the argument. “ Is
it necessary that a Christian teacher should be
sound in the faith 7”

1. Not in nine instances out of ten to which the
test is now extended. Nor,

2. If it were, is this the way to make him so;
there being as little probability that the determina-
tion of a set of men whose good fortune had ad-
vanced them to high stations in the church should
. right, as the conclusions of private inquirers.
Nor,

3. Were they actually right, is it possible to con-
ceive how they can, upon this author’s principles,
produce the effect contended for, since “‘ we set
them not up as arule of faith;”* since “‘ they do
not decide matters for us, nor bind them upon us ;”
since “ they tie no man up from altering his epi-
nion.” are “‘ no ways inconsistent with the right of
private judgment,” are, in a word, of no more au-
thority than an old sermon; nor, consequently,
much more effectual, either for the producing or
securing of “‘ soundness in the faith.”

The answerer, not trusting altogether to the
strensth of his “ argument,” endeavours next to
avail himself of a ‘‘ concession” which he has gain-
ed, he imagines, from his adversary, and which he
is pleased to look upon “as in a manner giving up
the main point.” Our business, therefore, will be
to show what this concession, as he calls it, amounts
to, and wherein it differs from the ‘‘ main point,”
the requisition of subscription to established for-

* Pages 10, 11. 13. PA

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 325.

-mularies. It is objected to the Articles of the
church of England, that they are at variance with
the actual opinions both of the governors and mem-
bers of that church; so muchso, that the men who
most faithfully and explicitly maintain these Arti-
cles, get persecuted for their singularity, excluded
from orders, driven from universities, and are com-
pelled to preach the established religion in fields
and conventicles. Now this objection, which must
cleave to every fixed formulary, might, we con-
ceive, be removed, if a test was substituted, sup-
posing any test to be insisted upon, which could
adapt itself to the opinions, and keep pace with the -
improvements, of each succeeding age. This, in
some measure, would be the case, if the governors
of the church for the time being, were authorized
to receive from candidates for orders declarations
of their religious principles in their own words, and
allowed, at their discretion, to admit them into the
ministry. Bishops being taken out of the lump of
the community, will generally be of the same lea-
ven, and partake both of the opinions and modera-
tion of the times they livein. ‘This is the most that
can be made of the concession; and how this gives
up the “ main point,” or indeed any thing, it is
not easy to discover. Ye

‘The next paragraph of the Answer attacks the
account which the Considerations have given of the
‘‘vise” and “ progress” of the custom in question ;
“ the reverse of which,” the answerer tells us, ‘is
the truth,” and by way of proof gives his own ac-
count of the matter, which, so far from being the
“* reverse,” is in effect, or very nearly, the same.

The reader shall see the two accounts side by
side, and is desired to judge whether the author of
the Considerations, so far from being confuted in
this point, is even contradicted. .

“‘'The Protestants, aware how. ‘* As some who set up for re-~
greatly they were misrepresented formers had broached many erro-
-aud abused, began to think it ne- neous and pestilent doetrines ; the
cessary torepel the various calum- Lutherans first, and, after. their
nies that had beencast uponthem, example, other protestant church-
by setting forth some public Con- es, thought fit to draw up Confes-
stitutions or Confessions, as ade- sions of Faith. And this they
claration of their faith and wer- did part!y to acquit themselves of

st

326 OF SUBSCRIPTION

ship. And to make such declara- thescandal of abetting wild and
tion still more authentic, they seditious enthusiasts, and declar-
likewise engaged themselves ina ing what were their real doc-
mutual bond of conformity to all trines ; partly’? (observe how ten-
these constitutions."’ Consider- derly this is introduced) “ to pre-
ations, page 6. vent such enthusiasts on the one
hand, and popish emissaries on the
other, from intruding themselves
“into the ministry.” A awer
pages 6, 7,

Now, were the “‘ origin” of a custom of more con-
sequence than it is to a question concerning the
‘‘ propriety” of it, can any one doubt whocredits
even the answerer’s own account, but that the mo-
tive assigned in the Considerations both did exist,
and was the principal motive? There is one ac-
count, indeed, of the “origin” of this custom,
which, were it true, would directly concern the
question. ‘‘ This practice,” our author tells us in
another part of his Answer,* “ is said to be derived
from the apostles themselves.” I care not what
“is said.” It is impossible that the*practice com-
plained of, the imposition of articles of faith by

‘* fallible” men, could originate from the “‘ apostles,” -

who, under the. direction by which they acted,
were infallible.’’t - .

* Page 19. ; eS
t How a creed is to be made, as the Considerations recommend,

in which all parties shall agree, our author cannot understand. I.

will tell him how ; by adhering to Scripture terms : and this will
suit the best idea of a Creed, (a summary or compendium of a larger
volume,) and the only fair purpose of one, instruction.

It is observed in the considerations, that the multiplicity of the
propositions contained in the 39 Articles is alone sufficient to show
the impossibility of that consent which the Church supposes and re-
quires. Now, what would any man guess is the answer to this!
Why, “ that there are no less than three propositions in the very
first verse of St. John’s Gospel."*. Had there been “ three thousand”’
it would have been nothing to the purpose :. where pr opositions are
received upon the authority of the proposer, it matters not how many
of them there are; the doubt is not increased with the number ; the

same reason which establishes one, establishes all. But is this the
case with a system of propositions which derives no evidence from
the proposer ? which must each stand upon its own separate and in-

trinsic proof? We thought it necessary to oppose note to note in

the place in which we found it ; though neither here nor in the An- -

ever is it much connected with the text.

ae

_ reasonable men, I believe, will think otherwise."

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 327

But this practice, from whateyer “ root of bitter-
ness” it sprung, has been one of the chief causes,
we assert, of the divisions and distresses which we
read of in ecclesiastical history. The matter of
fact our author does not, because he cannot, deny.
He rather chooses to insinuate that “ such divisions
and disturbances were not owing to the governors
of the church, but to the perverse disputings oi
heretics and schismatics.” He must know that
there is oppression as well as resistance, provoca-
tion as well as resentment, abuse of power as well
as Opposition to it: and it is too much to take for
granted, without one syllable of proof, that those
in possession of power have been always in the
right, and those who withstood them in the wrong.
“Divisions” and ‘“ disturbances”’ have in fact, and
in allages, arisen on this account, and it is a poor
shift to say, because it may always be said, that
such-only are chargeable with these mischiefs as —
refused to submit to whatever their superiors thought
proper to impose.* i.

or is it much better when he tells us, “ that
these subiilties of metaphysical debate, which we
complain of in our Articles, were introduced by the
several heretics of those times ;”’ especially as it is
evident that, whoever first introduced, it is the
governors of the church who still continue them.

But our author cannot conceive what all this, as
relating to “‘creeds” only and “ confessions,” to
the “ terms of communion” rather than of admis-
sion into the ministry, is to the purpose. Will he
then give up “ creeds” and “ confessions ?”’ or will
his church thank him for it if he does? a church
which, by transfusing the*substance of her articles
into the form of her@public worship, has in effec!

* The following sentiment of our author is too curious to be omit-
ted: ‘* Possibly too he (the author of the Considerations) may think
that insurrections and rebellions in the state are not owing to the
unruliness of factious subjects, but to kings and rulers ; but most
A commou
reader may think this observation of the ‘answerer a little beside
the question. But the answerer may say, with Cicero and Dr.
King, ‘*Suscepto negotio, majus mibi quiddam proposui, in quo
meam in Rempublicam yoluntatem populus perspicere posset.’’--
Motto to Dr, K.’2 Oration in 1749.

i ; it :
328 OF SUBSCRIPTION —

made the “ terms of communion” and of admission
into the ministry the same. This question, like
every other, however naked you may strip it by ab-
straction, must always be considered with a refer-
ence to the practice you wish to reform.

The author of the Considerations contends very
properly, that it is one of the first duties a Christian
owes to his Master ‘ to keep his mind open and un-
biassed” in religious inquiries. Can a man be said
to do this, who must bring himself to assent to
epinions proposed by another ? who enters into a
profession where both his subsistence and success
depend upon his continuance in a particular per-
suasion? Jn answer to this we are informed, that
these Articles are no “rule of faith;” (what! not
to those who subscribe them 7?) that “the church
deprives no man of his right of private judgment”
(she cannot—she hangs, however,a dead weight
upon it ;) that itis a “ very unfair state of the case,
to call subscription a declaration™of our full and
final persuasion in matters of faith ;” though if itbe
not a ‘‘ ful?’ persuasion, what isit? and ten to one
it will be‘ final,” when such consequences attend
achange. ‘That “no man is, hereby tied up from
impartially examining the word of God,” 7. e. with
the “impartiality” of a man who must “ eat” or
‘* starve,” according as the examination turns out ;
an “ impartiality” so suspected, that a court of jus-
tice would not receive his evidence under half of
the same influence : “‘ nor from altering his opinion if
le finds reason so to do ;”’ which few, I conceive, wil!
‘“ find,’ when the alteration must cost them so dear.
If one could give credit to our author in what he
says here, and in some other passages of his An-
swer, one would suppose that, in his judgment at.
least, subscription restrained no man from adopting
what opinion he pleased, provided “‘ he does not
think himself bound openly to maintain it :” that
‘men may retain their preferments, if they will
but keep their opinions to themselves.” If this be
what the church of England means, let her say so.
‘his is indeed what our author admits here, and
yet, from the outery he has afterward raised against
ail who continue in the church whilst they disserit

from her Articles, one would not suppose there

«TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. —_ 329

—

_was a pardon left for those, who ‘keep even to
themselves an opinion” incunsistent with any one
proposition they ve subscribed. The fact is, the
gentleman has either shifted his opinion in the
course of writing the Answer, or had put down

_ these assertions, not expecting that he should have

occasion afterward to contradict them.

