Natural Theology Part Six



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




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dwell upon a weaker argument, where a stronger is at hand. There are, however, a few observations upon the vegetable kingdom, which lie so directly in our way, that it would be improper to pass by them without notice.


The one great intention of nature in the structure of plants seems to be the perfecting of the seed; and, what is part of the same intention, the preserving of it until it be perfected. This intention shows itself, in the first place, by the care which appears to be taken, to protect and ripen, by every advantage which can be given to them of situation in the plant, those parts which most immediately contribute to fructification, viz. the antheræ, the stamina, and the stigmata. These parts are usually lodged in the centre, the recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower; during their tender and immature state, are shut up in the stalk, or sheltered in the bud; as soon as they have acquired firmness of texture sufficient to bear exposure, and are ready to perform the important office which is assigned to them, they are disclosed to the light and air, by the bursting of the stem, or the expansion of the petals; after which they have, in many cases, by the very form of the flower during its blow, the light and




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warmth reflected upon them from the concave side of the cup. What is called also the sleep of plants, is the leaves or petals disposing themselves in such a manner as to shelter the young stem, buds, or fruit. They turn up, or they fall down, according as this purpose renders either change of position requisite. In the growth of corn, whenever the plant begins to shoot, the two upper leaves of the stalk join together, embrace the ear, and protect it till the pulp has acquired a certain degree of consistency. In some water-plants, the flowering and fecundation are carried on within the stem, which afterwards opens to let loose the impregnated seed(Note: Philes. Transact. part. ii. 1796; p. 502.). The pea or papilionaceous tribe, enclose the parts of fructification within a beautiful folding of the internal blossom, sometimes called, from its shape, the boat or keel; itself also protected under a penthouse formed by the external petals. This structure is very artificial; and what adds to the value of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very general. It has also this further advantage (and it is an advantage strictly mechanical), that all the blossoms turn their backs to the wind, whenever the gale blows strong enough to endanger the delicate parts



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upon which the seed depends. I have observed this a hundred times in a field of peas in blossom. It is an aptitude which results from the figure of the flower, and, as we have said, is strictly mechanical; as much so, as the turning of a weather-board or tin cap upon the top of a chimney. Of the poppy, and of many similar species of flowers, the head while it is growing, hangs down, a rigid curvature in the upper part of the stem giving to it that position; and in that position it is 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 influence of the sun's rays. This always struck me as a curious property; and specifically, as well as originally, provided for in the constitution of the plant: for, if the stem be only 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 safety and maturation of the parts upon which the seed depends.


In trees, especially in those which are natives of colder climates, this point is taken up




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earlier. Many of these trees (observe in particular the ash and the horse-chesnut) produce the embryos of the leaves and flowers in one year, and bring them to perfection the following. There is a winter therefore to be gotten over. Now what we are to remark is, how nature has prepared for the trials and severities of that season. These tender embryos are, in the first place, wrapped up with a compactness, which no art can imitate: in which state, they compose what we call the bud. This is not all. The bud itself is enclosed in scales; which scales are formed from the remains of past leaves, and the rudiments of future ones. Neither is this the whole. In the coldest climates, a third preservative is added, by the bud having a coatof gum or rosin, which, being congealed, resists the strongest frosts. On the approach of warm weather, this gum is softened, and ceases to be a hindrance to the expansion of the leaves and flowers. All this care is part of that system of provisions which has for its object and consummation, the production and perfecting of the seeds.


The SEEDS themselves are packed up in a capsule, a vessel composed of coats, which, compared with the rest of the flower, are strong and tough. From this vessel projects




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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 pastil is shorter than the stamina; and the


pollen, shed from the antheræ into the cup of the flower, is caught, in its descent, by the head of the pistil, called the stigma. But how is this managed when the flowers hang down (as does the crown imperial for instance), and in which position, the farina, in its fall, would be carried from the stigma, and not towards it? The relative strength of the parts is now inverted. The pistil in these flowers is usually longer instead of shorter, than the stamina, that its protruding summit may receive the pollen as it drops to the ground. In some cases (as in the nigella), where the shafts of the pistils or stiles are disproportionably long, they bend down their extremities upon the antheræ, that the necessary approximation may be effected.


But (to pursue this great work in its progress), the impregnation, to which all this machinery relates, being completed, the other parts of the flower fade and drop off, whilst




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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 in a pulp or husk, by which the seed within is, or hath been, fed; or, more generally (as in grapes, oranges, and the nnmerous kinds of berries), plunged overhead in a glutinous syrup, contained within a skin or bladder: at other times (as in apples and pears) embedded in the heart of a firm fleshy substance; or (as in strawberries) pricked into the surface of a soft pulp.


These and many more varieties exist in what we call fruits (Note:


From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even without experience, to suppose, that part of this provision was destined for the utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision itself seems to go beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp of an orange, the meat of a plum, the fatness of the olive, appear to be more than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel. The event shows, that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the support and gratification of animal natures; and when we observe a provision to be more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for another purpose, it is not unfair to conclude that both purposes were contemplated together. It favours this view of the subject to remark, that fruits are not (which they might have been) ready altogether, but that they ripen in succession throughout a great part of the year; some in summer; some in autumn; that some require the slow maturation of the winter, and supply the spring; also that the coldest fruits grow in the hottest places. Cucumbers,  pine-apples,  melons,  are  the  natural  produce  of  warm  climates,  and contribute greatly, by their coolness, to the refreshment of the inhabitants of those countries.


