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 BROUGHAM'S WORKS.
 
 W R K S 
 
 OF 
 
 HENRY LORD BROUGHAM 
 
 VOL. VI. 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY, 
 
 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT, OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES, 
 
 AND FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 EDINBUEGH 
 ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 
 
 1872 
 
 5615 1
 
 • ••
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Dedication, and Preface, 1 
 
 Introduction — Arrangement of Subjects and Explana- 
 tion of Terms, , 6 
 
 Analysis of the Work, 10 
 
 PART I. 
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE AND ITS EVIDENCES. 
 
 Section I. — Introductory View of the Method of Investi- 
 gation pursued in the Physical and Psychological 
 Sciences, . 13 
 
 Section II. — Comparison of the Physical Branch of 
 
 Natural Theology with Physics, .... 21 
 
 Section III. — Comparison of the Psychological Branch 
 
 of Natural Theology with Psychology, ... 37 
 
 Section IV. — Of the Argument a priori, ... 65 
 
 Section V. — Moral or Ethical Branch of Natural Theo- 
 logy, (]5 
 
 Section VI.— Lord Bacon's Doctrine of Einal Causes, . 89 
 Section Vn. — Of Scientific Arrangement, and the 
 
 Methods of Analysis and S^Tithesis, . . . .98 
 
 PART II, 
 OF TUE advantages of the STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Section I.— Of the Pleasures of Science, . . .112 
 Section II. — Of the Pleasure and Improvement peculiar 
 
 to Natural Theolog}', . . . . . .120 
 
 Section III. — On the Connexion between Natural and 
 
 Revealed Religion, Il7
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Note I. — Of the Classification of tlie Sciences, . . 137 
 
 II. — Of the Psychological Ai-gument from Final Causes, 139 
 
 III.— Of the Doctrine of Cause and Eifect, . . 142 
 
 IV. — Of the ' Systeme de la Nature,' and the Hypo- 
 thesis of Materialism, .... 144 
 
 v.— Of Mr. Hume's Sceptical Writings, and the 
 
 Argument respecting Providence, . . 152 
 
 VI. — Of the Ancient Doctrines respecting Mind, . 159 
 VII. — Of the Ancient Doctrines respecting the Deity 
 
 and Matter, 160 
 
 Vin. — Of the Ancient Doctrine of the Immortality of 
 
 the Soul, 163 
 
 IX. — Of Bishop Warburton's Theory concerning the 
 
 Ancient Doctrine of a Future State, . .167 
 X. — Of Lord Bacon's Character, .... 174 
 
 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 Book or Dialogue I. — Instinct : Introduction, Facts, 177 
 
 „ ,, II. — Instinct, Theory, . . . 211 
 
 „ „ III. — Animax Intelligence, Facts, 248 
 
 „ ,, IV. — Animal Intelligence, Theory, 283 
 
 Note to the Dialogues, 307 
 
 Appendix — 
 
 I. — On the Glow-Worm, 309 
 
 II. — Observations, Demonstrations, and Ex- 
 periments UPON THE Structure of the 
 Cells of Bees, 312 
 
 ANALYTICAL VIEW OF THE RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL 
 
 OSTEOLOGY, AND THEIR APPLICATION TO 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Fossil Osteology — Cuvier, 367 
 
 Labours of Cuvier's Successors, .... 424 
 Notes on the Fossil Osteology, .... 448 
 
 General Note Respecting the Evidences op Design, 449 
 Index, 451
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN CHAELES VISCOUNT ALTHOEPR* 
 
 THE compositiou of this discourse was undertaken 
 in consequence of an observation which I had 
 often made, that scientific men are apt to regard the 
 study of Natural Eeligion as little connected with 
 philosophical pursuits. Many of the persons to whom 
 I alludewere men of religious habits of thinking; others 
 were free from any disposition toward scepticism, 
 rather because they had not much discussed the sub- 
 ject, than because they had formed fixed opinions upon 
 it after inquiiy; but the bulk of them relied little upon 
 Natural Theology, which they seemed to regard as a 
 speciilation built rather on fancy than on argument ; 
 or, at any rate, as a kind of knowledge quite different 
 from either physical or moral science. It therefore 
 appeared to me desirable to define, more precisely than 
 had yet been done, the place and the claims of Natural 
 Theology among the various branches of human know- 
 ledge. 
 
 About the same time our Society ,-f- as you may 
 recollect, was strongly urged to publish an edition of 
 Dr. Paley's popular work, with copious and scientific 
 illustrations. We both favoured this plan ; but some of 
 our colleagues justly apprehended that the adoption 
 of it might open the door to the introduction of reli- 
 
 * The late Earl Spencer, t For the Difiusion of Useful Knowledge. 
 VOL. VI. ^
 
 2 DEDICATION. 
 
 gious controversy arriong us, against our fundamental 
 principles ; and the scheme was abandoned. I regarded 
 it, however, as expedient to carry this plan into exe- 
 cution by individual exertion; and our worthy and 
 accomplishad colleague, Sir Charles Bell — whose ad- 
 mirable treatise on Animal Mechanics pointed him out 
 as the fellow-labourer I should most desire — fortun- 
 ately agreed to share the work of the illustrations. 
 In these we have made a very considerable progress ; 
 and I now inscribe this publication, but particularly 
 the Preliminary Discourse, to you. It was, with the 
 exception of the Third Section of Part I., and the 
 greater portion of the notes, written at the end of 
 1830, in 1831, and the latter part of 1833, and a 
 portion was added in the autumn of 1834. In those 
 days I held the Great Seal of this kingdom; and it 
 was impossible to finish the work while many cares of 
 another kind pressed upon me. But the first leisure 
 that could be obtained was devoted to this object, and 
 to a careful revision of what had been written in a 
 season less auspicious for such speculations. 
 