It seemed to add strength to this objection, that
the judgment of most thinking men being in a pro- )
gressive state, their opinions of course must many
of them change ; the evil and iniquity of which
the answerer sets forth with great pleasantry,
but has forgot at the same time to give us any

_remedy for the misfortune ; except the old wo-
‘man’s receipt, to leave off thinking for fear of think-
ing wrong. ~

But our church “ preaches,” it seems, “‘ no other
gospel than that which she received,” nor “ pro-
pounds any other articles for gospel,” nor “ fixes
any Standards or criterions of faith, separate from
this gospel : and so she herself fully declares ;” and
we are to take her “‘ word” for it, when the very
complaint is, that she has never “‘ acted” up to this
declaration, but in direct contradiction to it. When
she puts forth a system of ‘propositions conceived
in a new dialect, and in unscriptural terms; when
she ascribes to these the same evidence and cer-
tainty as to Scripture itself, or decrees and acts as
if they were equally evident and certain; she in-
curs, we apprehend, the charge which these ex-
pressions imply. . She claims indeed “ authority in
controversies of faith,” but “‘ only so far,” says her

- apologist, as ‘‘ to judge for herself what should be
her own terms of communion, and what qualifica-
tions she shall require in her own ministers.” All
which, in plainer English, comes to this ; that two
or three men, betw#xt two and three centuries ago,
fixed a multitude of obscure and dubious proposi-
tions, Which many millions after must bring them-
selves to believe, before they be permitted to share

. in the provision which the state has made (and to
which all of every sect contribute) for regular op-
portunities of public worship, and the giving and
receiving of public instruction. And this our au-

330 OF SUBSCRIPTION

thor calls the magistrate’s “ judging for hithself,’’*
‘and exercising the “ same right as all other persons
have to judge for themselves.” For the reasona-
bleness of it, however, he has nothing to offer, but
that it “is no more than what other churches, po-
pish” too, to strengthen the argument, “as well as
protestant,” have done before. He nieht have
added, seeing “ custom”’ is to determine the matter,
that it has been “customary” too from early ages
for Christians to anathematize and burn each other
for difference of opinion in some points of faith,
and for difference of practice in some points of
ceremony. i

We now accompany the learned answerer to
what he is pleased to call the “‘ main question,’’ and
which he is so much “ puzzled to keep in sight.”
The argumenttin favour of subscription, andthe
arbitrary exclusion of men from the church or mi-
nistry, drawn from the nature of a society and the
rights incidental to society, our author resigns to
its fate, and to the answer which has been given it
in the Considerations. He contends only, that the
conduct of the apostles in admitting the eunuch and
the centurion upon a general profession of their
faith in Christ, “has nothing to do with the case
of subscription,” as they were admitted, not into
the ministry, but only the communion of the church.
Now, in the first place, suppose the eunuch or cen-
turion had taken upon them, as probably they did,
to teach Christianity, would they have been inhi-
bited by the apostles as not having given sufficient
*“proof or assurance of their soundness in the
faith?” And if not, what becomes of the necessity
of such ‘assurances from a Christian teacher ?”
{n the second place, suppo8e you consider the
chureh as one society, and its teachers as another,
is it probable that those wh were so tender in
keeping any one out of the first, would have thought
the argument we were encountering, or any thing
else, a pretence for a right of arbitrary exclusion

* Page 26.

+ What would any man in his wits think of this argument, if
upon the strength of it they were to make a law, that none but
red-haired people should be admitted into orders, Or even into
ehurehes, :

eee . a

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 341
from the latter ? The case of Cornelius, says our

author, is extraordinary ; while St. Peter was
preaching to him, the Holy Ghost fell upon all
them which heard the word.” And is not this au-
thor ashamed to own, that any are excluded from
the communion, or even ministry of the church,
who would have been entitled by their faith “tothe
gifts of the Holy Ghost ?” 4 gs

The answerer in the next para raph acknow-
ledges, that to admit converts into the church upon
this one article of faith, that-Jesus is. the Messiah,
was indeed the practice of the apostles ;* but then
he tells us, what. must sound a little odd to a Chris-
tian ear, and comes the more awkwardly from this
author, whom, if you turn over a page, you will
find quoting the “ practice of the apostles” with a .
vengeance: he tells us, I say, “that no argument —
can bé drawn from the practice of the apostles.”
Now with regard to the “ practice of the apostles,”
and the application of it to ourselves, the case seems
to be this, (the very reverse, observe, of our au-
thor’s rule,) that we are always bound not “‘ to go>
beyond” the precedent, though, for want of the
same authority, we may not always “ advance up
toit.” It surely at least becomes.us to be cautious
of “ proceeding,” where they, in the plentitude of
their commission, thought proper to “ stop.”

It is alleged in the Considerations, that annex-
ing emoluments to the profession of particular opi-
nions, is astrong and dangerous inducement to pre-
yarication; and the danger is the greater, as pre-
VYarication in one instance has a tendency to relax

ee Ee
* Although the question, whether tu believe that Jesus is the
Messiah, be not the only necessary article of faith, is a question in
which we have no concern; our author, with the best inclination
in the world, not being able to fix such an opinion upon us: yet f
cannot help observing, that he has put two of the oddest construc-
tions upon the terme of the propositions that ever entered into the
fancy of man to conceive. One is, which you may be sure he in-
tends for his adversaries, { **that it is necessary to believe Jesus to
‘bea true prophet, yet not necessary to believe one doctrine that he
has taught.” The other, which he means for himself, is, that
‘by the Messiah we are to understand the only begotten Son of
God, anojnted, and sent by the Father to make propitiation for the
ging of the whole world.”
} Page 16. t Pege 14,

— 3 ee ee a /

332 OF SUBSCRIPTION

the most sacred obligations, and make way for per.)
fidy in every other. But “ this,” it_seems, “ ha:
nothing to do with the question.”* Why, it is the
very question, Whether the magistrate ought t
confine the provision he makes for religion to those
who assent, or declare their assent, to a particulai
system of controverted divinity ; and this is one|
direct objection against it. But “ must the magi-|
strate then,” exclaims our alarmed adversary, “ es.)
tablish no tithes, no rich benefices, no dignities, or
bishoprics 2?” As many as he pleases, only let him
“not convert them into snares and traps by idle and|
unnecessary conditions. “But must he admit all |
persons indiscriminately to these advantages 7”
The author of the Considerations has told him, that |
he may require conformity to the liturgy, rites, and |
offices he shall.prescribe: he may trust his-officers |
with a discretion as to the religious principles of
candidates for orders, similar to what they now ex- §
ercise with regard to their qualifications ; he may |
censure extravagant preaching when it appears ;” |
precautions surely sufficient either to keep the |
‘“ wildest sectaries” out of the church, or prevent
their doing any mischief if they get in. The exclu- |
sion of papists is a Separate consideration. The !
laws ein Popery, as far as they a justifiable,
proceed upon principles with which the author of ff
the Considerations. has nothing to do. here, |
from the particular circumstances ofa cou ‘Y, at-
tachments and dispositions hostile and dangerous |
to the state, are accidentally or otherwise connect- |
ed with certain opinions in religion, it may be ne- |
cessary-to lay encumbrances and restraints» upon
the -profession or propagation of such opinions.
here a great part of any sect or religious order
of men are enemies to the constitution, and you
have no way of distinguishing those who are not
sO, it is right perhaps to fence the whole order out
of your civil and religious establishment : it is the
right at least of self-defence, and of extreme neces-
sity. But even this is not on account of the reli-
gious opinions themselves, but as they are Fa

ble marks, and the only marks yo ave, of designs
* Pages 19, 0.

NS
s

+

- TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 333

, and principles which it is necessary to disarm. 1
’ would observe, however, that: in proportion as this
connexion between the civil ct religious princi-
‘ples of the papists is dissolved, in the same pro-
portion ought the state to mitigate the hardships
;and relax the restraints to which they are made
subject. ) |

If we complain of severities, of pains and penal-
ties, the answerer cannot discover “‘ whom or what
we mean :’” and lest his reader should, by a figure
extremely well known in the craft of controversy,
jhe proposes a string of questions in the person of
[his adversary, to which he gives his own perempto-
‘vy and definitive No.* We will take a method, not
altogether so compendious, but, we trust, somewhat
jmore satisfactory. We will repeat the same ques-
fions, and let the church and state answer for
‘themselves. First then,

“Does our church or our government inflict any
eorporal punishment, or levy any fines or penalties
‘on those who will not comply with the terms of
er communion ?”—Be it enacted, that all and
every person or persons that shall neglect or re-
| fuse to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper
| according to the usage of the church of England,
|and yet, after such neglect or refusal, shall execute
any office or offices, civil or military, after the
time be expired wherein he or they ought to have
taken the same, shall, upon conviction thereof, be-
sides the loss of the office, forfeit the sum of five
hundred pounds:’’+ Stat. 25. Car. II. c.2. Now,
although starving be no “ corporal punishment,’’
nor the loss of all a man has a “fine,” or “ penal-
ty,” yet depriving men. of the common benefits of
society, and rights even of lay subjects, because
‘they will not comply with the terms of church
sommunion,’’ is a “ severity” that might have de-
served from our author some other apology besides
the mere suppression of the fact.

2. “Doth it deny them the right or privilege of

AA LC ITE A A A EY PO EE eR A Ce OCA ARSE ETE AER OAT
hie Page 21.

- } This and the Corporation Act, an otherwise excellent person
alls, the laws which secure both our civil and relizious liPerties>
Slackstone’s Comm. vol. iv. p, 43°,

334 OF SUBSCRIPTION

_ worshipping God im their own way ?”’—“ Whoever}
shall take upon him to preach or teach in any
meeting, assembly, or conventicle, and shall fence !

of be convicted, shall forfeit for the first offence
twenty pounds, and for every other offence forty
pounds :” Stat. 22. Car. II. c. 1.—‘ No person
shall presume to consecrate or administer the
sacrament of the Lord’s Supper before he be or-
dained priest, after the manner of the church ot}
England, on pain of forfeiting one hundred pounds}
for every such offence :” Stat. 13. & 14. Car. Il. c. 4.)
These laws are in full force against all who do not}
subscribe to the 39 Articles of the church of Eng-
land, except the 34th, 35th, and 36th, and part of
the 20th article. , i

3. “ Are men denied the liberty of free debate ?”’|
—‘‘Tf any person, having been educated in, or at
any time having made profession of, the Christian}
faith within the realm, shall by writing, printing,|
teaching, or advised speaking, deny any one of the
persons of the Holy Trinity to be God—he shal!
for the first offence be disabled to hold any office)
or employment, or any profit appertaining thereto ;
tor the second offence, shall be disabled to prose-
cute any action or information in any court of law
or equity, or to be guardian of any child, or exe-|
cutor or administrator of any person, or capable
of any legacy or deed of gift, or to bear any office
for ever within this realm, and shall also suffer im-}
prisonment for the space of three years from the}

aye of such conviction :” Stat. 9. & 10. Will. TIT.
It has been thought to detract considerably from),
the pretended use of these subscriptions, that they};
excluded none but the conscientious ; a species of};
men more wanted, we conceive, than formidable to
any religious establishment. This objection ap-};
plies equally, says our answerer,* to the “ oaths of)
allegiance and supremacy ;” and, so far as it does};
apply, it ought to be attended to; and the truth is,}.
these oaths might in many instances be spared,
without either danger or detriment to the commu-
nity. There is, however, an essential difference |}
a eS RR ET
7 * Page “4