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


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


). In pulse, and grain,




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and grasses; in trees, and shrubs, and flowers; the variety of the seed-vessels is incomputable. We have the seeds (as in the peatribe) regularly disposed in parchment 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


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(as in the senna) distended like a brown bladder: or we have the seed enveloped in wool (as in the cotton plant), lodged (as in pines) between the hard and compact scales of a cone, or barricadoed (as in the artichoke and thistle) with spikes and prickles; in mushrooms, placed under a penthouse; in fearns, within slits in the back part of the leaf; or (which is the most general organization of all) we find them covered by strong, close tunicles, and attached to the stem according to an order appropriated to each plant, as is seen in the several kinds of grains and of grasses.


In which enumeration, what we have first to notice is, unity of purpose under variety of expedients. Nothing can be more singlethan the design; more diversified than the means. Pellicles, shells, pulps, pods, husks, skin, scales armed with thorns, are all employed in prosecuting the same intention. Secondly; we may observe, that, in all these cases, the purpose is fulfilled within a just and limited degree. We can perceive, that if the seeds of plants were more strongly guarded than they are, their greater security would interfere with other uses. Many species of animals would suffer, and many perish, if they could not obtain access to them. The plant




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would overrun the soil; or the seed be wasted for want of room to sow itself. It is, sometimes, as necessary to destroy particular species of plants, as it is, at other times, to encourage their growth. Here, as in many cases, a balance is to be maintained between opposite uses. The provisions for the preservation of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly


against  the  inconstancy  of  the  elements,  or  the  sweeping  destruction  of  inclement seasons. The depredation of animals, and the injuries of accidental violence, are allowed for in the abundance of the increase. The result is, that, out of the many thousand different plants which cover the earth, not a single species, perhaps, has been lost since the creation.


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




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


But the constitution of seeds is still more admirable than either their preservation or their dispersion. In the body of the seed of every species of plant, or nearly of every one, provision is made for two grand purposes: first, for the safety of the germ; secondly, for the temporary support of the future plant. The sprout, as folded up in the seed, is delicate and brittle beyond any other substance. It cannot be touched without being broken. Yet, in beans, peas, grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on




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all sides, so shut up and protected, that, whilst the seed itself is rudely handled, tossed into sacks, shoveled into heaps, the sacred particle, the miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is wonderful also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help of their integuments, and perhaps of their oils, stand out against decay. A grain of mustard-seed has been known to lie in the earth for a hundred years; and, as soon as it had acquired a favourable situation, to shoot as vigorously as if just gathered from the plant. Then, as to the second point, the temporary support of the future plant, the matter stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels, and pippins, the germ composes a very small part of the seed. The rest consists of a nutritious substance, from which the sprout draws its aliment for some considerable time after it is put forth: viz. until the fibres, shot out from the other end of the seed, are


able to imbibe juices from the earth, in a sufficient quantity for its demand. It is owing to this constitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts make a considerable progress, without any earth at all. It is an    conomy 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




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the same manner, in both. In the egg, the residence of the living principle, the cicatrix, forms a very minute part of the contents. The white and the white only, is expended in the formation of the chicken. The yolk, very little altered or diminshed, 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 of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the animal, the structure has every character of contrivance belonging to it: in both it breaks the transition from prepared to unprepared aliment; in both, it is prospective and compensatory. In animals which suck, this intermediate nourishment is supplied by a different source.


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




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How can this be explained? Why not sprouts' from both ends? why not fibrous threads from both ends? To what is the difference to be referred, but to design; to the different uses which the parts are thereafter to serve; uses which discover themselves in the sequel of the process? The sprout, or plumule, struggles into the air; and becomes the plant, of which, from the first, it contained the rudiments: the fibres shoot into the earth; and, thereby, both fix the plant to the ground, and collect nourishment from the soil for its support. Now, what is not a little remarkable, the parts issuing from the seed take their respective directions, into whatever position the seed itself happens to be cast. If the seed be thrown into the wrongest possible position, that is, if the ends point in the ground, the reverse of what they ought to do, every thing, nevertheless, goes on right. The sprout, after being pushed down a little way, makes a bend, and turns upwards; the fibres, on the contrary, after shooting at first upwards, turn down. Of this extraordinary vegetable fact, an account has lately been attempted to be given. The plumule (it is said) is stimulated by the air into action, and elongates itself when it is thus most excited; the radicle is stimulated by moisture, and



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elongates itself when it is thus most excited. Whence one of these grows upward in quest of its adapted object, and the other downward(Note: Darwin's Phytologia, p. 144.). Were this account better verified by experiment than it is, it only shifts the contrivance. It does not disprove the contrivance; it only removes it a little further back. Who, to use our author's own language, adapted the objects? Who gave such a quality to these connate parts, as to be susceptible of different stimulation; as to be excited each only by its own element, and precisely by that, which the success of the vegetation requires? I say, which the success of the vegetation requires: for, the toil of the husbandman would have been in vain; his laborious and expensive preparation of the ground in vain; if the event must, after all, depend upon the position in which the scattered seed was sown. Not one seed out of a hundred would fall in a right direction.