 I inscribe the fruits of those studies to you, not 
 merely as a token of ancient friendship — for that you 
 do not require; — nor because I always have found 
 you, whether in possession or in resistance of power, a 
 fellow-labourer to maintain our common principles, 
 alike firm, faithful, disinterested — for your known 
 public character wants no testimony from me; nor yet 
 because a work on such a subject needs the patronage 
 of a oreat name — for it would be affectation in me 
 to pretend any such motive ; but because you have 
 devoted much of your time to such inquiries — are 
 beyond mostmen sensible of their importance' — concur
 
 DEDICATION. 3 
 
 generally in the opinions which I profess to maintain — 
 and had even formed the design of giving to the world 
 your thouglits upon the subject, as I hope and trust 
 you now will be moved to do all the more for the pre- 
 sent address. In this view, your authority will prove 
 of great value to the cause of truth, however super- 
 fluous the patronage of even your name might be to 
 recommend the most important of all studies. 
 
 Had our lamented friend, Eomilly, lived, you are 
 aware that not even these considerations would have 
 made me address any one but him, with whom I had 
 oftentimes speculated upon this ground. Both of us 
 have been visited with the most severe afflictions, of a 
 far nearer and more lasting kind than even his re- 
 moval, and we are now left with few things to care for; 
 yet, ever since the time I followed him to the grave, I 
 question if either of us has read, without meditating 
 upon the irreparable loss weandallmenthensustained, 
 the words of the ancient philosopher best imbued with 
 religious opinions — " Proficiscar enim non ad eos solum 
 viros,de quibus ante dixi sed etiam ad Catonem meuni, 
 quo nemo vir melior natus est, nemo pietate pras- 
 stantior; cujus a me corpus crematum est animus vero 
 non me deserens, sed respectans,in ea profecto locadis- 
 cessit, quo mihi ipsi cernebat esse veniendum; quem 
 ego meum casumfortiter ferrevisus sum, non quo aequo 
 animo ferrem; sed me ipse consolabar, existimans, non 
 longinquum inter nos digressum et discessum fore."* 
 
 * "For I shall go not only to meet those of whom I have been speaking, 
 but also to my Cato, tliau whom a better man never was born, nor one of 
 more eminent piety, whose remains I attended to the grave; while his 
 soul, not quitting', but looking down upon me, departed to those regions 
 whither he saw I sliould follow— a loss which 1 seemed to bear with 
 fortitude, not because I could sustain it with an equal mind, but because 1 
 consoled myself with the reflection that the interval between our separa- 
 tion and our meeting could not be long." — Cicero De Senectaie. 
 
 H. B.
 
 PKEFATOEY NOTE TO THE DIALOGUES. 
 
 The form of dialogue appears to me eminently suited 
 to the thorough sifting of a subject confessedly ex«- 
 tremely difficult, and on which there as yet can hardly 
 be said to exist the means of laying down satisfactory, 
 clear, and unquestionable doctrines. The whole argu* 
 ments on all its parts are thus subjected to scrutiny; 
 all possible objections are brought under consideration; 
 and the ground is cleared for future discovery, even if 
 no results shall for the present be obtained sufficiently 
 free from doubt to rest upon. I do not certainly con- 
 ceive that in the present case no progress has been 
 made towards such results ; but the doctrine is still 
 encumbered with much difficulty; and there exists no 
 work, to my knowledge, in which the subject has been 
 fully investigated. In the writings of ancient philoso- 
 phers this form of inquiry was very generally adopted, 
 but it must be admitted, that in almost every instance, 
 the form of dialogue alone was observed. An excuse 
 was thus given for making the discourse more desultory 
 and less elaborate than a complete and systematic 
 dissertation : but the prolocutors were very far from 
 dividing the argumentation among them. One alone, 
 as Socrates in Plato's Dialogues, performed nearly 
 the whole ; and the others were merely asseaters. In
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 5 
 
 the following Dialogues, the conjflict of argument on 
 either side is real throughout ; so that the subject is 
 fully sifted, the argument placed in all the hghts in 
 v^hich it was found possible to view it. As for the 
 fictitious natm'e of such dialogues, Cicero has long ago 
 observed, when writing to one of his prolocutors, — 
 " Puto fore, ut, cum legeris, mirere nos id locutos esse 
 inter nos, quod nunquam locuti sumus. Sed nosti 
 morem dialogorum."* Nevertheless, a good deal of 
 discussion, both by letter and in conversation, had 
 taken place between the persons of the present drama. 
 
 • Ep. ad Fam., lib. ix., 8.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ARRANGEMENT OF SUBJECTS AND EXPLANATION OF TERMS. 
 
 The words Theology and Religion are often used as 
 synonymous. Thus Natural Theology and Natural 
 Religion are by many confounded together. But 
 the more accurate use of the words is that which 
 makes Theology the science, and Religion its subject ; 
 and in this manner are they distinguished when we 
 speak of a " professor of theology," and a " sense of 
 rehgion." 
 