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 330

between the two cases ; a scruple concerning the
' oath of allegiance implies principles which may
‘| excite to acts of hostility against the state; a scru-
i) 03 about the truth of the Articles, implies no such
UE. tiine,* Spee 2
IF Our author, good man, “is well hla oe that
» the generality of the clergy, when they offer them-
‘selves for ordination, consider seriously what office
‘ they take upon them, and firmly believe what they
' subscribe to.” I am persuaded much otherwise.
But as this is a “fact,” the reader, if he be wise,
' will neither take the answerer’s word for it nor
' mine; but form his own judgment from his own
' observation. Bishop Burnet complained above six-
__ty years ago, that ‘the greater part,’ even then,
~ “subscribed the Articles without’ ever examining |
them,t and others did it because they must do it. Is
it probable, that, in point either of seriousness or
. orthodoxy, the clergy are much mended since ?
The pleas offered in support of this practice of
subscription come next to be considered. “One of
' these is drawn from the sacred writings being ca-
| pable of such a variety of senses, that men of wide-
ly different persuasions shelter themselves under
| the same forms of expression.” Our author, after
‘ quarrelling with this representation of the plea,
“gives his readers, in its stead, a long quotation
“from the archdeacon of Oxford’s Charge.{ What
‘| he is to gain by the charge, or the quotation, I can-
not perceive, as the same first query still recurs,
- “Ts it true, that the Scriptures are in reality so
differently interpreted in points of real conse-
«quence?” In answer to which, the archdeadon of
\ Oxford, we are told, “‘has shown that points of real
consequence are differently interpreted,” and “the
«plainest texts explained away,” and has “ instanced
“in the first chapter of St. John’s Gospel.” The
plea, we conceive, is not much indebted to the
“archdeacon of Oxford. But be these Scriptures in-

it

,

on

G

—

.* The answerer might have found a parallel below in come other
~ cathe, which he does not care to speak of, viz. the case of college
c'Statutes, page 34 of the Considerations. _
{ Burnet’s History ofhis Own Times. Conclusion.
t See this whole Charge answered in the London Chronicle by
Priscilla, The Lord hath sold Sisera into the hand ofa woman.

336 OF SUBSCRIPTION

terpreted as they will, each man has still a right to
interpret them for himself. The church of Rome, —
who always pushed her conclusions with a courage
and consistency unknown to the timid patrons of
rotestant imposition, saw immediately, that as the
aity had no right to interpret the Scriptures, they
could have no occasion to read them, and therefore —
very ety tet locked them up from the intrusion of |
popular curiosity. Our author cites the above- —
mentioned query from the Considerations as the

first query, which would lead his reader to expect

a second. The reader, however, may seek that se-
cond for himself, the answerer is not obligedto pro- |
duce it—it stands thus: suppose the Scriptures
thus variously interpreted, does subscription mend |
the matter? The reader too is left to find an answer
for himself. ; |
The next, the strongest, the only tolerable plea
for subscription is, “ that all sorts of pestilent here- |
sies might be taught from the pulpit, if no such re-
straint as this was laid upon the preacher.”* How |
far it is probable that this would be the conse- |
quence of removing the subscri tion, and by what
other means it might be guarded against has been
hinted already, and will again be considered in an-
other place. We will here only take notice of one |
particular expedient suggested in the Considera-
tions, and which has offen indeed tes aay been
proposed, namely, “that the church, instead of re- |
quiring subscription beforehand, to the present, or
to any other articles of faith, might censure her
clergy afterward, ifthey opposed or vilified them im
their preaching.” The advantage of which scheme |
above the present is manifest, if it was only for
this reason, that you distress and corrupt thousands
now, for one that you would ever have occasion to.
punish. - Our author, nevertheless, “is humbly of
opinion, that it is much better to take proper pre
cautions beforehand :” he must, with all his “ hu-
mility,” know, that when it has been proposed to
take proper precautions of the press, by subjectin
authors to an imprimatur before publication, mstea
of punishment after it; the proposal has been re-
ee

® Page 26,

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 33%

sented, as an open attack upon the rights and im-

_ terests of mankind. The common sense and spirit
__of the nation could see and feel this distinction and
‘the importance of it, in the case of publishers: and

why preachers should be left in a worse situation,
it is not very easy tosay. _ oak
_The example of the Arminian confession is, upon

_ this occasion, recommended by the author of the

Considerations; a confession which was compiled

_ for the edification and instruction of the members

of the church, without peremptorily insisting upon
any one’s assent to it.- But it is the misfortune of
the Arminian to be no national church—the mis-
fortune, alas! of Christianity herself in her purest
period; when she was under the government of the
apostles; without alliance with the states of this
world; when she composed, nevertheless, a church:
as real, we conceive, and as respectable, as any na-
tional church that has existed since.

Our author, who can much sooner make a dis-
tinction than see one, does not comprehend, it
seems, any difference between confessions of faith:
and preaching, as to the use of unscriptural terms.
Did a preacher, when he had finished his sermon,
call upon his congregation to subscribe their names
and assent to it, or never to come more within the
doors of his church; there would, indeed, be some
sort of resemblance betwixt the two cases: but as

. the hearers are at liberty to believe preachers or
. -no, as they see, or he produces, reasons for what

he says; there can be no harm, and there is a mani-

fest utility, in trusting him with the liberty of ex-.

plaining his own meaning in his own terms. -

‘We now come, and with the tenderest regret, to
the case of those who continue in the church with-
out being able to reconcile to their belief every pro-
position imposed upon them by subscription; over
whose distress our author is pleased to indulge a
wanton and ungenerous triumph. They had pre-
sumed, it seems, that it was some apology for their

‘conduct, that they sincerely laboured to render ta

religion their best services, and thought their pre-
sent stations the fairest opportunities of perform-
ing it, This may not, oer amount to a com

3 rs ‘
OF SUBSCRIPTION

plete vindication; it certainly does not fi
even their own scruples: else where
eause of complaint? What need of r
reason for their petitions? It mi
enough, however, to have exem em,
ing absurdly and indecently compared with fai
less hypocrites, with papists, and Jesuits, who,
other purposes, and with even opposi i cDS, &
supposed to creep into the chureb through he sal
door. For the fullest and fairest representatic

their case, I refer our author to the excellent -

ly; or, as Hoadly possibly woke no

co

author’s library, will it provoke his “
ask, what he thinks might be

all were at once to withdraw themselves
church nh am conte harp eg 2s?
Might not the church lose, what s anill spare, —
the netvier of many able and idustrioud thins i rs? |
Would those she retained, be such as acquiesced in |
1er decisions from inquiry and cenviction? Would —
not many or the most of them be those who keep
out of the way of religious scruples by lives of se- ||
cularity and voluptuousness 7? by mixing with the
crowd in the most eager of their pursuits after
pleasure or advantage? One word with the an-
swerer before we part upon this head. hie: i a
all this great inquisitiveness, this solicitude to be
acquainted with the persen, the opimions, and as-
sociates of his adversary? Whence that imperti-
nent wish that he had been “‘ more explicit in par
ticular with regard to the doctrine of the Trinity ?
Is it out ofa pious desire to fasten some heresy, or —
the imputation of it, upon him? Is he “ called out —
of the clouds” to be committed to the flames ?*

* We were unwilling to decline the defence of the persons here
described, though the expression in the Considerations which brought —
vn the attack, manifestly related to a different subject. The author —
of the Considerations speaks of “* being bound™ to “keep up” these
forms until relieved by proper authority ; of “ ministerially”’ comply-
ing with what we are not able to remove : allading, no doubt, to the
ezse of church governors, who are the instruments of imposing a eud-
scription which they may disapprove. But the‘ answerer, taking it
for granted, that “ ministerially complying’ meant the compliance —
of_ministers, i. e. of clergymen officiating in their functions, hss, by
a quibble, or a blunder, transferred the passage to a sense for whith it
was-aet iitended.

.

“TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 339

The 40th page of the Answer introduces a para-
graph of considerable length, the sum, however,
and substance of which is this—that if subscription
to articles: of faith were removed, confusion would
ensue ; the people would be distracted with the
disputes of their teachers, and the pulpits filled —
_ with controversy and contradiction. Upon this_
’ “fact” we join issue, and the more readily as this
is a sort of reasoning we all understand. The
extent of the legislator’s right may be an abstruse
inquiry; but whether a law does more good or
harm, is a plain question which every man can.
ask. Now, that distressing many of the clergy, and
corrupting others; that keeping out of churches:
good Christians and faithful citizens; that making
parties in the state, by giving occasion to sects and
separations in religion ; that these are inconveni-
ences, no man in his senses will deny. The ques-
tion ‘therefore is, what advantage do you find in
the opposite scale to balance these inconveniences ?
The simple advantage pretended is, that you here-
by prevent “ wrangling” and contention in the pul-
pit. Now, im the first place, I observe, that allow-
ing this evil to be as grievous and as certain as you
please, the most that can be necessary for the pre-
vention of it is to enjoin your preachers as to such
points, silence and neutrality.” In the next place,
i am convinced, that the danger is greatly magnifi-
ed. We hear little of these points at present in
our churches and public teaching, and it is not
probable that leaving them at large would elevate
them into more importance, or make it more worth
men’s while to quarrel about them. They. would
sleep in the same grave with many other questions,
of equal importance with themselves, or sink back
into their proper place, into topics of speculation,
oer matters of debate from the press. None but
men of some reflection would be forward to engage
im such subjects, and the least reflection would
teach a man that preaching is not the proper
vehicle of controversy. Even at present, says
our author, “ we speak and wrritbtet we please
with impunity.” And where is the mischief? or
what worse could ensue if subscription were re-

|
4
|

ae ee ew yp ‘ a = ae “ee

-

340 OF SUBSCRIPTION.

moved? Nor can I discover any thing in be
disposition of the petitioning clergy that need —
alarm our apprehensions. If they are impatient

under the yoke, it is not from a desire to hold forth.
their opinions to their congregations, but that they
may be at liberty to entertain themselves, without
offence to their consciences, or ruin to their for- |

tunes.