Our second observation is upon a general property of climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In these plants, from each knot or joint, or, as botanists call it, axilla of the plant, issue, close to each other, two




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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 in robust plants, or in trees. We see not (says Ray) so much as one tree, or shrub, or herb, that hath a firm and strong stem, and that is able to mount up and stand alone without assistance, furnished with these tendrils. Make only so simple a comparison as that between a pea and a bean. Why does the pea put forth tendrils, the bean not; but because the stalk of the pea cannot support itself, the stalk of the bean can? We may add also, as a circumstance not to be overlooked, that in the peatribe, these clasps do not make their appearance




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till they are wanted; till the plant has grown to a height to stand in need of support.


This word support suggests to us a reflection upon a property of grasses, of corn, and canes. The hollow stems of these classes of plants are set, at certain intervals, with joints. These joints are not found in the trunks of trees, or in the solid stalks of plants. There may be other uses of these joints; but the fact is, and it appears to be, at least, one purpose


designed by them, that they corroboratethe stem; which, by its length and hollowness, would otherwise be too liable to break or bend.


Grasses are Nature's care. With these she clothes the earth; with these she sustains its inhabitants. 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




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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 attach themselves to the leaves of grasses; and, if at liberty in their pastures to range and choose, leave untouched the straws which support the flowers(Note: Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p.

28, ed. 2d.).


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


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





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as it has been observed in the river Rhone.--They have roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The flowers of the female plantfloat on the surface of the water, and are furnished with an elastic, spiral stalk, which extends or contracts as the water rises or falls; this rise or fall, from the torrents which flow into the river, often amounting to many feet in a few hours. The flowers of the male plant are produced under water; and, as soon as the fecundating farina is mature, they separate themselves from the plant; rise to the surface; and are wafted by the air, or borne by the currents, to the female flowers. Our attention in this narrative will be directed to two particulars: first, to the mechanism, the elastic, spiral stalk,which lengthens or contracts itself according as the water rises or falls; secondly, to


the provision which is made for bringing the male flower, which is produced under water, to the female flower which floats upon the surface.


  1. My second example I take from Withering's Arrangement, vol. ii. p. 209. ed. 3. The cuscuta europ a 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




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right to left, up other plants, from which, by means of vessels, it draws its nourishment. The little spiral body proceeding from the seed, is to be compared with the fibres which seeds send out in ordinary cases: and the comparison ought to regard both the form of the threads and the direction. They are straight: this is spiral. They shoot downwards; this points upwards. In the rule, and in the exception, we equally perceive design.


III. A better known parasitical plant is the ever-green shrub, called the misseltoe. What we have to remark in it, is a singular instance of compensation. No art hath yet made these plants take root in the earth. Here therefore might seem to be a mortal defect in their constitution. Let us examine how this defect is made up to them. The seeds are endued with an adhesive quality so tenacious, that, if they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost any tree, they will stick to it. And then what follows? Roots springing from these seeds, insinuate their fibres into the woody substance of the tree; and the event is, that a misseltoe plant is produced next winter(Note: Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203, ed. 2d.). Of no other plant do the roots refuse to shoot in the ground;




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


  1. Another instance of the compensatorysystem is in the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron (cholcicum 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 all 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-vessels, which in other plants is situated within the cup of the flower, or just beneath it, in this plant lies buried ten or twelve inches under ground within the bulbous root. The tube of the flower, which is seldom more than a few tenths of an inch long, in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles in all cases reach the seed-vessel; but it is in this, by an elongation unknown to any other plant. All these singularities contribute to one end. As this plant blossoms late in



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the year, and, probably, would not have time to ripen its seeds before the access of winter, which would destroy them; Providence has contrived its structure such, that this important office may be performed at a depth in the earth out of reach of the usual effects of frost(Note: Withering, ubi supra, p. 360.). That is to say, in the autumn nothing is done above ground but the business of impregnation; which is an affair between the antheræ and the stigmata, and is probably soon over. The maturation of the impregnated seed, which in other plants proceeds within a capsule, exposed together with the rest of the flower to the open air, is here carried on, and during the whole winter, within the heart, as we may say, of the earth, that is, out of the reach of the usual effects of frost. But then a new difficulty presents itself. Seeds, though perfected, are known not to vegetate at this depth in the earth. Our seeds, therefore, though so safely lodged, would, after all, be lost to the purpose for which all seeds are intended. Lest this should be the case, a second admirable provision is made to raise them above the surface when they are perfected, and to sow them at a proper distance: viz. the germ grows up in the spring, upon a fruit-stalk,




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


  1. I give the account of the dion muscipula, an extraordinary American plant, as some late authors have related it: but whether we be yet enough acquainted with the plant, to bring every part of this account to the test of repeated and familiar observation, I am unable to say. Its leaves are jointed and furnished 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 touched by the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf instantly spring up, the rows of prickles lock themselves fast together, and squeeze the unwary animal to death(Note: Smellie's Phil. of Nat. Hist. vol. i. p. 5.). Here, under a new model, we recognize the ancient plan of nature, viz. the relation of parts  and  provisions  to  one  another,  to  a  common  office,  and  to  the  utility  of  the organized body to which they belong. The attracting syrup, the rows of




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strong prickles, their position so as to interlock, the joints of the leaves; and, what is more than the rest, that singular irritability of their surfaces, by which they close at a touch; all bear a contributory part in producing an effect, connected either with the defence or with the nutrition of the plant.