 There is, however, as regards Natural Theology, a 
 more limited use of the word, which confines it to the 
 knowledge and attributes of the Deity, and regards 
 the speculation concerning his will, and our hopes 
 from and duties towards him, as another branch of the 
 science, termed Natural Religion, in contradistinction 
 to the former. Dr. Paley hardly touches on this latter 
 branch in his book, there being only about one-sixtieth 
 part devoted to it, and that incidentally in treating of 
 the attributes. Indeed, though in the dedication he 
 uses the word Religion as synonymous with Theology, 
 the title and the arrangement of his discourse show 
 that he generally employed the term Natural Theo- 
 logy in its restricted sense. Bishop Butler, on the 
 other hand, seems to have used Natural Religion in a 
 sense equally restricted, but certainly httle warranted 
 by custom ; for that portion of his work which treats 
 of Natural Religion is confined to a future state and 
 the moral government of God, as if he either held
 
 INTRODUCTION. / 
 
 Natural Religion and Natural Theology to be two 
 branches of one subject, or Natural Eeligion to be 
 a branch of Natural Theology. The older winters, 
 Clarke, Bentley, Derham, seem to have sometimes 
 used the words indifferently, but never to have re- 
 garded Natural Rehgion in the restricted acceptation. 
 The ancients generally used Religion in a qualified 
 sense, either as connected with an obhgation, or as 
 synonymous with superstition. 
 
 This Discourse is not a treatise of Natural Theology : 
 it has not for its design an exposition of the doctrines 
 whereof Natural Theology consists. But its object is, 
 first, to explain the nature of the evidence upon which 
 it rests — to show that it is a science, the truths of which 
 are discovered by induction, like the truths of Natural 
 and Moral Philosophy — that it is a branch of science 
 partaking of the nature of each of those great divisions 
 of human knowledge, and not merely closely alhed to 
 them both. Secondly, the object of the Discourse is 
 to explain the advantages attending this study. The 
 work, therefore, is a logical one. 
 
 We have commented upon the use of the terms 
 Theology and Religion. As it is highly desirable to 
 keep scientific language precise, and always to use the 
 same terms in the same sense, we shall now further 
 observe upon the word " moral " in relation to science 
 or faculties. It is sometimes used to denote the whole 
 of our mental faculties, and in opposition to natural 
 and physical, as when we speak of " moral science," 
 " moral trutJis," " moral philosophy." But it is also 
 used in contradistinction to "intellectual" or "men- 
 tal," and in connection with or in reference to obliga- 
 tion ; and then it relates to rights and duties, and is 
 synonymous with ethical. It seems advisable to use it 
 always in this sense, and to employ the words spiritual 
 and mental in opposition to natural and material; 
 and psychological, as applied to the science of mind, 
 in opposition to physical. Again, a distinction is
 
 8 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 sometimes made between the intellectual and moral 
 powers or faculties — the former being those of the 
 understanding, the latter those of the will, or, as they 
 are often called, the " active powers" — that is, the 
 passions and feelings. It seems better to use the word 
 active for this purpose as opposed to intellectual. 
 Thus we shall first have these general terms, s])iritual 
 or mental, as applied to the immaterial part of the 
 creation, and psychological, as applied to the science 
 which treats of it. We shall next have a subdivision 
 of the mental faculties into intellectual and active; 
 both form the subjects of psychological science. Moral 
 science, in its restricted sense, and properly so called, 
 will then denote that branch which treats of duties, 
 and of what is implied in those duties, their correlative 
 rights : it will, in short, be ethical science. 
 
 Thus the science of mind — say Metaphysical science 
 — may be said to consist of two great branches, the one 
 of which treats of existences, the other of duties. The 
 one accordingly has been termed with great accuracy, 
 Ontology, speaking of that which is; the other. Deon- 
 tology, speaking of that which ought to be. The former, 
 however, comprehends properly all physical as well as 
 mental science. The division which appears upon the 
 whole most convenient is this : That 'metaphysical 
 science, as contradistinguished from physical, is either 
 psychological, wliicli treats of the faculties both intel- 
 lectual and active, but treats of existences only ; or 
 moral, which treats of rights and duties, and is dis- 
 tinguishable from psychological, though plainly con- 
 nected with it nearly as corollaries are with the pro- 
 positions from whence they flow. Then physical truths, 
 in one respect, come under the same head with the 
 first branch of metaphysical truths. Physical as well 
 as psychological science treats of existences, while moral 
 science alone treats of duties. 
 
 According to a like arrangement, Natural Theology 
 consists of two great branches, one resembling Onto-
 
 IXTRODUCTION. V 
 
 hgy, the other analogous to Deontology, The former 
 comprehends the discovery of the existence and attri- 
 butes of a Creator, by investio-afino- the evidences of 
 design in the works of the creation, material as well 
 as spiritual. The latter relates to the discovery of 
 his will and probable intentions with regard to his 
 creatures, their conduct and their duty. The former 
 resembles the physical and psychological sciences, 
 and treats of the evidences of design, wisdom, and 
 goodness exhibited both in the natural and spiritual 
 worlds. 
 
 The latter resembles rather the department of 
 moral science, as distmguished from both physical and 
 psychological. We may thus consider the science of 
 Natural Theology as consisting, like all inductive 
 science, of three compartments, Natural, Mental, and 
 Moral ; or, taking the Greek terms, Physical, Psycho- 
 logical, and Ethical. 
 
 This classification is convenient, and its grounds are 
 very fit to be premised — at the same time that we 
 must admit the question to be one only of classification 
 and technology. Having so stated the divisions of the 
 subject, and the meaning of the terms used in relation 
 to those divisions, I shall assume this arrangement and 
 adhere to this phraseology, as convenient, though far 
 from representing it to be the best. In such discus- 
 sions it is far more important to employ one uniform 
 and previously explained language or arrangement, 
 than to be very curious in adopting the best. No 
 classification indeed can, from the nature of things, be 
 rigorously exact. All the branches of science, even of 
 natural philosophy, much more of metaphysical, run 
 into each other, and are separated by gradations rather 
 than by lines of demarcation. Nor could any scientific 
 language we possess help breaking down under us in an 
 attempt to maintain a perfectly logical arrangement.* 
 
 • Note I.
 
 ] A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Analysis op the Work. 
 