Our author has added, by way of make-weight to
his argument, ‘“ that many common Christians,”
he believes, ‘‘ would be greatly scandalized if you
take away their creeds and catechisms, and strike
out of the liturgy such things as they have always
esteemed essential.”* Whatever reason there may
be for this belief at present, there certainly was
much greater at the Reformation, as the Popish
ritual, which was then “ taken away,” had a fasci-
nation and antiquity which ours cannot pretend to.
Many were probably “ scandalized” at parting with
their beads and their mass-books, that lived after-
ward to thank those who taught them betterthings.
Reflection, we hope, in some, and time, we are
sure, in all, will reconcile men to alterations esta-
blished in reason. If there be any danger, it is
from some of the clergy, who, with the answerer,
would rather suffer the “ vineyard” to be over-
grown with “ weeds’ than “ stir the ground,” or,
what is worse, call these weeds “ the fairest flow-
ers in the garden.” Such might be ready enough
to raise a hue and cry against all innovators in re-
ligion, as “‘ overturners of churches” and spoilers
of temples,

But the cause which of all others stood most in
the way of the late petitions for relief, was an ap-
prehension that religious institutions cannot be dis-
turbed without awakening animosities and dissen-
sions in the state, of which no man knows the con-
sequence. Touch but religion, we are told, and it
bursts forth into a flame. Civil distractions may
be composed by fortitude and perseverence, but
neither reason nor authority can control, there is
neither charm nor drug which will assuage, the
passions of mankind, when called forth in the cause

* Page 4}, 42.

~—

eer ee te Fie ee yoo 4 the Ie Uy ee (ane. Aaa yer TU UUme

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH: —34t

and to the battles of religion. We were concerned
to hear this language from some who, in other in-
| stances have manifested a constancy and resolution
' which no confusion, nor ill aspect of public affairs,
could intimidate. After all, is there any real foun- ©
‘ike for these terrors 7? Is not this whole danger.

‘like the lion of the slothful, the creature of our
|! fears, and the excuse of indolence? Was it pro-
' posed to make articles instead of removing them,
_ there would be room for the objection. But it is
obvious that subscription to the 39 Articles might
be altered or withdrawn upon general principles of
justice and expediency, without reviving one reli-
gious controversy, or calling into dispute a single
proposition they contain. Who should excite dis-.
turbances ? Those who are relieved will not; and
unless subscription were like a tax, which, being
taken from one, must be laid with additional weight
upon another, is it probable that any will complain
_that they are oppressed because their brethren are
relieved ? Or that those who are ‘‘so strong in the
faith” will refuse to ‘‘ bear with the infirmities of
the weak?” The few who upon principles of this
sort opposed the application of the dissenters,
were repulsed from parliament with disdain, even
by age who were no friends to the application
itself.
The dase da concerning the object of worship is
_ attended, I confess, with difficulty: it seems al-
' most directly to divide the worshippers. But let
the church pare down her excrescences till she
comes to this question; let her discharge from
her liturgy controversies unconnected with de-
- votion ; i her try what may be done for all
| sides, by worshipping God in that generality* of
expression in which he himself bas left some
points; let her dismiss many of her Articles, and

ae

* Ifa Christian can think it an intolerable thing to worship one
God through one mediator Jesus Christ, in company with any such

' ds differ from him in their notions about the metaphysieal nature of
Christ, or of the Holy Ghost, or the like; I am sorry for it. I re-
member the like objection made at the beginning of the Reforma-
tion by the Lutherans against the lawfulness of communicating with
Zuinglins, and his followers ; because they had not the same notiou
with them ofthe elements in the sacrament. And there was the

342 OF SUBSCRIPTION —

convert those which she retains into terms of
peace; let her recall the terrors she suspended
over freedom or inquiry; let the toleration she al-
lows to dissenters be made “ absolute ;” let her
invite men to search the Scriptures; let x

*

vernors encourage the studious and learned of all —

persuasions :—Let her do this—and she will be se-
cure of the thanks of her own clergy, and what is"
more, of their sincerity. A greater consent may
grow out of inquiry than many at present are
aware of; and the few who, after all, shall think it
necessary to recede from our communion, will ac-
knowledge the necessity to be inevitable; will re-
were the equity and moderation of the established
church, and live in peace with all its members.

{ know not whether I ought to mention, among
so many more serious reasons, that even the go-
vernors of the church themselves would find their
ease and account in consenting to an alteration.—
For, besides the difficulty of defending how decay-
ed fortifications, and the indecency of deserting »
them, they either are or will soon find themselves —
in the situation of a master of a family, whose ser-
vants know more of his secrets than it is proper for »
them to know, and whose whispers and whose
threats must be bought off at an expense which will
drain the ‘ apostolic chamber” dry.

Having thus examined in their order, and, as far
as I understood them, the several answers* given

same objection once against holding communion with any such as had
not thesame notions with themselves about the secret decrees of
God relating to the predestination and reprobatiou of particular per-
sons. But whatever those men may please themselves with thinking
who are sure they are arrived at the perfect knowledge of the jmost
abstruse points, this they may be certain of, that in the present state
of the church, even supposing only such as are accounted orthodox
to be joined together in one visible communion, they communicate
together witha very great variety and confusion of notions, either
comprehending nothing plain and distinct, or differing from one an-
other as truly and as essentially as others differ from them all; nay,
with more certain difference with relation to the object of worship
than if all prayers were directed (as bishop Bull says, almost all

were in the first ages) to God or the Father, through the Son.—~ |

Hoadley's Answer to Dr. Hare’s Sermon.

* Tn his last note our author breaks forth into “‘ astonishment’! |

gad indignation, at the ‘* folly, injustice, and indecency,” of com-

Sa een. le: ee ee

re Ae

a. =. =z.

TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 343
by our author to the objections against the present -
mode of subscription, it now remains, by way of —
summing up the evidence, to bring “ forward” cer-

tain other arguments contained in the Considera-
tions, to which no answer has been attempted. It

is contended, then,

T. That stating any doctrine in a confession of faith

with a greater degree of “‘ precision” than the
Scriptures have done, is in effect to say, that the
Scriptures have not stated it with ‘‘ precision”
enough; in other words, that the Scriptures are
not sufficient.—“ Mere declamation.” _ ;

Il. That this experiment of leaving men at liberty,

and points of doctrine at large, has been attended
with the improvement of religious knowledge,
where and whenever it has been tried. And to_
this cause, so far as we can see, is owing the ad-
vantage which protestant countries in this respect
possess above their Popish neighbours.—No an-
“swer. a

i. That keeping cg hk out of churches who

“might be admitted consistently with every end
of public worship, and excluding men from com-
munion who desire to embrace it upon the terms

- that God prescribes, is certainly not encouraging,
but rather causing men to forsake, the assembling
of themselves together.—No answer.

IV. That men are deterred from searching the Scrip-

paring our church to the Jewish in our Saviour's time, and even to
the “‘ tower of Babel;’’ mistaking the church, in this last compari-
son, for one of her monuments (which indeed, with most pecple of
his complexion, stands for the same thing) erected to prevent our
dispersion from that grand centre of Catholic dominion, or, in the
words of a late celebrated castle-builder, ‘‘ to keep us together."’
If there be any ‘indecency’? in such a comparison, it must be
chargeable on those who lead us to it, by making use of the same
terms with the original architect, and to which the author of the Con-
siderations evidently alludes. This detached note is concluded with
as detached, and no less curious, an observation, which the writer
thinks may be a “‘ sufficient answer’’ to the whole, namely, that the
author of the Considerations ‘' has wrought no miracles for the con-
viction of the answerer and his associates.’”” For what purpose this
ebservation can be ** sufficient,” it is not easy to guess, except it be
designed to insinuate what may perhaps really be the case, that no
tess than a miracle will serve to cast out that kind of spirit which has
taken so full possession of them, or ever bring them fo a sound mind,
and a sincere love of truth

—— =

SJ
344 OF SUBSCRIPTION, &c. | :

tures by the fear of finding there more or less
than they looked for; that is, something incon-
sistent with what they have already given their
assent to, and must at their peril abide by.—Ne
answer. “a ae?
Y. That it is not giving truth a fair chance to de-
cide points at one certain time, and by one set of
men, which had much better be left to the suc- |
cessive inquiries of different ages and different |
ersons.—No answer. Ay .
VI. That it tends to multiply infidels amongst us,
by exhibiting Christianity under a form and in a
system which many are disgusted with, who yet
will not be at the pains to inquire after any other.
—No answer. . |
At the conclusion of his pamphlet our author is ©
pleased to acknowledge, what few, I find, care any
longer to deny, “‘ that there are some things in
our Articles and Liturgy which he should be glad
to see amended, many which he should be willing
to give up to the scruples of others,” but that.
heat and violence with which redress has been pur-
sued, preclude all hope of accommodation and tran-
quillity—that “we had better wait, therefore, for
more peaceable times, and be contented with our
present conatitution as it is,” until a fairer prospect
shall appear of changing it for the better.—After
returning thanks in the name of the “ fraternity,”
to him and to all who touch the burden of subscrip-
tion with but one of their fingers, I would wish to
leave with them this observation; that as the man
who attacks a flourishing establishment writes |
with a halter round his neck, few ever will be found
to attempt alterations but men of more spirit than —
prudence, of more sincerity than caution, of warm, —
eager, and impetuous tempers; that,consequently, —
;

if we are to wait for improvement till the cool, the
calm, the discreet part of mankind begin it, till
church governors solicit, or ministers of state pro-
pose it--I will venture to pronounce, that (without
His interposition with whom nothing is De |
we may remain as we are till the “ renovation ofall —
things.”

| #0 THE LABOURING PART OF THE

‘kind, t

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT,

ADDRESSED

BRITISH PUBLIC.