WHEN 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 investigations are stopped long before we arrive at this point. But then it is for our comfort to find, that a knowledge of the constitution of the elements is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison has well observed, we know water sufficiently, when we know how to boil, how to freeze, how to evaporate, how to make it fresh, how to make it run or spout out, in what quantity and direction we please,




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without  knowing  what  water  is.  The  observation  of  this  excellent  writer  has  more propriety in it now, than it had at the time it was made: for the 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.


We can never think of the elements, without reflecting upon the number of distinct uses which are consolidated in the same substance. The air supplies the lungs, supports fire,

conveys sound, reflects light, diffuses smells, gives rain, wafts ships, bears up birds. '

:  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;  dilutes  their  food;  quenches  their  thirst,  floats  their  burthens.  Firewarms, dissolves, enlightens; is the great promoter of vegetation and life, if not necessary to the support of both.


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




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  1. AIR is essentially different from earth. There appears to be no necessity for an atmosphere's investing our globe; yet it does invest it; and we see how many, how various, and how important are the purposes which it answers to every order of animated, not to say of organized, beings, which are placed upon the terrestrial surface. I think that every one of these uses will be 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 directly from the sun, whenever I turned my back upon the luminary, I should find myself in darkness. If I had the power of seeing by reflected light, yet by means only of light reflected from solid masses, these masses would shine indeed,


and glisten, but it would be in the dark. The hemisphere, the sky, the world, could only be illuminated, as it is illuminated, by the light of the sun being from all sides, and in every direction, reflected to the eye, by particles, as numerous, as thickly scattered, and as widely diffused, as are those of the air.


Another general quality of the atmosphere is the power of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this quality to our use is seen in




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its action upon the sea. In the sea, water and salt are mixed together most intimately; yet the atmosphere raises the water, and leaves the salt. Pure and fresh as drops of rain descend, they are collected from brine. If evaporation be solution (which seems to be probable), then the air dissolves the water, and not the salt. Upon whatever it be founded, the distinction is critical; so much so, that when we attempt to imitate the 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 in the air, that we can effect the separation which we wish, by any art or means whatever.


By evaporation, water is carried up into the air; by the converse of evaporation, it falls down upon the earth. And how does it fall? Not by the clouds being all at once re- converted into water, and descending like a sheet; not in rushing down in columns from a spout; but in moderate drops, as from a colander. Our watering-pots are made to imitate showers of rain. Yet, à priori, I should have thought either of the two




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former methods more likely to have taken place than the last.


By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered unfit for the support of animal life. By the constant operation of these corrupting principles, the whole atmosphere, if there were no restoring causes, would come at length to be deprived of its necessary degree of purity. Some of these causes seem to have been discovered; and their efficacy ascertained by experiment. And so far as the discovery has proceeded, it opens to us a beautiful and a wonderful     conomy. Vegetationproves to be one of them. A sprig of mint, corked up with a small portion of foul air placed in the light, renders it again capable of supporting life or flame. Here therefore is a constant circulation of benefits maintained between the two  great  provinces  of  organized  nature.  The  plant  purifies,  what  the  animal  has poisoned; in return, the contaminated air is more than ordinarily nutritious to the plant. Agitation with waterturns out to be another of these restoratives. The foulest air, shaken in a bottle with water for a sufficient length of time, recovers a great degree of its purity. Here then again, allowing for the scale upon which nature



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works, we see the salutary effects of stormsand 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 salubrity 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 air that purity, which so many causes are constantly impairing.


  1. In water, what ought not a little to be admired, 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 insipidity, which is one of those negative qualities, renders it the best of all menstrua. Having no taste of its own, it becomes the sincere vehicle of every other. Had there been a taste in water, be it what it might, it would have infected every thing we ate or drank, with an importunate repetition of the same flavour.




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Another thing in this element, not less to be admired, is the constant round which it travels; and by which, without suffering either adulteration or waste, it is continually offering itself to the wants of 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 circulation of the same fluid; and not one drop probably more or less now than there was at the creation. A particle of water takes its departure from the surface of the sea, in order to fulfil certain important offices to the earth; and, having executed the service which was assigned to it, returns to the bosom which it left.


Some have thought, that we have too much water upon the globe, the sea occupying above three-quarters of its whole surface. But the expanse of ocean, immense as it is, may be no more than sufficient to fertilize the earth. Or, independently of this reason, I know not  why  the  sea  may  not  have  as  good  a  right  to  its  place  as  the  land.  It  may proportionably support as many inhabitants;




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minister to as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The land only affords a habitable surface;

the sea is habitable to a great depth.


III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The only idea probably which this term raised in the 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 operations, chymical or cu inary. Now these are only uses of an occasional kind, and give us a very imperfect notion of what fire does for us. The grand importance of this dissolving power, the great office indeed of fire in the    conomy of nature is keeping things in a state of solution, that is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were it not for the presence of heat, or of a certain degree of it, all fluids would be frozen. The ocean itself would be a quarry of ice; universal nature stiff and dead.


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


  1. Of Light (whether we regard it as of the same substance with fire, or as a different substance), it is altogether superfluous to expatiate




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upon the use. No man disputes it. The observations, therefore, which I shall offer, respect that little which we seem to know of its constitution.