 The order of this Discourse is thus set out : — 
 
 The First Part treats of the nature of the subject, 
 and the kind of evidence upon which Natural Theology 
 rests. 
 
 The Second Part treats of the advantages derived 
 from the study of the science. 
 
 The former Part is divided into seven sections. The 
 first is introductory, and treats of the kind of evidence 
 by which the truths of Physical and Psychological 
 science are investigated, and shows there is as great 
 an appearance of diversity between the manner in 
 which we arrive at the knowledge of diflFerent truths 
 in those inductive sciences, as there is between the 
 nature of any such inductive investigation and the 
 proofs of the ontological branches of Natural Theo- 
 logy. But that diversity is proved to be only apparent ; 
 and hence it is inferred, that the supposed difference 
 in the proofs of Natural Theology may also be only 
 apparent. 
 
 The second section continues the application of this 
 argument to the Physical branch of Natural Theology, 
 and shows further proofs that the first branch of 
 Natural Theology is as much an inductive science as 
 Physics or Natural Philosophy. The first section com- 
 pared the ontological branches of Natural Theology 
 with all inductive science, physical as well as psycho- 
 logical. The second compares the physical branch of 
 Natural Theology with physical science only. 
 
 The third section compares the psychological branch 
 of Natural Theology with psychological science, and 
 shows that both rest alike upon induction.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 The fourth section shows that the argumentum a 
 priori is unsound to a great degree — that it is in- 
 sufficient for the purpose to which it is appHed — that 
 it serves only to a limited extent — and that to this 
 extent it is in reality not distinguishable from induc- 
 tion, or the argumentum d posteriori. 
 
 The ffth section treats of the second or Moral, — the 
 deontological branch of Natural Theology, and shows 
 that it rests upon the same kind of evidence with 
 moral science, and is, strictly speaking, as much a 
 branch of inductive knowledg-e. 
 
 The sixth section examines the doctrines of Lord 
 Bacon respecting Final Causes, and shows that he was 
 not adverse to the speculation when kept within due 
 bounds. 
 
 The seventh section examines the true nature of 
 inductive analysis and synthesis, and points out some 
 important errors prevailing on this subject. 
 
 In treating of the proofs of design displayed by the 
 mental constitution of living creatures, and in treating 
 of the Soul's immortality, it becomes necessary to enter 
 more at large into the subject, and therefore the third 
 and the fifth sections are not, hke the others, mere 
 logical discourses in which the doctrines of Natural 
 Theology are assumed rather than explained. The 
 subjects of those two sections have not been sufficiently 
 handled in professed treatises upon Natural Theology, 
 which have been almost wholly confined to the first 
 branch of the science — the proofs of the Deity's exist- 
 ence and attributes — and to the physical portion of that 
 branch. This defect I have endeavoured to supply. 
 
 The Second Part, which treats of the advantages of 
 the study, consists of three sections.
 
 12 A DISCOtTRSE OF NATDBAL THEOLOGr, 
 
 The first shows that the precise kind of pleasure 
 derived from the investigation of scientific truths is 
 derived from this study. 
 
 The second treats of the pleasures which are peculiar 
 to this study. 
 
 The third treats of the connection of Natural with 
 Revealed Rehcrion.* 
 
 o 
 
 * I have heard it said that some ideas in one part of this Discourse 
 had been anticipated by a work of Dr. Crombie. That such coincidence 
 is purely accidental must appear from this, that having mislaid his book 
 when it reached me, I have never read one line of it to this hour. — 
 Sept. 18i5.
 
 13 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND OF ITS 
 EVIDENCES. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY VIEW OF THE METHOD OP INVESTIGA- 
 TION PURSUED IN THE PHYSICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL 
 SCIENCES. 
 
 The faculties as well as the feelings of the human mind, 
 its intellectual as well as its active powers, are em- 
 ployed without any intermission, although with vary- 
 ing degrees of exertion, in one of two ways — either in 
 regard to some object immediately connected with the 
 supply of our wants, or in regard to subjects of mere 
 contemplation. Ihe first class of exertions relates to 
 all the objects of necessity, of comfort, or of physical 
 enjoyment : in the pm'suit of these, the powers of the un- 
 derstanding, or the passions, or both together, are, with 
 nearly the whole of mankind, employed during the 
 greater portion of their existence, and, with the bulk 
 of mankind, during almost the whole of then" existence. 
 The other class of mental exertions, which engrosses but 
 a very few men for the greater part of their lives, and 
 occupies the majority only occasionally and at consi- 
 derable intervals, comprehends within its scope aU the 
 subjects of meditation and reflection — of merely specu- 
 lative reasoning and discussion ; it is composed of all
 
 14 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 the efforts whicli our understanding can make, and all 
 the desires which we can feel, upon subjects of mere 
 science or taste, matters which begin and end in intel- 
 lectual or moral gratification. 
 
 It is unquestionably true that these two grand 
 branches of exertion have an intimate connexion with 
 each other. The pursuits of science lend constant 
 assistance to tliose of active life ; and the practical 
 exercise of the mental powers constantly furthers the 
 progress of science merely speculative. But the two 
 provinces are nevertheless perfectly distinguishable, 
 and ought not to be confounded. The corollary from 
 a scientific discovery may be the improvement of a 
 very ordinary machine or a common working tool ; 
 yet the establishment of the speculative truth may 
 have been the primary object of the philosopher who 
 discovered it ; and to learn that truth is the immediate 
 purpose of him who studies the philosopher's system. 
 So the better regulation of the affections or the more 
 entire control of the passions may be the result of an 
 acquaintance with our mental constitution ; but the 
 object of him who studies the laws of mind is merely 
 to become acquainted with the spiritual part of our 
 nature. In like manner, it is very possible that the 
 knowledge of a scientific truth may force itself upon 
 one whose faculties or feelings are primarily engaged 
 in some active exertion. Some physical law, or some 
 psychological truth, may be discovered by one only 
 intent upon supplying a physical want, or obtaining a 
 mental enjoyment. But here, as in the former case, 
 the scientific or speculative object is only incidental or 
 collateral to the main pursuit : the matter of contem- 
 plation is the corollary, the matter of action the pro- 
 position. 
 