Humavy life has been said to resemble the situa-
tion of spectators in a theatre, where, whilst each
person is engaged by the scene which passes he-
fore him, no one thinks about the place in which he
is seated. It is only when the business is interrupt-
ed, or when: the spectator’s attention to it grows
idle and remiss, that he begins to consider at all,
who is before him or who is behind him, whether |
others are better accommodated than himself, or
whether many be not much worse. It is thus with
the various ranks and stations of society. So long
as @ man is intent upon the duties and concerns of
his own condition, he never thinks of comparing it
with any other; he is never troubled with reflec-
‘tions a ee different classes and orders of man-

e advantages and disadvantages of each, the
necessity or non-necessity of civil distinctions, much
jess does he feel within himself a disposition to covet
or envy any of them. He is too much taken up
with the occupations of his calling, its pursuits,

cares, and business, to bestow unprofitable medita-

tions upon the circumstances in which he sees
ethers placed. And by this means a man of a sound
and active mind has,in his very constitution, a re-

‘medy against the disturbance of envy and discon-
tent. These passions gain no admittance into his
breast, because there is no leisure there or vacancy

for the trains of thought which generate them. He

qeminyes therefore, ease in this respect, and ease re-
su

ting from the best cause, the power of keeping

his imagination at home; of confining it to what
belongs to himself, instead of sending it forth to
wander among speculations which have neither

limits nor use, amidst views of unattainable gran-

deur, fancied happiness, of extolled, because unex-

perienced, privileges and delights. |
The wisest advice nae be given is, never to

346 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.’

allow our attention to dwell upon comparisons be?

tween our own condition and that of others, but to
keep it fixed upon the duties and concerns of the.
condition itself. But since every man has not this
power; since the minds of some men will be busy
im contemplating the advantages which they see
others possess ; and since persons in laborious sta-
tions of life are wont to view the higher ranks of
society, with sentiments which not only tend to
make themselves unhappy, but which are very dif-
ferent from the truth ; it may be a useful o to
point out to them seme of those considerations
which, if they will turn their thoughts to the sub-
ject, they should endeavour to take fairly into the
account. . . =

And, first; we are most of us apt to murmur,
when we see exorbitant fortunes placed in the
hands of single persons; larger, we are sure, than
they can want, or, as we think, than they can use,
‘This is so common a reflection, that I will not say
it is not natural. But whenever the complaint
eomes into our minds, we ought to recollect, that
the thing happens in consequence of those very
rules and laws which secure to ourselves our pro-
perty, be it ever so small. The laws which acci-
dentally cast enormous estates into one great man’s

possession, are, after all, the self-same laws which —

protect and guard the poor man. Fixed rules of
property are established for one as well as another

without knowing, beforehand, whom they may af-
fect. If these rules sometimes throw an excessive

or disproportionate share to one man’s lot, who can

. help it ? It is much better that it should beso, than
that the rules themselves should be broken up; and
you can only have one side of the alternative or the

other. To abolish riches, would not be to abolish

poverty; but, on the ¢ontrary, to leave it without
protection or resource. It is not for the poor man
to repine at the effects of laws and rules, by. whigh
he himself is benefited every hour of his existence ;
which secure to him his earnings, his habitation,
his bread, his life ; without which he, no more th

the rich man, could either eat his meal in quietness,

or go tobed in safety. Of the two, it is rather more
tlre concern of the poor fo. stand up for laws,

;

|

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 347

_than of the rich; for it is the law which defends
_ the weak against the strong, the humble against the
powerful, the little against the great; and weak
and strong, humble and powerful, little and great,
there would be, even were there no laws whatever.
Beside, what, after all,isthe mischief? The owner —
of a great estate does not eat or drink more than the
' owner of a small one. His fields do not produce
worse crops, nor does the produce maintain fewer
‘mouths. If estates were more equally divided,
- would greater numbers be fed, or clothed, or em-
ployed? Either, therefore, large fortunes are not
a public evil, or, if they be in any degree an evil, it
_ is to be borne with, for the sake of those fixed and
general rules concerning property, in the preserva-
tion and steadiness of which all are interested.
Fortunes, however, of any kind; from the nature
of the thing, can only fall tothe lot of a few. I say, .
from the nature of the thing.” The very utmost
that can be done by laws and government, is to ena-
ble every man, who hath health, to procure a
healthy subsistence for himself and a family.
Where this is the case, things are at their perfec-
tion. They have reached their limit. Were the
rinces and nobility, the legislators and counsel-
ors of the land, all of them the best and wisest men
that ever lived, their united virtue and wisdom
could do no more than this. They, if any such
there be, who would teach you to expect more,
give you no instance where more has ever been at-
tained,
But Providence, which foresaw, which appoint-
ed, indeed, the necessity to which human affairs are
- subjected, (and against which it were impious te
_ complain,) hath contrived, that, whilst fortunes are
only for a few, the rest of mankind may be happy
without them. And this leads me to consider the
comparative advantages and comforts which belong
to the condition of those who subsist, as the great
_ mass of every people do and must’ subsist, by per-
sonal labour, and the solid reasons they have for
contentment in their stations. I do not now use
the terms poor and rich: because that man is to be
accounted poor, of whatever rank he be, and suffers
the pains of poverty, whose expenses exceed his re-

se. OC Oe eS CU ee! ——~ oe a. — - fi * - | i=

343 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.

sources; and no man is, properly speaking, poor
but he. But I, at present, consider the edve .
of those laborious conditions of life, which compose
the great portion of every human community. __
And, first , it is an inestimable blessing ef such
situations, that they supply a constant train of em-
ployment both to body and mind. A husbandman,
or a manufacturer,or a tradesman, never goes to
bed at night without having his business to rise up.
to in the morning. He would understand the value
of this advantage, did he know that the want of it
composes one of the greatest plagues of the human
soul: a plague by which the rich, especially those
who inherit riches, are exceedingly oppressed. In- -
deed, it is to get rid of it, that is to say, it is to have
something to do, that they are driven upon those
strange and unaccountable ways of passing their
time, in which we sometimes see them, to our sur-
prise, engaged. A poor man’s condition supplies
him with that which no man can do without,and with
which a rich man, with allhis opportunities and ali
his contrivance, can hardly supply himself; regular
engagement, business to look forward to, something
to be done for every day, some employment pre-
pared for every morning. A few of better judgment
can seek out for themselves constant and useful oc-
cupation. There is not one of you takes the pains
in his calling, which some of the most independent
men in the nation have taken, and are taking, to
promote what they deem to be a point of great con-
- cern to the interests of humanity, by which neither
they nor theirs can ever gain a shilling, and in
which, should they succeed, those who are to be
benefited by their service, will neither know nor
thank them for it. Ionly mention this to show, in
conjunction with what has been observed above,
that, of those who are at liberty to act as they
please, the wise prove, and the foolish confess, by
their conduct, that a life of employment is the only
life worth leading; and that the chief diflerence be-
tween their manner of passing their time and yours,
is that they ean choose the objects of lactis ate.
which you cannot. This privilege may be an
vantage to some, but for nine out of ten it is fortus

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 349
nate that occupation is provided to their hands, that

they have it not to seek, that it is imposed upon
them by their necessities and occasions; for the
consequence of liberty in this respect would be,
that, lost in the perplexity of choosing, they would
sink into irrecoverable indolence, inaction, and un-
concern; into that vacancy and tiresomeness of
time and thought which are inseparable from such a
situation. A man’s thoughts must be going. Whilst
he is awake, the working of his mind is as constant
as the beating of his pulse. He can no more stop
the one than the other. Hence if our thoughts have
nothing to act upon, they act upon ourselves. They
acquire a corrosive quality. They become in the
last degree irksome and tormenting. Wherefore
that sort of equitable engagement, which takes up
the thoughts sufficiently, yet so as to leave them
capable of turning to any thing more important, as
occasions offer or require, is a most invaluable
blessing. And if the industrious be not sensible of
the blessing, it is for no other reason than because
they have never experienced, or rather suffered the
want of it. paege ag ,
Again ; some of the necessities which poverty
(if the condition of the labouring part of mankind
must be so called) imposes, are not hardships but
pleasures. Frugality itself is apleasure. Itis an
exercise of attention and contrivance, which, when-
ever it is successful, produces satisfaction. The
very care and forecast that are necessary to keep
expenses and earnings upon a level, ferm, when
not embarrassed by too great difficulties, an agree-
able engagement of the thoughts. This is lost
amidst abundance. There is no pleasure in taking
out of a large unmeasured fund. They who do
that, and only that, are the mere conveyers of mo-
ney from one hand to another. , 3

A yet more serious advantage which persons in
inferior stations possess,is the ease with which
- they provide for their children. All the provision
which a poor man’s child requires is contained in
two words, “‘ industry and innocence.”’ With these
» qualities, ee without a shilling to set him for-
wards, he goes into the world prepared to become

g useful, virtuous, andihappy man, Nor will he

ee

350 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.

fail to meet with a maintenance ) to the
habits with which he has been up, andto |
the expectations which he has . a degree :

success sufficient for a person of any condition
whatever. These qualities of industry and inne |
cence, which, I repeat agai, are all that are abso- ©
lutely necessary, every parent-can give to his
children without expense Vea hé can give them
by his own authority and example; and they are
to be communicated, I believe, and ,m
no other way. _l cal] this a serious advantage of
humble stations; because, in what we reckon su-
perior ranks of life, there is a real difficulty in.
placing children im situations which may in any
degree support them in the class and in the habits
in which they have been bronght ap with their pa-
rents: from which great, and oftentimes distress-
ing perplexity, the poor are free. With health of
body, innocence of mind, and habits of 3 5
a poor man’s child has nothing to be afraid of;
nor his father or mother any thing to be afraid of
for him.

The labour of the world is carried on by Service,
that is, by one man’s working under another man’s ~
direction. Itake it for granted, that this is the
best i of connie; bn , because pens dond i,
tions an es have it. ;
service is the relation otek of all others, affects
the greatest numbers of individuals, and in the
most sensible manner. In whatever country, there-
fore, this relation is well and i ’
in that country the poor will be . Now how
is the matter managed with us? appren-
ticeships, the necessity of which one, at least
every father and mother, will wile as
best, if not the only practicable, way of gan
struction and skill, and which have their founda-
et in nature, because er are their ae
in the natural ignorance and imbecility of youth;
except these, service in England is, as it ought to
be, voluntary and by contract ; a fair exchange of
work for wages ; an equal bargain, in which each,
party has his rights and his redgess; wherein .
every servant chooses his master. Can this be
mended ? I will add, that a continuance of this con-

_

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 351

nexion is frequently the foundation of so much
mutual kindness and attachment, that very few
friendships are more cordial, or more sincere ; that
‘it leaves oftentimes nothing in servitude except the.
name; nor any distinction but what one party is
as much pleased with, and sometimes also as
proud of, as the other, ;

What then (for this is the fair way of calculating}
is there in higher stationsto place against these
advantages? What does the poor man see in the
life or condition of the rich, that should render him
dissatisfied with his own? ‘

Was there as much in sensual pleasures, f mean
in the luxuries of eating and drinking, and other
gratifications of that sort, as some men’s imagina-
tions would represent there to be, but which no.
man’s experience finds in them, I contend, that
even in these respects the advantage is onthe side
of the poor. The rich, who addict themselves to
indulgence, lose their relish. Their desires are
dead. Their sensibilities are worn and tired. Hence
they lead a languid satiated existence. Hardly
any thing can amuse, or rouse, or gratify them.
Whereas the poor man, if something extraordinary