Light travels from the sun at the rate of twelve millions of miles in a minute. Urged by such a velocity, with what force must its particles drive against (I will not say the eye, the tenderest of animal substances, but) every substance, animate or inanimate, which stands in its way! It might seem to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the hardest bodies.


How then is this effect, the consequence of such prodigious velocity, guarded against? By a proportionable minuteness of the particles of which light is composed. It is impossible for the human mind to imagine to itself any thing so small as a particle of light. But this extreme exility, though difficult to conceive, it is easy to prove. A drop of tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle, shall send forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere of a mile diameter; and to fill it so full of these rays, that an aperture not larger than the pupil of an eye, wherever it be placed within the hemisphere, shall be sure to receive some of them. What floods of light are continually poured from the sun, we cannot estimate; but the immensity of the sphere




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which is filled with its 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 surpassing our utmost stretch of comprehension; but proportioned. And it is this proportion alone, which converts a tremendous element into a welcome visitor.


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


With which may be joined another reflection,




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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 colourless, as a beam of light is, when received from the sun.





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


MY opinion of Astronomy has always been, that it is not the best medium through which to prove the agency of an intelligent Creator; but that, this being proved, it 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




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of the heavenly bodies. The very simplicity of their appearance is against them. We see nothing, but bright points, luminous circles, or the phases of spheres reflecting the light which   falls   upon   them.   Now   we   deduce   design   from   relation,   aptitude,   and correspondence of parts. Some degree therefore of complexity is necessary to render a subject fit for this species of argument. But the heavenly bodies do not, except perhaps in the instance of Saturn's ring, present themselves to our observation as compounded of parts at all. This, which may be a perfection in them, is a disadvantage to us, as inquirers after their nature. They do not come within our mechanics.


And what we say of their forms, is true of their motions. Their motions are carried on without any sensible intermediate apparatus; whereby we are cut off from one principal ground of argumentation and analogy. We have nothing wherewith to compare them; no invention, no discovery, no operation or resource of art, which, in this respect, resembles them. Even those things which are made to imitate and represent them, such as orreries, planetaria, c   lestial globes, &c. bear no affinity to them, in the cause and principle by which their motions are actuated. I




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can assign for this difference a reason of utility, viz. a reason why, though the action of terrestrial bodies upon each other be, in almost all cases, through the intervention of solid or  fluid  substances,  yet  central  attraction  does  not  operate  in  this  manner.  It  was necessary  that  the  intervals  between  the  planetary  orbs  should  be  devoid  of  any inertmatter either fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance would, by its resistance, destroy those very motions, which attraction is employed to preserve. This may be a final cause of the difference; but still the difference destroys the analogy.


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


After all; the real subject of admiration is, that we understand so much of astronomy as we do. That an animal confined to the surface of one of the planets; bearing a less proportion to it than the smallest microscopic insect does to the plant it lives upon; that this little, busy, inquisitive creature, by the use of senses which were given to it for its domestic necessities, and by means of the assistance




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


Our knowledge therefore of astronomy is




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admirable,  though  imperfect:  and,  amidst  the  confessed  desiderata  and  desideranda, which impede our investigation of the wisdom of the Deity, in these the grandest of his works, there are to be found, in the phænomena, ascertained circumstances and laws, sufficient to indicate an intellectual agency in three of its principal operations, viz. in choosing, in determining, in regulating; in choosing, out of a boundless variety of suppositions which were equally possible, that which is beneficial; in determining, what, left to itself, had a thousand chances against conveniency, for one in its favour; in regulatingsubjects, as to quantity and degree, which, by their nature, were unlimited with respect to either. It will be our business to offer, under each of these heads, a few instances, such as best admit of a popular explication.


  1. 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




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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 intense 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 each other, these two kinds of bodies are disposed; we may judge of the improbability of the present arrangement taking place by chance.


If, by way of accounting for the state in which we find the solar system, it be alleged (and this is one amongst the guesses of those who reject an intelligent Creator), that the planets themselves  are  only  cooled  or  cooling  masses,  and  were  once,  like  the  sun,  many thousand times hotter than red-hot iron; then it follows, that the sun also himself must be in his progress towards growing cold; which puts an end to the possibility of his having existed, as he is, from eternity. This consequence arises out of the hypothesis with still more certainty, if we make a part of it,




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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 percussion 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 planets being luminous: but I think it manifest, without 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 illuminate and warm the rest of the system; secondly, that its light and heat would be imparted to the other planets much



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more irregularly than light and heat are now received from the sun.


(*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears to be exercised, and in which, amongst the possibilities out of which the choice was to be made, the number of those which were wrong, bore an infinite proportion to the number of those which were right, is in what geometricians call the axis of rotation. This matter I will endeavour to explain. The earth, it is well known, is not an exact globe, but an oblate spheroïr, something like an orange. Now the axes of rotation, or the diameters upon which such a body may be made to turn round, are as many as can be drawn through its centre to opposite points upon its whole surface: but of these axes none are permanent, except either its shortest diameter, i. e. that which passes through the heart of the orange from the place where the stalk is inserted into it, and which is but one; or its longest diameters, at right angles with the former, which must all terminate in the single circumference which goes round the thickest part of the orange. The shortest diameter is that upon which in fact the earth turns; and it is, as the reader sees, what it ought to be, a permanent axis; whereas, had blind chance, had a casual impulse, had a