 The merely contemplative pursuits which thus form 
 one of the great branches of mental exertion seem 
 again to be divisible into two classes, by a line that, to 
 a careless observer, appears sufficiently defined. The
 
 NATUKE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 15 
 
 objects of our inquiry and meditation appear to be 
 either those things in the physical and spiritual worlds 
 with which we are conversant through our senses or 
 by means of our internal consciousness, or those things 
 with which we are made acquainted only by reason- 
 ing — by the evidence of things unseen and unfelt. We 
 either discuss the properties and relations of actually 
 perceived and conceived beings, physical and mental 
 — that is, the objects of sense and of consciousness — 
 or we carry our inquiries beyond those things which 
 we see and feel ; we investigate the origin of them and 
 of ourselves ; we rise from the contemplation of nature 
 and of the spirit within us, to the first cause of all, 
 both of body and of mind. To the one class of specu- 
 lation belong the inquiries how matter and mind are 
 framed, and how they act ; to the other class belong 
 the inquiries whence they proceed, and whither they 
 tend. In a word, the structure and relations of the 
 universe form the subject of the one branch of philoso- 
 phy, and may be termed Human Science ; the origin 
 and destiny of the universe forms the subject of its 
 other branch, and is termed Divine Science, or Theo- 
 
 It is not to be denied that this classification may be 
 convenient ; indeed, it rests upon some real fomida- 
 tion ; for the speculations which compose these two 
 branches have certain common differences and common 
 resemblances. Yet it is equally certain, that nothing 
 but an imperfect knowledge of the subject, or a super- 
 ficial attention to it, can permit us to think that there 
 is any well-defined boundary which separates the two 
 kinds of philosophy' ; that the methods of investigation 
 are difi'crent in each ; and that the kind of evidence 
 varies by which the truths of the one and of the other 
 class are demonstrated. The error is far more exten- 
 sive in its consequences than a mere inaccuracy of 
 classification ; for it materially impairs the force of the 
 proofs upon which Natural Theology rests. The pro-
 
 16 A DISCOUKSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 position which I would place in its stead is, That this 
 science is strictly a branch of inductive philosophy, 
 formed and supported by the same kind of reasoning 
 upon which the Physical and Psychological sciences 
 are founded. This important point will be established 
 by a fuller explanation ; and we shall best set about 
 this task by showing in the first place, that the same 
 apparent diversity of evidence exists in the different 
 subjects or departments of the branch which we have 
 termed Human science. It seems to exist there on a 
 superficial examination : if a closer scrutiny puts that 
 appearance to flight, the 'nference is legitimate, that 
 there may be no better ground for admitting an essen- 
 tial difference between the foundations of Human 
 Science and Divine. 
 
 The careless inquirer into physical truth would 
 certainly think he had seized on a sound principle of 
 classification, if he should divide the objects with which 
 philosophy, Natural and Mental, is conversant, into two 
 classes — those objects of which we know the existence 
 by our senses or our consciousness ; that is, external 
 objects which we see, touch, taste, and smell, internal 
 ideas which we conceive or remember, or emotions 
 which we feel — and those objects of which we only 
 know the existence by a process of reasoning, founded 
 upon something originally presented by the senses or 
 by consciousness. The superficial reasoner would range 
 under the first of these heads the members of the ani- 
 mal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms ; the heavenly 
 bodies ; the mind — for we are supposing him to be so 
 far capable of reflection as to know that the proof of 
 the mind's separate existence is, at the least, as short, 
 plain and direct, as that of the body, or of external 
 objects. Under the second head he would range 
 generally whatever objects of examination are not 
 directly perceived by the senses, or felt by conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 But a moment's reflection will show both how very
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 17 
 
 short a way this classification would carry our inaccu- 
 rate logician, and how entirely his principle fails to 
 support him even during that little part of the journey. 
 Thus the examination of certain visible objects and 
 appearances enables us to ascertain the laws of light 
 and of vision. Our senses teach us that colours difi'er. 
 and that their mixture forms other hues ; that their 
 absence is black, their combination in certain propor- 
 tions white. We are in the same way enabled to 
 understand that the organ of vision performs its fimc- 
 tions by a natural apparatus resembling, though far sur- 
 passing, certain instruments of our own constructing, 
 and that therefore it works on the same principles. 
 But that light, Avhich can be perceived directly by 
 none of our senses, exists as a separate body, we only 
 infer by a process of reasoning from things'which our 
 senses do perceive. So we are acquainted with the 
 effects of heat ; we know that it extends the dimensions 
 of whatever matter it penetrates ; we feel its effects 
 upon our own nerves when subjected to its operation ; 
 and we see its effects in auo-mentino- liquefvinff, and 
 decomposmg other bodies ; but its existence as a separ- 
 ate substance we do not know, except by reasoning 
 and by analogy. Again, to which of the two classes 
 must we refer the air? Its existence is not made 
 known by the sight, the smell, the taste ; but is it by 
 the touch ? Assuredly a stream of it blown upon the 
 nerves of touch produces a certain effect ; but to infer 
 from thence tlie existence of a rare, light, invisible, and 
 impalpable lluid, is clearly an operation of reasoning, 
 as much as that which enables us to infer the existence 
 of light or heat from their perceptible effects. But fur- 
 thermore, we are accustomed to speak of seeing motion ; 
 and the reasoncr whom Ave are supposing would cer- 
 tainly class the plienomcna of mechanics, and possibly 
 of dynamics generally, including astronomy, under his 
 first head, of things known immediately by the senses. 
 Yet assuredly nothing can be more certain than that the 
 