. fall in his way, comes to the repast with appetite ;
is pleased and refreshed, derives from his usual}
course of moderation and temperance, a quickness
of percension and toe which the unrestrained
voluptuary knows nothing of. Habits of all kinds
are much the same. Whatever is habitual, becomes
smooth and indifferent, and nothing more. The
luxurious receive no greater pleasures from their
dainties, than the peasant does from his homely
fare.—But here is the difference: The peasant,
whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast, whereas the
epicure must be sumptuously entertained to escape °
disgust. ‘They who spend every day in diversions,
and they who go every day about their usual busi-
ness, pass their time much alike, Attending to

. what they are about, wanting nothing, regretting

nothing, they are both, whilst engaged, in a state
of ease; but then, whatever suspends the pursuits
of the man of diversion, distresses him, whereas to
the labourer, or the man of business, every pause
is a recreation. And this is avast advantage which

— ee lr lee

352 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.

they possess who.are trained and inured to a lie
of occupation, above the man who sets up for a
life of pleasure. Variety is soon exhausted. -No-
velty itself is no longer new. Amusements are
become too familiar to delight, and he is in a situ-
ation in which he can never change but for the
worse. | ee :
Another article which the poor are apt to envy”
in the rich, is their ease. Now here they mistake
the matter totally. They call maction ease, whereas
nothing is farther from it. Rest isease. That is
true: but no man can rest who has not worked.
Rest is the cessation of labour. It cannot there-
fore be enjoyed, or even tasted, exeept by those ~
who have known fatigue. The rich see, and not
without envy, the refreshment and pleasure which
rest affords to the poor, and Choose to wonder that
they cannot find the same enjoyment m being free
from the necessity of working at all. They donot
observe that this enjoyment must be purchased by
previous labour, and that he who will not pay the
price cannot have the gratification. Bemg without
work is one thing; reposing from work is another.
The one is as tiresome and msipid as the other is
sweet and soothing. The one, in general, is the
fate of the rich man, the other is the fortune of the
poor. I have heard it said, that ifthe face of hap-
piness can any where be seen, it is m the summer
evening of a country village ; where, after the la-
bours of the day, each man at his door, with his
children, amongst his neighbours, feels his frame
and his heart at rest, every thing about him pleased
and pleasing, and a delight and complacency im his’
sensations far beyond what either luxury or diver- —
sion can afford. The rich want this; and they
want what they must never have. at
As to some other things which the poor are dis-
posed to envy in the condition of the rich, such as
their state, their appearance, the grandeur of their
houses, dress, equipage, and attendance, they only
envy the rich these things because they do not
know the rich. They have not op rtunities of ob- :

serving, with what neglect and insensibility the
rich possess and regard these things themselves.
if they could see the great man in his ment,

m2 |
a NT

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 353

and in his actual manner of life, they would find
him, if pleased at all, taking pleasure in some of
those simple enjoyments which they can command
as well as he. They would find him amongst, his

children, in his husbandry, in his garden, pursuing
‘some rural diversion, or occupied with some trifling
exercise, which are all gratifications, as muc
within the power and pa, Hi: the poor man as of
the rich; or rather more so. ;

To learn the art of contentment, is only to learn
what happiness actually consists in. Sensual plea-
sures add little to its substance. Ease, if by that
be meant exemption from labour, contributes no-
thing. One, however, constant spring of satisfac-
tion, and almost infallible support of cheerfulness.
and spirits, is the exercise of domestic affections ;
the presence of objects of tenderness and endear-

- ment in our families, our kindred, our friends. Now
have'the poor any thing tocomplain of here? Are
they not surrounded by their relatives as generally
as Others? The poor man has his wife and chil-
dren about him; and what has the rich more? He
has the same enjoyment of their society, the same:
solicitude for their welfare, the same pleasure in
their good qualities, improvement, and success:
their connexion with him is as strict and intimate,
their attachment as strong, their gratitude as warm.
Ihave no propensity to envy any one, least of all
the rich and great; but if I were disposed to this
weakness, the subject of my envy would be a
healthy young man, in full possession of his strength
and faculties, gomg forth m a morning to work for

‘ his wife and children, or bringing them home his
wages at “a :

But was difference of rank or fortune of more im-
portance to personal happiness than it is, it would
be ill purchased by any sudden or violent change
of condition. An alteration of circumstances which
breaks up a man’s habits of life, deprives him of his
occupation, removes him from his acquaintance,
may be called an elevation of fortune, but hardly
ever brings with it an addition of enjoyment. They —
to whom accidents of this sort have happened, ne-
ver found them to answer their expectations. After
the first hurry of the change is over, they are sur-

=: 1 eh ae ee, ee 9

a Bete |

354 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT.

prised to feel in themselves listlessness and dejec-
tion, a consciousness of solitude, vacancy, and re-
straint, in the place of cheerfulness, liberty, and
ease. They try to make up for what they have
lost, sometimes by a beastly sottishness, sometimes
by a foolish dissipation, sometimes by stupid sloth ;
all which effects are only so many confessions, that
changes of this sort were not made for man. If any
public disturbance should preduce, not an equality,
(for that is not the proper name to give it,) buta
jumble of ranks and professions amongst us, it is”
not only evident what the rich would lose, but there
is also this farther misfortune, that what the rich
lost the poor would not gain. 1(God knows) could
not get my livelihood by labour, nor would the la-—
bourer find any solace or enjoyment in my studies.
If we were to exchange conditions to-morrow, all.
the effect would be, that we both should be more
miserable, and the work of both be worse done.
Without debating, therefore, what might be very. —
difficult to decide, which of our two conditions was |
better to begin with, one point is certain, that itis
best for each to remain in his own. The change,
and the only change, to be desired, isthat gradual
and progressive improvement of our circumstances _
which is the natural fruit of successful industry;
when each year is something better than the last;
when we are enabled to add to our little household _
one article after another of new comfort or conve-

ment is still easier. Religion smooths all i
ties, because it unfolds a prospect which
earthly distinctions nothing. And I do allow th:
there are many cases of sickness, affliction, and dis- —
tress, which Christianity alone can comfort. But mm —
estimating the mere diversities of station and civil _
condition, I have not thought it necessary to imtro- —

9

a

a

REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 255

duce religion into the’inquiry at all; because I con-
tend, that the man who murmurs and repines, when
he has nothing to murmur and repine about, but
the mere want of independent property, is not only
irreligious, but unreasonable, in his complaint ;
and that he would find, did he know the truth,
and consider his case fairly, that a life of labour,
such, I mean, as is led by the labouring part
of mankind in this country, has advantages in it
which compensate all its inconveniences. When
compared with the life of the rich, it is better in
these important respects: It supplies employment,
it promotes activity. It keeps the body in better
health, the mind more engaged, and, of course,
' more quiet. It is more sensible of ease, more sus-.
ceptible of pleasure. “It is attended with greater
alacrity of spirits, a more constant cheerfulness
and serenity of temper. It affords easier and more
certain methods of sending children into the world
in situations suited to their habits and expectations.
Jt is free from many heavy anxieties which rich
men feel; it is fraught with many sources of de-
light which they want. |

If to these reasons for contentment the reflecting
husbandman or artificer adds another very material
one, that changes of condition, which are attended
with a breaking up and sacrifice of our ancient
course and habit of living, never can be productive
of happiness, he will perceive, I trust, that to covet
the stations or fortunes of the rich, or so, however,
to covet them, as to wish to seize them by force, or
ihrough the medium of public uproar and confusion,
is not only wickedness, but folly,as mistaken in the
end as in the means; that iis not only to venture
put to sea in a storm, but to venture for nothing.

>a

OBSERVATIONS = >
. 2 Ries in Pe! “eres
UPON THE CHARACTER AND EXAMPLE OF C} Rist,
AND THE MORALITY OF THE GOSPEL.” ~~

be ee oa

On the character and example of Christ. :

Iw the first place, Christ was absolutely inno-
cent: we do not find a single vice to which he was’
addicted, either from the accounts of his own fol-
lowers, or as charged upon him by his enemies?
we hear nothing like what is told of Mahomet, of
his wives and concubines; nothing of his falling,
like Socrates and Plato, into the fashionable vices.
of his country. In the next place, his whole life,
that part of it at least iS 4 we are acquainted
with, was employed in doing good, in-substantial
acts of kindness and compassion to all those who ~
fell in his way, 7. e. in solid virtue. Im his youth
he set an example of subjection and obedience to
his parents.t By his presence of mind and judi-
cious replies, whenever insnaring questions were-
proposed to him, he testified the coolness and sound-
ness of his understanding.{ By avoiding all dan-—
ger, when he could do it consistently with his duty,
and resolutely encountering the greatest, “ when
his hour was come,” 7. e. when his own office, or |
the destination of providence, made it necessary,
he proved the sedateness of his courage, in Oppo-* —
sition to that which is produced by passion ene
thusiasm.|| By his patience and forbearance, when *
he had the means of revenge in his pewer, he taught —
us the proper treatment of our enemies. By his —
withdrawing himself rom the populace and repel-
ling their attempts to make him king, he showed us —
the sense we ought toentertain of popular clamour
and applause.** By his laying hold of every op-—
portunity to instruct his followers, and taking so

w wc ed ¥ ag Cyt. * oe 5 -

* This tract was originally annexed as a summary and appendix ~
to ‘Reflections on the Life and Character of Christ,” by Edmund »
lord bishop of Carlisle. rs aes 9

t Luke ii. 51. t Matt. xxi. 24. xii. 16.xxx.37, 0

\| "Matt. xii, 14. 15. xiy. 12,.13. Joha iv, 1—3, compared with
Matt. xy. 17---13. ; : pag Y See ;