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stroke or push at random, set the earth aspinning, the odds were infinite, but that they had sent it round upon a wrong axis. And what would have been the consequence? The difference between a permanent axis and another axis is this: When a spheroïd in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a permanent axis, it keeps there; it remains steady and faithful to its position; its poles preserve their direction with respect to the plane and to the centre of its orbit: but, whilst it turns upon an axis which is not permanent (and the number of those we have been infinitely exceeds the number of the other), it is always liable to shift and vacillate from one axis to another, with a corresponding change in the inclination of its poles. Therefore, if a planet once set off revolving upon any other than its shortest, or one of its longest axes, the poles on its 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, instead of rejoicing in our temperate




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zone, and annually preparing for the moderate vicissitude, or rather the agreeable succession of seasons, which we experience and expect, we might come to be locked up in the ice and darkness of the arctic circle, with bodies neither inured to its rigours, nor provided with shelter or defence against them. Nor would it be much better, if the


trepidation of our pole, taking an opposite course, should place us under the heats of a vertical sun. But if it would fare so ill with the human inhabitant, who can live under greater  varieties  of  latitude  than  any  other  animal;  still  more  noxious  would  this translation of climate have proved to life in the rest of the creation; and, most perhaps of all, in plants. The habitable earth, and its beautiful variety, might have been destroyed, by a simple mischance in the axis of rotation.


(*) III. All this, however, proceeds upon a supposition of the earth having been formed at first  an  oblate  spheroïd.  There  is  another  supposition;  and  perhaps  our  limited information will not enable us to decide between them. The second supposition is, that the earth, being a mixed mass somewhat fluid, took, as it might do, its present form, by the joint action of the mutual gravitation of its parts and its rotatory motion. This, as we




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have said, is a point in the history of the earth, which our observations are not sufficient to  determine.  For  a  very  small  depth  below  the  surface  (but  extremely  small,  less, perhaps, than an eight-thousandth part, compared with the depth of the centre), we find vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this fluidity must have gone down many hundred times further than we can penetrate, to enable the earth to take its present oblate form: and whether any traces of this kind exist to that depth, we are ignorant. Calculations were made a few years ago, of the mean density of the earth, by comparing the force of its attraction with the force of attraction of a rock of granite, the bulk of which could be ascertained: and the upshot of the calculation was, that the earth upon an average, through its whole sphere, has twice the density of granite, or about five times that of water. Therefore it cannot be a hollow shell, as some have formerly supposed; nor can its internal parts be occupied by central fire, or by water. The solid parts must greatly exceed the fluid parts: and the probability is, that it is a solid mass throughout, composed of substances more ponderous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, we may conceive the present face of the earth to have originated from the




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revolution of a sphere, covered by a surface of a compound mixture; the fluid and solid parts separating, as the surface becomes quiescent. Here then comes in the moderatinghand of the Creator. If the water had exceeded its present proportion, even but by a trifling quantity compared with the whole globe, all the land would have been covered: had there been much less than there is, there would not have been enough to fertilize the continent. Had the exsiccation been progressive, such as we may suppose to have been produced by an evaporating heat, how came it to stop at the point at which we see it? Why did it not stop sooner: why at all? The mandate of the Deity will account for this; nothing else will.


  1. OF CENTRIPETAL FORCES. By virtue of the simplest law that can be imagined, viz. that a body continues in the state in which it is, whether of motion or rest; and, if in motion, goes on in the line in which it was proceeding, and with the same velocity, unless there be some cause for change: by virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to pass (what may appear to be a strange consequence), that cases arise, in which attraction, incessantly drawing a body towards a centre, never brings, nor ever will bring, the body to




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that centre, but keep it in eternal circulation 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 earth, instead of falling down upon it. This is the principle which sustains the heavenly motions. The Deity, having appointed this law to matter (than which, as we have said before, no law could be more simple), has turned it to a wonderful account in constructing planetary systems.


The actuating cause in these systems, is an attraction which varies reciprocally as the square of the distance; that is, at double the distance, has a quarter of the force; at half the distance, four times the strength; and so on. Now, concerning this law of variation, we have three things to observe: First; that attraction, for any thing we know about it, was just as capable of one law of variation, as of another: Secondly; that, out of an infinite number of possible laws, those which were admissible for the purpose of supporting the heavenly motions, lay within certain narrow limits: Thirdly; that of the admissible laws, or those which come within the limits prescribed, the law that actually prevails is the most beneficial. So far as these propositions




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can be made out, we may be said, I think, to prove choice and regulation: choice, out of boundless variety; and regulation, of that which, by its own nature, was, in respect of the property regulated, indifferent and indefinite.


  1. First then, attraction, for any thing we know about it, was originally indifferent to all laws of variation depending upon change of distance, i. e. just as susceptible of one law as of another. It might have been the same at all distances; it might have increased as the distance increased: or it might have diminished with the increase of the distance, yet in ten thousand different proportions from the present; it might have followed no stated law at all. If attraction be what Cotes, with many other Newtonians, thought it to be, a primordial property of matter, not dependent upon, or traceable to, any other material cause; then, by the very nature and definition of a primordial property, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the agency of something immaterial, then also, for any thing we know of it, it was indifferent to all laws. If the revolution of bodies round a centre depend upon vortices, neither are these limited to one law more than another.