 VOL. VI. c
 
 18 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 knowledge of motion is a deduction of reasoning, not a 
 perception of sense ; it is derived from the comparison 
 of two positions : the idea of a change of place is the 
 result of that comparison attained by a short process 
 of reasoning ; and the estimate of velocity is the result 
 of another process of reasoning and of recollection. 
 Thus, then, there is at once excluded from the first class 
 almost the whole range of natural philosophy. But 
 are we quite sure that anything remains which when 
 severely examined will stand the test ? Let us attend 
 a little more closely to the things which we have passed 
 over hastily, as if admitting that they belonged to the 
 first class. 
 
 It is said that we do not see light, and we certainly 
 can know its existence directly by no other sense but 
 that of sight, but that we see objects variously illu- 
 minated, and therefore that the existence of light is an 
 inference of reason, and the diversity of colour an 
 object of sense. But the very idea of diversity implies 
 reasoning, for it is the result of a comparison ; and 
 when we aflSrm that white light is composed of the 
 seven primary colours in certain proportions, we state 
 a proposition Avhich is the result of much reasoning — 
 reasoning, it is true, founded upon sensations or im- 
 pressions upon the senses ; but not less founded upon 
 such sensations is the reasoning which makes us believe 
 in the existence of a body called light. The same may 
 be said of heat and the phenomena of heated bodies. 
 The existence of heat is an inference from certain 
 phenomena, that is, certain effects produced on our 
 external senses by certain bodies, or certain changes 
 which those senses undergo in the neighbourhood of 
 those bodies ; but it is not more an inference of reason 
 than the proposition that heat extends or liquefies 
 bodies, for that is merely a conclusion drawn from 
 comparing our sensations occasioned by the external 
 objects placed in varying circumstances. 
 
 But can we say that there is no process of reasoning
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS E-STDENCES. 19 
 
 even in the simplest case which we have supposed our 
 reasoner to put— the existence of the three kingdoms ; 
 of nature, of the heavenly bodies, of the mind 'i It is 
 certain that there is in every one of these cases a pro- 
 cess of reasoning. A certain sensation is excited in the 
 mind through the sense of vision ; it is an inference of 
 reason that this must have been excited by something, 
 or must have had a cause. That the cause must have 
 been external may possibly be allowed to be another 
 inference which reason could make unaided by the 
 evidence of any other sense. But to discover that the 
 cause was at any the least distance from the organ of 
 vision clearly required a new process of reasoning, 
 considerable experience, and the indications of other 
 senses ; for the young man whom Mr. Cheselden 
 couched for a cataract at first believed that everything 
 he saw touched his eye. Experience and reasoning, 
 therefore, are required to teach us the existence of 
 external objects ; and all that relates to their relations 
 of size, colour, motion, habits, in a word, the whole 
 philosophy of them, must of course be the result of 
 still longer and more complicated processes of reason- 
 ing. So of the existence of the mind : although un- 
 doubtedly the process of reasoning is here the shortest 
 of all and the least liable to deception, yet so connected 
 are all its phenomena with those of the body, that 
 it requires a process of abstraction alien from the 
 ordinary habits of most men, to be persuaded that 
 we have a more undeniable evidence of its separate 
 existence than we even have of the separate existence 
 of the body. 
 
 It thus clearly appears that we have been justified 
 in calling the classifier whose case we have been sup- 
 posing, a careless inquirer, a superficial reasoner, an 
 imperfect logician ; that there is no real foundation for 
 the distinction which we have supposed him to take 
 between the diflPerent objects of scientific investigation ; 
 that the evidence upon which our assent to both classes
 
 20 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 of truths reposes is of the same kind, namely, the in- 
 ferences drawn by reasoning from sensations or ideas 
 originally presented by the external senses, or by our 
 inward consciousness. 
 
 If, then, the distinction which at first appeared solid 
 is found to be without any warrant in the different 
 kinds of human science, has it any better grounds 
 when we apply it to draw the line between that 
 branch of philosophy itself, and the other which has 
 been termed Divine, or theology ? In other words, is 
 there any real, any specific difi'erence between the 
 method of investigation, the nature of the evidence, in 
 the two departments of speculation? Although this 
 preliminary discourse, and indeed the work itself which 
 it introduces, and all the illustrations of it, are cal- 
 culated throughout to furnish the answer to the ques- 
 tion, we shall yet add a few particulars in this place, 
 in order to show how precisely the same fallacy which 
 we have been exposing, in regard to the classification 
 of objects in ordinary scientific research, gives rise to 
 the more general classification or separation of all 
 science into two distinct branches, human and divine, 
 and how erroneous it is to suppose that these two 
 branches rest upon different foundations.
 
 21 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 COMPARISON OP THE PHYSICAL BRANCH OF NATURAL 
 THEOLOGY WITH PHYSICS. 
 