“[ Luke ix. 54, Matt. xxvi. 53, compared with Luke xxiii, 34. 4

** Joha vi. 1.

ON THE CHARACTER, &, —_ 357

‘much pains-to inculcate his precepts, he left usp
pattern of industry and zeal in our profession. By
the liberty he took with the Pharisees and Saddu-
cees, the lawyers and scribes, in exposing their hy-
-pocrisy, their errors and corruptions, he taught us
fortitude in the discharge of our duty.* He spared
neither the faults of his friends, nor the vices of his

enemies.—By his indifference and unconcern about

his own accommodation and appearance, the inte- —

rest of this family and fortune, he condemned all
worldly-mindedness.t He was perfectly sober and
rational in his devations, as witness the Lord’s
prayer compared with any of the compositions of
modern enthusiasts.-His admirable discourses be-

fore his death are specimens of inimitable tender-

ness and affection towards his followers.t. His
quiet submission to death, though even the prospect

of.it was terrible to him, exhibits a complete pat-

ot resignation and acquiescence in the divine
Wr ff oo
And'to crown all, his example was practicable,
‘and suited to the condition of human life.—He did
not, like Rousseau, call upon mankind to return
back into a state of nature, or calculate his precepts
for suchastate. He did not, with the monk and the
hermit, run into caves and cloisters, or suppose
men could make themselves more acceptable to God
| by keeping out of the way of one another. He did
| not, with some of the most eminent of the Stoics,
command his followers to throw their wealth into
the sea, nor, with the eastern faquirs, to inflict upon
themselves any tedious, gloomy penances, or extra-
vagant mortifications. He did not, what is the sure
companion of enthusiasm, affect singularity in his
‘behaviour ; he dressed, he ate, he conversed, like
other people ; he accepted their invitations, was a
| guest at their feasts, frequented their synagoguns,
and went up to Jerusalem at their great festival.
| He supposed his disciples to follow some profes-
sions, to be soldiers, tax-gatherers, fishermen; to
| Marry wives, pay taxes, submit to magistrates ; to
carry on their usual business ; and, when they

_—.

ae

* Matt. xxiii. Luke xi. 54,4
t Matt. viii, 20. xii, 46---50, Jobn ir. 24,

t Jubn xiv, xv, xvi, xvii. {! John xxii. 4] ~--44

ee ee ae

a Re ee a ee en ee eee ee a ee

Ce, ee

=

—. so

3598 ON THE CHARACTER AND

could be spared from his service, to return again to
their respective callings.* Upon the whole, if the
account which is given of Christ in Scripture be a
just one;—if there was really such a person, how
could he be an impostor 7—If there was no such
person, how came the illiterate evangelists to hit
off such a character, and that without any visible
design of drawing any character at all? ~

On the morality of the gospel.
THE morality of the gospel riefnee beyond what
might be discovered by reason ; nor possibly could
be; because all morality being founded in relations

and consequences, which we are acquainted with, ©

and experience, must depend upon reasons intelli
gible to our apprehensions, and discoverable by us.
Nor perhaps, except in a few instances, was it

beyond what might have been collected from the ©

scattered precepts of different philosophers.

Indeed, to have put together all the wise and —
ke precepts of all the different philosophers, to —

ave separated and laid aside all the error, immoa-

rality, and superstition, that was mixed with them, |

would have proved a very difficult work. But that

a single person, without any assistance from those |

philosophers, or any human learning whatsoever,
in direct opposition also to the established practices

and maxims of his own country, should form a

system, so unblameable on the one hand, and so

perfect on the other, is extraordinary, beyond ex- |

ample and belief; and yet must be believed by those
who hold Christ to have been either an impostor or
enthusiast. ; .

The following are some principal articles of his
system. | *S BIG RE ee

_ I. The forgiveness of injuries and enemies ;—abso- |

lutely original. 3 eee |
‘‘ Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou

shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy ; but |

[a

* The like did his forerunner John the Baptist. When the pubd-
licags and soldiers, people of the two most obnoxious professions in

that age and country, asked John what they were to do, John does |

not require them to quit their occupations, but to beware of the vices
and perform the duties of them; which also is to be understood as |

the Baptist’s own explanation of that METRVGIM FiF BPI oop

Ti@Y to which Re called his countrymen

i

|

ee eer es i aia

ji _ EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. | 309
i say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that

\ eurse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray

for them which despitefully use you and persecute
you, that ye may be the children of your Father

which is in heaven; for he maketh his sun to rise.

on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the
just and on the unjust.”’* Se
‘Tf ye forgive men their trespasses, your heaven-
ly Father will also forgive you; but if ye forgive
not men their trespasses, neither will your heaven-
jy Father forgive you.’’} — fet |
‘Then came Peter unto him, and said, Lord,
how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I for-
give him: till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I

_ Say not unto thee until seven times, but until seven- .

ty times seven; therefore (i. e. in this respect) is
the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain kin
which would take account of his servants; an
when he had begun to reckon, one was brought

“unto him which owed him ten thousand talents; |
but, for as much as he had not to pay, his lord

commanded him to be sold, and his wife and chil-
dren and all that he had, and payment to be made :

the servant therefore fell down, and worshipped

him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I
will pay thee all. Then the lord of that servant was
i moved with compassion, and loosed him, and for-

| gave him the debt. But the same servant went out

and found one of his fellow-servants, which owed
him a hundred pence: and he laid hands on him

»and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me what

i thou owest ; and his fellow-servant fell down at his

feet, and besought him, saying, Have patience with
) me, and I will-pay thee all; and he would not, but
‘went and cast him into prison, till he should pay

} the debt. So when his fellow-servants saw what

was done, they were very sorry, and came and told
; unto their lord all that was done. Then his lord,
; after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou

wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, be-
“cause thou desiredst me; shouldst not thou alse
‘ have had compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as
‘Thad pity on thee? And hislord was wroth, and

}. delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay

ner a ay oie

tt ei ies gee

* Mat. -v, 43°45, ¢ Mat. vi. 14, 13;

Sack = |
> &

360 ON THE CHARACTER AND |

aj] that was due unto him; so likewise shall my
heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your
hearts forgive not every one his brother their tres-

asses.””* ' ~

“‘ And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have
aught against nye chat vate Fathers ptenpichines is
in heaven, may forgive you your trespasses.Ӣ _-
_ “ Love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend,
hoping for nothing again, and your reward shall be
great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest,
for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.”’?
_ “And when they were come to the place which
is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the ~
malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other
on the left : then said Jesus, Father, forgive them, —
for they know not what they. do.’”’}} f

il. The universality of benevolence, without dis-
tinction of country or religion. — > S

“ They went, and entered into a village of the Sa-
taritans to make ready for him, and they did not
receive him, because his face was as though he
would go to Jerusalem; and when his disciples
James and John saw this, they said, Lord, wilt
thou that we command fire to come down from
heaven and consume them, even as Elias did; but
he returned, and rebuked them, and said, Ye know
not what manner of spirit ye are of.” |

“The Jewish lawyer, willing toljustify eet,

said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour? An

Jesus answering said, A certain man went down
from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves,
which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded
him, and departed, leaving him half dead; and by
chance there came down a certain priest that way,
and when he saw him he passed by on the other
side; and likewise a Levite, when he was at the
place came‘and looked on him, and passed by on
the other side: but a certain Samaritan as he jour-
neyed, came where he was, and when he saw him
he had compassion on him, and went to him, and
bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and |
set him on his own beast, and brought him to an —

* Mat. xviii. 21-35. t Mark xi 23. ¢ Luke yi. 35.
i} Luke xxiii. 3% - Luke ix, 52, $3.

EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 361

inn, and took care of him; and on the morrow,
when he departed, he took out two-pence, and
gave them to the host, and- said, Take care of
him, and whatsoever thou spendest more, when ]
come again, I will repay thee : which now of these
three, thinkest thou, was neighbour to him that
fell among the thieves ? and he said, He that show-
ed mercy-on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go,
and do thou likewise.’’* | 4

IW. The inferiority and subordination of the cere-
smonial to the moral law.

“Leave thy gift before the altar, and go thy
way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then
come and offer thy gift.”’t

“Tf ye had known what this meaneth, I will have
merey and not sacrifice, ye would not have con-
demned the guiltless.’’t

* And behold there was aman which had his
hand withered ; and they asked him, saying, Is it
lawful to heal on the sabbath days ? that they might
accuse him. And he said unto them, What man
shall there be among you, that shall have one
sheep, and it fall into a pit on the sabbath-day, will
he not lay hold on it and lift it out? how much
then is a man better than a sheep ? wherefore it is
lawful to do well on the sabbath days.”’|| __

“Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a
man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this
defileth a man—those things, which proceed out
of the mouth, come forth from the heart, and they
defile the man; for out of the heart proceed evil
thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts,
false witness, blasphemies, these are the things
which defile a man; but to eat with unwashen
hands defileth not a man.” 1

‘Wo unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypo-
crites, for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cum-
min, and have omitted the. weightier matters of the
law, justice, mercy, and faith (fidelity :) these

_ ought ye to have done, and not to leave the others
undone.”

__“Ye make clean the outside of the cup and of

_ * Lake x. 29---37. t Matt. v. 24. { Matt. xii, f
{| Matt, xii. 10---13. See also Mark iii, l---5.
| Matt. xv. UL 18--=20,
30

—— a oe > i

362 ON THE CHARACTER AND

the platter, but within they are full of extortion
and excess. Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that
which is within the cup and the platter, that the
outside of them may be clean also.”* =|

‘“‘ And the Scribe said unto him, Well, master,
thou hast said the truth, for there is one God,
there is none other but-he, and to love him with all
the heart, and with all the understanding, and with
all the soul, and with all the strength, and to love
his neighbour as himself, is more than all whole
burnt-offerings and sacrifices : and when Jesus saw
that he answered discreetly, he said unto him,
Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.”}

IV. The condemning of spiritual pride and osten-
tation. }
“ Take heed that ye do not your alms before
men, to be seen of them; otherwise ye shall have
no reward of your Father which is in heaven:
therefore when thou dost thine alms, do not sound
a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do, in the
synagogues and in the streets, that they may have
glory of men; verily I say unto you, my! have
their reward. But when thou dost alms, let _
thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth, that
thine alms may be insecret; and thy Father which
seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly.
And when thou prayest, thou’ shalt not be as the
hypocrites are, for they love to pray, standing in
the synagogues and in the corners of the streets,
that they may be seen of men: verily I say unto
you, they have their reward. But thou, when thou
prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast
shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in se-
eret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall
reward thee openly. Moreover when ye fast, be
not as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance; for
they disfigure their faces, that they may sib
unto men to fast: verily I say unto you, they have
their reward: but thou, when thou fastest, anoint
thine head and wash thy face, that thou pear not
unto men to fast, but unto thy Father w is in
secret; andthy Father which seeth in secret, shall
reward thee openly.’’} eer

i

* Matt. xsiii. 22-—-235, - -t Mark zii. 22---24.
- t Mett, vi. 1---6. 16---18.

EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 363

** All their works they do forto be seen of men:
they make broad their phylacteries, and enlarge
the borders of their garments, and love the upper-
most rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the sy-
nagogues, and greetings in the markets, and to be
called of men Rabbi, Rabbi.’’*

“« And he spake this parable unto certain which
trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and
despised others. Two men went up into the tem-

le to pray, the one a pharisee and the other a pub-
ican; the pharisée stood and prayed thus with
himself, God, 1 thank thee, that I am not as other.
men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as
this publican; I fast twice in the week, I give
tithes of all that I possess. And the publican
standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his
eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast say-
ing, God be merciful to me a sinner. I tell you this
man -went down to his house justified rather than
the other ; for every one that exalteth himself shal}
be abased ; and he that humbleth himself, shal! be
exalted.’’} Mee.

V. Restraining the licentiousness of divorces.

“The pharisees came unto him tempting him,
and saying unto him, Is it lawful for a man to put
away his wife for every cause ? And he answered
and said unto them, Have ye not read, that he which

made them at the beginning, made them male and *

female; and said, For this cause shall a man leave
father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and
they twain shal] be one flesh ? wherefore they are
no more twain but one flesh. What therefore God
hath joined together, let not man put asunder. They
say unto him, Why did Moses then command to
ive a writing of divorcement, and to put her away ?
Te saith unto them, Moses, because of the hard-
ness of your hearts, suffered you to put away your
wives, but from the beginning it was not so: and I
say unto you, Whosoever shall put away his wife,
except it be for fornication, and shall marry an-
‘other, committeth adultery; and whoso marrieth
her which is put away doth commit adultery ’’{

N. B. These four last articles were in direct op-
pa 5 A SPUR CSET AONE SRO TIN RTE
* Matt. xxiii, 5---7. T Luke xviii, 9---14,

t Matt, xix. 3-.-9.

364. ON THE CHARACTER AND

position to the established practice and opinions of
our Saviour’s own country. = |

VI. The separation of civil authority from reli- —
Zious matters.

“ Then saith he unto them, Render unto Cesar
the things which are Cesar’s, and unto God the
things that are God’s,’’* .

“And one of the company said unto him, Master,
speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance
with me. And he said unto him, Man, who made
me a judge or a divider over you ?’’t

He said unto the woman, (caught inadultery,}
“Where are those thine accusers ? hath no man
condemned thee ? (7. e. judicially ; for the woman’s
answer was not true in any other sense.) She
said, No man, Lord: and Jesus said unto her,
Neither do I condemn thee (7... in the same sense,
or as a judge.)t{ ae -

VU. Purity and simplicity of divine worship.

“When ye pray, use not yain repetitions as the
heathen do; for they think that they shall be heard —
for their much speaking. Be ye not therefore like
unto them ; for your Father knoweth what things
ye have need of before you ask him: after this man-
ner therefore pray ye, Our Father,” &c.||

“The hour cometh, and now is, when the true
worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and
in truth, for the Father seeketh such to worship
him. God is a spirit, and they that worship him,
must worship him in spirit and in truth.”4]

VIII. Estimating of actions by the intent and not
the effect. “22

*¢ And Jesus sat over against the treasury (i. e.
for pious uses,) and beheld fel the people cast mo-
ney into the treasury ; and many that were rich
cast in much; and there came a certain poor wi-
dow, and she threw in two mites, which make a
farthing ; and he called unto him his disciples, and
saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, that this
poor widow hath cast more in than all they which
bane cast into the treasury, for all they did cast in
of their abundance; but she of her want did cast
in all that she had, even all her living.”’**

* Matt. xxii. 22. { Luke xii. 13, 14. ¢ Joha vii. 10, 11.
|| Matt. vi. 7---9. 7 John iv. 23,24 ®* Mark xii. 41---44.

«

we fF. = bie) a * ie pbc dabei se eas
” * Be sald

EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 369

_ IX. Extending of morality to the regulation of
the thoughts. . f : : Ovi!

“‘T say unto you, that whosoever looketh ona wo-
man to lust after her, hath committed adultery with
her already in his heart,’’*

“ Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, &c.—
these are the things which defile aman.”}.

X.. The demand of duty from mankind proportion-
ed to their ability and opportunities.

“That servant which knew his lord’s will, and
prepared not himself, neither did according to his
will, shallbbe beaten with many stripes; but he that
knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes,
shall be beaten with few stripes , for unto whomso-
ever much is given, of him shall be much required ;
and (z. e. as) to whom men have committed much,
of bim they will ask the more.”’t |

XI. The invitations to repentance.

‘Then drew near unto him all the publicans and
sinners for to hear him; and the pharisees and
scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sin-
ners and eateth with them: and he spake this pa-
rable unto them, saying, What man of you, having
a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them,, doth not
Jeave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go
after that which is lost till he find it ? and when he
hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders rejoic-
ing; and when he cometh home, he calleth toge-
er his friends and neighbours, saying unto them,

Xejoice with me, for I have found my sheep,which
was lost. I say unto you, that likewise jdy shal!
be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more
than over ninety and nine just persons which need
no repentance.”’|| | |

“‘ And he said (7. e. upon the same occasion,) A
certain man had two sons; and the younger of them ©
said to his father, Father, give me the portion of
goods that falleth to me; and he divided unto them
his living: and not many days after the younger
son gathered all together, and took his journey
into a far country, and there wasted his substance
with riotous living; and when he had spent all,
there arose a mighty famine in that land, and he

* Matt. v. 28. t Matt. xv. 19, 20.
t Luke xii. 47, 48, || Luke xv. 1---7

366 ON THE CHARACTER AND |

began to be in want ; and he went and joined him-
self to a citizen of that country, and .he sent him
into his fields to feed swine, and he would fain have
filled his belly with the husks that the swine did
eat, and no man gave unto him; and whenhe came
unto himself, he said, How many hired servants of
my father have bread enough and to spare, and
perish with hunger? I will arise and go to my fa-
ther, and wil] say unto him, Father, I have sinned
against Heaven, and before thee, and am no more
worthy to be called thy son, make me as one of thy
hired servants. And he arose and came to his fa-
ther; but when he was yeta great way off, his fa-
ther saw him, and had compassion, and ran and

fell on his neck and kissed him; and the son said

unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven,
and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be eall-
ed thy son: but the father said to his servants,
Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and
put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet ; and
bring here the fatted calf and kill it; and let us eat
and be merry; for this my son was dead, and is
alive again, he was lost, and is found.”* __

The gospel maxims of “ leving our neighbour as
ourselves,’ and “ doing as we would be done by,”
are much superior rules of life to the re xgerev of
the Greek, or the honestum of the Latin moralists,
in forming ideas of which, people putin or left out
just wisat they pleased; and better than the wfile
or general expediency of the modern, which few can
estimate.—As motives likewise, or principles of ac-
tion, they are much safer than either the love of our
country, which has ofttimes been destructive to the
rest of the world; or friendship, the almost con-
stant source of partiality and injustice.

His manner also of teaching, was infinitely more
affecting than theirs: as may be known by com-
paring what we feel, when we rise up from reading
the parables of the good Samaritan, of the pharisee
and publican, the servant who, when he was for-
given by his master, would not forgive his fellow
servant, the prodigal son, the rich man who laid

EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 367

up his stores,*—by comparing, I say, these with
» any thing excited in us, on reading Tully’s Offices,
Aristotle’s Ethics, or Seneca’s Moral Dissertations.

No heathen moralist ever opposed himself, as
Christ did, to the prevailing vices and corruptions
of his own time and country.t—The sports of the
gladiators, unnatural bust, the licentiousness of di-
yorce, the exposing of infants and slaves, procuring
abortions, public establishment of stews, all sub-
sisted at Rome, and not one of them condemned or
hinted at in Tully’s Offices.—The most indecent
revelling, drunkenness, and lewdness, were prac-
tised at the feasts of Bacchus, Ceres, and Cybele,
and their greatest philosophers never remonstrated
against it.

The heathen philosophers, though they have ad-
vanced fine sayings and sublime precepts in some
points of morality, have grossly failed in others;
such as the toleration or encouragement of revenge,
slavery, unnatural lust, fornication, suicide, &c. e. g.

Plato expressly allowed of excessive drinking at
the festival of Bacchus.

Maximus Tyrius forbade to pray.

Socrates directs his hearers to consider the
Greeks as brethren, but Barbarians as natural ene-
mics.

Aristotle maintained that nature intended Barba-
rians to be slaves.

The Stoics held that all crimes were equal.

Plato, all allow and advise men to continue
Cicero, the idolatry of their ancestors
Epictetus, y ;

Aristotle, 2 both speak of the forgiveness of inju-

Cicero. ries as meanness and pusillanimity.
These were trifles to what follows.

Aristotlet and Plato both direct that means should

he used to prevent weak children being brought up.

Cato commends a young man for frequenting the

stews. :
_ Cicero expressly speaks of fornication as a thing
never found fault with.

* Luke xii. t Matt. v. vi. vii. xxiii. Luke xi. 39---44.
¥ {See Dr. Pricstley’s Institutes of Nat. and Rev. Religion, vol..

li, sect. 2, 3.
te

ae ee Oe a a =. i a ie | al
—_ : ’
7

368 ON THE CHARACTER, &c.
Plato recommends a community of women, also
advises that soldiers should not be restrained from
sensual indulgence, even the most unnatural spe-
cies of it.

Xenophon relates without any marks of reproba-
tion, that unnatural lust was encouraged by the laws
of several Grecian states.

Solon their great lawgiver forbade it only to
slaves.

Diogenes incuicated, and openly practised, ‘the.
most brutal lust. .

Zeno the founder, and Cato the ornament, of the
Stoic philosophy, both killed themselves.

Lastly, the idea which the Christian Scriptures
exhibit of the Deity, isin many respects different
from the notion that was then entertained of him,
but perfectly consonant to the best information we
have of his nature and attributes from reason and
the appearances of the universe.—The Scriptures
describe him as one, wise, powerful, spiritual, and
omnipresent; as placable.and impartial, as abound-
ing in affection towards his creatures, overruling by
his providence the concerns of mankind in this
world, and designing to compensate their suffer-
ings, reward their merit, and punish their crimes,
in another. ‘The foregoing instructions, both with
regard to God and to morality, appear also without
any traces of either learning or study. No set
proofs, no formal arguments, no regular deduction
or Investigation, by which such conclusions could
be derived :—the very different state likewise of
learning and inquiry in Judea and other countries |
—and the vast superiority of this to any other sys-
tem of religion :—all these circumstances show that
the authors of it must have some sources of infor-
mation which the ethers had not.

THE END.

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