There is, I know, an account given of attraction,




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


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an æthereal fluid to act, but not to resist; powerful enough to carry down bodies with great force towards a centre, yet, inconsistently with the nature of inert matter, powerless and  perfectly  yielding  with  respect  to  the  motions  which  result  from  the  projectile impulse. By calculations drawn from ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can prove that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance has had no sensible effect upon the moon's motion for two thousand five hundred years. The truth is, that, except this one circumstance of the variation of the attracting force at different distances agreeing with the variation of the spissitude, there is no reason whatever to support the hypothesis of an emanation; and, as it seems to me, almost insuperable reasons against it.


  1. (*) Our second proposition is, that, whilst the possible laws of variation were infinite, the admissible laws, or the laws compatible with the preservation of the system, lie within narrow limits. If  the  attracting  force  had  varied  according  to  any  direct  law  of the distance, let it have been what it would, great destruction and confusion would have taken place. The direct simple proportion of the distance would, it is true, have produced an ellipse: but the perturbing




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forces would have acted with so much advantage, as to be continually changing the dimensions of the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent with our terrestrial creation. For instance; if the planet Saturn, so large and so remote, had attracted the earth, both in


proportion to the quantity of matter contained in it, which it does; and also in any proportion to its distance, i. e. if it had pulled the harder for being the further off (instead of the reverse of it), it would have dragged out of its course the globe which we inhabit, and have perplexed its motions, to a degree incompatible with our security, our enjoyments, and probably our existence. Of the inverselaws, 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 less than that, the consequence would have been, that the planets, if they once began to approach the sun, would have fallen into his body; if they once, though by ever so little, increased their distance from the centre, would for ever have receded from it. The laws therefore of attraction, by which a system of revolving bodies could be upholden in their motions,


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lie within narrow limits, compared with the possible laws. I much under-rate the restriction, when I say that, in a scale of a mile, they are confined to an inch. All direct ratios of the distance are excluded, on account of danger from perturbing forces: all reciprocal ratios, except what lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the demonstrable consequence, that every the least change of distance, would, under the operation of such laws, have been fatal to the repose and order of the system. We do not know, that is, we seldom reflect, how interested we are in this matter. Small irregularities may be endured; but, changes within these limits being allowed for, the permanency of our ellipse is a question of life and death to our whole sensitive world.


III. (*) That the subsisting law of attraction falls within the limits which utility requires, when these limits bear so small a proportion to the range of possibilities upon which chance might equally have cast it, is not, with any appearance of reason, to be accounted for, by any other cause than a regulation proceeding from a designing mind. But our next proposition carries the matter somewhat further. We say, in the third place, that, out of the different laws which




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


(*) 1. Whilst this law prevails between each particle of matter, the united attraction of a sphere, composed of that matter, observes the same law. This property of the law is necessary, to render it applicable to a system composed of spheres, but it is a property which belongs to no other law of attraction that is admissible. The law of variation of the united attraction is in no other case the same as the law of attraction of each particle, one


case excepted, and that is of the attraction varying directly as the distance; the inconveniency of which law in other respects, we have already noticed.


We may follow this regulation somewhat further, and still more strikingly perceive that it proceeded from a designing mind. A law both admissible and convenient was requisite. In what way is the law of the attracting globes obtained? Astronomical observations and terrestrial experiments show that the attraction of the globes of the system




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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. varying inversely as the square of the distance: for, if the action of the particles be according  to  any  other  law  whatever,  the  admissible  and  convenient  law,  which  is adopted, could not be obtained. Here then are clearly shown regulation and design. A law both admissible and convenient was to be obtained: the mode chosen for obtaining that law was by making eachparticle of matter act. After this choice was made, then further attention was to be given to each particle of matter, and one, and one only particular law of action to be assigned to it. No other law would have answered the purpose intended.


(*) 2. All systems must be liable to perturbations. And therefore, to guard against these perturbations, or rather to guard against their running to destructive lengths, is perhaps the strongest evidence of care and foresight that can be given. Now, we are




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



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


If it be said, that the planets might have been sent round the Sun in exact circles, in which case, no change of distance from the centre taking place, the law of variation of the attracting power, would have never come in question, one law would have served as well as another; an answer to the scheme may be drawn from the consideration of these same perturbing forces. The system retaining in other respects its present constitution, though the planets had been at first sent round in exact circular orbits, they could not have kept them: and if the law of attraction had not been what it is, or, at least, if the prevailing law had transgressed the limits above assigned, every evagation would have been fatal: the planet once drawn, as drawn it necessarily must have been, out of its




Page 400 course, would have wandered in endless error.

(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the centripetal force, viz. a choice guided by views of utility, and a choice of one law out of thousands which might equally have taken place, we see no less 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 eccentricity, as, in the course of every revolution, to be brought very near to the Sun, and carried away to immense distances from him. The comets actually move in orbits of this sort: and, had the planets done so, instead of going round in orbits nearly circular, the change  from  one  extremity  of  temperature  to  another  must,  in  ours  at  least,  have destroyed every animal and plant upon its surface. Now, the distance from the centre at which a planet sets off, and the absolute force of attraction at that distance, being fixed, the figure of his orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to, or further off from a circle, viz.a rounder or a longer oval, depends upon two things, the velocity with which, and the direction