 The two inquiries — that into the nature and constitu- 
 tion of the universe, and that into the evidence of 
 design which it displays — in a word, physics and 
 psychology, philosophy whether natural and mental, 
 and the fundamental branch of Natural Theology, — 
 are not only closely alUed one to the other, but ai'e to 
 a very considerable extent identical. The two paths 
 of investigation for a great part of the way completely 
 coincide. The same induction of facts which leads us 
 to a knowledge of the structure of the eye, and its 
 functions in the animal economy, leads us to the know- 
 ledge of its adaptation to the properties of hght. It is 
 a truth of physics, in the strictest sense of the word, 
 that vision is performed by the eye refracting hght, 
 and making it converge to a focus upon the retina; 
 and that the peculiar combination of its lenses, and 
 the different materials they are composed of, correct 
 the indistinctness which would otherwise arise from the 
 dilferent refrangibility of light; in other words, make 
 the eye an achromatic instrument. But if this is not 
 also a truth in Natural Theology, it is a position from 
 which, by the shortest possible process of reasoning, 
 we arrive at a theological truth — namely, that the 
 instrument so successfully performing a given service 
 by means of this curious structure, must have been 
 formed with a knowledge of the properties of light. 
 The position from which so easy a step brings us to 
 this doctrine of Natural Theology was gained by strict
 
 22 A DISCOUESE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 induction. Upon the same evidence which all natural 
 science rests on, reposes the knowledge that the eye is 
 an optical instrument : this is a truth common to both 
 Physics and Theology. Before the days of Sir Isaac 
 Newton men knew that they saw by means of the eye, 
 and that the eye was constructed upon optical prin- 
 ciples ; but the reason of its peculiar conformation they 
 knew not, because they were ignorant of the different 
 refrangibility of light. When his discoveries taught 
 this truth, it was found to have been acted upon, and 
 consequently known, by the Being who created the 
 eye. Still our knowledge was imperfect ; and it was 
 reserved for Mr. Dollond to discover another law of 
 nature — the different dispersive powers of different 
 substances — which enabled him to compound an object- 
 glass that more effectually corrected the various re- 
 frangibility of the rays. It was now observed that 
 this truth also must have been known to the maker of 
 the eye ; for upon its basis is that instrument, far more 
 perfect than the achromatic glass of Dollond, framed. 
 These things are truths in both physics and theology ; 
 they are truths taught us by the self-same process of 
 investigation, and resting upon the self-same kind of 
 evidence. 
 
 When we extend our inquiries, and observe the 
 varieties of this perfect instrument, we mark the adap- 
 tation of changes to the diversity of circumstances, as 
 in different animals : and the truths thus learnt are 
 in like manner common to Physical and Theological 
 science ; that is, to Natural History, or Comparative 
 Anatomy, and Natural Theology. 
 
 That beautiful instrument, so artistly contrived that 
 the most ingenious workman could not imagine an im- 
 provement of it, becomes still more interesting and more 
 wonderful, when we find that its conformation is varied 
 with the different necessities of each animal. If the 
 animal prowls by night, we see the opening of the 
 pupil, and the power of concentration in the eye
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 23 
 
 increased. If an amphibious animal lias occasionally 
 to dive into the water, with the change of the medium 
 through which the rays pass there is an accommodation 
 in the condition of the humours, and the eye partakes 
 of the eye both of the quadruped and of the fish. 
 
 So, having contemplated the apparatus for protection 
 in the human eye, we find that in the lower animals, 
 who want both the accessory means of cleaning the eye 
 and the ingenuity to accomphsh it by other modes than 
 the eyelids, an additional eyelid, a new apparatus, is 
 provided for this purpose. 
 
 Again, in fishes, whose eye is washed by the ele- 
 ment in which they move, all the exterior apparatus is 
 imnecessary, and is dismissed; but in the crab, and 
 especially in that species which lies in mud, the very 
 peculiar and horny prominent eye, which everybody 
 must have observed, would be quite obscured were it 
 not for a particular provision. There is a little brush 
 of hair above the eye, against which the eye is occa- 
 sionally raised to wipe off what may adhere to it. The 
 form of the eye, the particular mode in which it is 
 moved, and, we may say, the coarseness of the instru- 
 ment compared with the parts of the same organ in 
 the higher class of animals, make the mechanism of 
 eyelids and of lachrymal glands unsuitable. The 
 mechanism used for this purpose is discovered by 
 observation and reasoning : that it is contrived for 
 this purpose is equally a discovery of observation and 
 reasoning. Both propositions are strictly propositions 
 of physical science. 
 
 The same remarks apply to every part of the animal 
 body. The use to which each member is subservient, 
 and the manner in which it is enabled so to perform 
 its functions as to serve that appointed use, is learnt 
 by an induction of the strictest kind. But it is impos- 
 sible to deny, that what induction thus teaches forms 
 tiie groat bulk of all Natural Theology. The question 
 which the theologian always puts upon each discovery
 
 24 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 of a purpose manifestly accomplished is this : " Suppose 
 I had this operation to perform by mechanical means, 
 and were acquainted with the laws regulating the 
 action of matter, should I attempt it in any other way 
 than I here see practised?" If the answer is in the 
 negative, the consequence is irresistible, that some 
 power, capable of acting with design, and possessing 
 the supposed knowledge, employed the means which 
 we see used. But this neo-ative answer is the result of 
 reasoning founded upon induction, and rests upon the 
 same evidence whereon the doctrines of all physical 
 science are discovered and believed. And the infer- 
 ence to which that negative answer so inevitably leads 
 is a truth in Natural Theology ; for it is only another 
 way of asserting that design and knowledge are evinced 
 in the works and functions of nature. 
 