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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 direction also near to this direction, to produce orbits, such as the


planetary orbits are, nearly circular; that is, ellipses with small eccentricities. The velocity and the direction must both be right. If the velocity be wrong, no direction will cure the error; if the direction be in any considerable degree oblique, no velocity will produce the orbit required. Take for example the attraction of gravity at the surface of the earth. The force of that attraction being what it is, out of all the degrees of velocity, swift and slow, with which a ball might be shot off, none would answer the purpose of which we are speaking, but what was nearly that of five miles in a second. If it were less than that, the body would not get round at all, but would come to the ground: if it were in any considerable degree more than that, the body would take one of those eccentric courses, those long ellipses, of which we have noticed the inconveniency. If the velocity reached the rate of seven miles in a second,




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or went beyond that, the ball would fly off from the earth, and never be heard of more. In like manner with respect to the direction, out of the innumerable angles in which the ball might be sent off (I mean angles formed with a line drawn to the centre), none would serve but what was nearly a right one; out of the various directions in which the cannon might be pointed, upwards and downwards, every one would fail, but what was exactly or nearly horizontal. The same thing holds true of the planets: of our own amongst the rest. We are entitled therefore to ask, and to urge the question, Why did the projectile velocity and projectile direction of the earth happen to be nearly those which would retain it in a circular form? Why not one of the infinite number of velocities, one of the infinite number of directions, which would have made it approach much nearer to, or recede much further from, the sun?


The planets going round, all in the same direction, and all nearly in the same plane, afforded to Buffon a ground for asserting, that they had all been shivered from the sun by the same stroke of a comet, and by that stroke projected into their present orbits. Now, beside  that  this  is  to  attribute  to  chance  the  fortunate  concurrence  of  velocity  and direction




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which we have been here noticing, the hypothesis, as I apprehend, is inconsistent with the physical laws by which the heavenly motions are governed. If the planets were struck off from the surface of the sun, they would return to the surface of the sun again. Nor will this difficulty be got rid of, by supposing that the same violent blow which shattered the sun's surface, and separated large fragments from it, pushed the sun himself out of his place: for, the consequence of this would be, that the sun and system of shattered 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 hypothesis is also contradicted by the vast difference which subsists between the diameters of the planetary orbits. The distance of Saturn from the sun (to say


nothing of the Georgium Sidus) is nearly five-and-twenty times that of Mercury; a disparity, which it seems impossible to reconcile with Buffon's scheme. Bodies starting from the same place, with whatever difference of direction or velocity they set off, could not have been found at these different distances from the centre, still retaining their nearly circular orbits. They


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must have been carried to their proper distances, before they were projected(Note: If we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in the centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance of this power of gravity, could separate the vast mass into such parts as the sun and planets; and, after carrying them to their different distances, project them in their several directions, preserving still the quality of action and re-action, or the state of the centre of gravity of the system. Such an exquisite structure of things could only arise from the contrivance and powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and most potent agent. The same powers, therefore, which, at present, govern the material universe, and conduct its various motions, are very different from those, which were necessary, to have produced it from nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form in which it now proceeds.--Maclaurin's Account of Newton's Philos. p. 407. ed. 3.).


To conclude: In astronomy, the great thing is to raise the imagination to the subject, and that oftentimes in opposition to the impression made upon the senses. An illusion, for example, must be gotten over, arising from the distance at which we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent slownessof their motions. The moon shall take some hours in getting half a yard from a star which it touched. A motion so deliberate, we may think easily guided. But what is the fact? The moon, in fact, is, all this while, driving through the heavens, at the rate of considerably more than two thousand miles in an hour; which is more than double of that,




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with which a ball is shot off from the mouth of a cannon. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as much under government, as if the planet proceeded ever so slowly, or were conducted in its course inch by inch. It is also difficult to bring the imagination to conceive (what yet, to judge tolerably of the matter, it is necessary to conceive) how loose, if we may so express it, the heavenly bodies are. Enormous globes, held by nothing, confined by nothing, are turned into free and boundless space, each to seek its course by the virtue of an  invisible  principle;  but  a  principle,  one,  common,  and  the  same  in  all;  and ascertainable. To preserve such bodies from being lost, from running together in heaps, from hindering and distracting one another's motions, in a degree inconsistent with any continuing order; h. e. to cause them to form planetary systems, systems that, when formed, can be upheld, and, most especially, systems accommodated to the organized and sensitive natures, which the planets sustain, as we know to be the case, where alone we can know what the case is, upon our earth: all this requires an intelligent interposition,


because it can be demonstrated concerning it, that it requires an adjustment of force, distance, direction, and velocity, out of the


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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 nearer to us, but in power, and in the extent of space through which that power is exerted, stupendous.


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




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nature; a will which restrains and circumscribes the operations of the most extensive.(Note: It must here however be stated, that many astronomers deny that any of the heavenly bodies are absolutely stationary. Some of the brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small motions; and of the rest the distance is too great and the intervals of our observation too short, to enable us to pronounce with certainty that they may not have the same. The motions in the fixed stars which have been observed, are considered either as proper to each of them, or as compounded of the motion of our system, and of motions proper  to  each  star.  By  a  comparison  of  these  motions,  a  motion  in  our  system  is supposed to be discovered. By continuing this analogy to other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose that attraction is unlimited, and that the whole material universe is revolving round some fixed point within its containing sphere of space.).


Natural Theology by William Paley Part Five.


Natural Theology by William Paley Part Seven.