 It may further illustrate the argument to take one 
 or tAvo other examples. When a bird's egg is ex- 
 amined, it is found to consist of three parts ; the 
 chick, the yolk in which the chick is placed, and the 
 white in which the yolk swims. The yolk is lighter 
 than the white ; and is attached to it at two points by 
 the treadles. If a line were drawn through these two 
 points it would pass below the centre of gravity of the 
 yolk. From this arrangement it must follow that the 
 chick is always uppermost, roll the egg how you will ; 
 consequently, the chick is always kept nearest to the 
 breast or belly of the mother while she is sitting. 
 Suppose, then, that any one acquainted with the laws 
 of motion had to contrive things so as to secure this 
 position for the little speck or sac in question, in order 
 to its receiving the necessary heat from the hen — 
 could he proceed otherwise than by placing it in the 
 lighter liquid, and suspending that liquid in the heavier, 
 so that its centre of gravity should be above the line 
 or plane of suspension? Assuredly not; for in no 
 other way could his purpose be accomplished. This 
 position is attained by a strict induction ; it is su}i-
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 25 
 
 ported by the same kind of evidence on which all 
 physical truths rest. But it leads by a single step to 
 another truth in JVatural Theology ; that the egg must 
 have been formed by some hand skilful in mechanism, 
 and acting with the knowledge of dynamics. 
 
 The forms of the bones and joints, and the tendons 
 or cords which play over them, afford a variety of 
 instances of the most perfect mechanical adjustment. 
 Sometimes the power is sacrificed for rapidity of motion, 
 and sometimes rapidity is sacrificed for power. Our 
 knee-pan, or patella, {ligamentum patellae,) throws off 
 the tendon which is attached to it from the centre of 
 motion, and therefore adds to the power of the muscles 
 of the thigh, which enables us to rise or to leap. We 
 have a mechanism of precisely the same kind in the 
 lesser joints, where the bones, answering the piu-poses 
 of the patella, are formed of a diminutive size.* In 
 the toes of the ostrich the material is different, but the 
 mechanism is the same. An elastic cushion is placed 
 between the tendon and the joint, which, wliilst it 
 throws off the tendon from the centre of motion, and 
 therefore adds to the power of the flexor muscle, gives 
 elasticity to the bottom of the foot. And we recognize 
 the intention of this when we remember that this bird 
 does not fly, but runs with great swiftness, and that 
 the whole weight rests upon the foot, which has but 
 little relative breadth ; these elastic cushions serving 
 in some degree the same office as the elastic frog of 
 the horse's hoof, or the cushion in the bottom of the 
 camel's foot. 
 
 The web-foot of a water-fowl is an inimitable paddle ; 
 and all the ingenuity of the present day exerted to 
 improve our steam-boats makes nothing to approach 
 it. The flexor tendon of the toes of the duck is so 
 directed over the heads of the bones of the thigh and 
 leg, that it is made tight when the creature bends its 
 
 • Hence called Sesamoid, from Sesamum, a kind of grain.
 
 26 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOOT. 
 
 le^, and is relaxed when the leg is stretched out. 
 When the bird draws its foot up, the toes are drawn 
 together, in consequence of the bent position of the 
 bones of the leg pressing on the tendon. When, on 
 the contrary, it pushes the leg out straight, in making 
 the stroke, the tendons are relieved from the pressure 
 of the heel-bone, and the toes are permitted to be fully 
 extended and at the same time expanded, so that the 
 web between them meets the resistance of a large 
 volume of water. 
 
 In another class of birds, those which roost upon the 
 branch of a tree, the same mechanism answers another 
 purpose. The great length of the toes of these birds 
 enables them to grasp the branch ; yet were they sup- 
 ported by voluntary effort alone, and were there no 
 other provision made, their grasp would relax in sleep, 
 and they must fall. But, on the contrary, we know 
 that they roost on one foot, and maintain a firm atti- 
 tude. Borelli has taken pains to explain how this is. 
 The muscle which bends the toes lies on the fore part 
 of the thigh, and runs over the joint which corresponds 
 Avith our knee-joint; from the fore part its tendon 
 passes to the back part of the leg, and over the joint 
 equivalent to our heel-bone ; it then splits, and extends 
 in the bottom of the foot to the toes. The consequence 
 of this singular course of the tendon is, that when. the 
 mere weight of the bird causes these two joints to 
 bend under it, the tendon is stretched, or would be 
 stretched, were it not that its divided extremities, 
 inserted into the last bones of the toes, draw those 
 toes, so that they contract, and grasp the branch on 
 which the bird roosts, without any effort whatever on 
 its part. 
 
 These are facts learnt by induction ; the inductive 
 science of dynamics shows us that such mechanism is 
 calculated to answer the end which, in point of fact, is 
 attained. To conclude from thence that the mechanist 
 contrived the means with the intention of producing
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 2/ 
 
 this end, and -with the knowledge of the science, is also 
 strictly an inference of induction. 
 
 Consider now, in land animals, the structure of the 
 larynx, the upper part of which is so contrived as to 
 keep the windpipe closely shut by the valve thrown 
 over its orifice, while the food is passing into the 
 stomach, as it were, over a drawbridge, and, but for 
 that valve, would fall into the lungs. No one can 
 hesitate in ascribing this curious mechanism to the 
 intention that the same opening of the throat and 
 mouth should serve for conveying food to the stomach 
 and air to the lungs, without any interference of the 
 two operations. But that structure would not be suffi- 
 cient for animals which live in the water, and must, there- 
 fore, while they breathe at the surface, carry down 
 their food to devour it below. In them, accordingly, 
 as in the whale and the porpoise, we find the valve is 
 not flat, but prominent and somewhat conical, rising 
 towards the back of the nose, and the continuation of 
 the nostril by means of a ring (or spliyncter) muscle 
 embraces the top of the windpipe so as to complete the 
 communication between the lungs and the blow-hole, 
 while it cuts otf all communication between those lungs 
 and the mouth. 
 
 Again, if we examine the structure of a porpoise's 
 head, we find its cavities capable of great distention, 
 and such that he can fill them at pleasure with air or 
 with water, according as he would mount, float, or 
 sink. By closing the blow-hole, he shuts out the 
 water ; by letting in the water he can sink ; by blow- 
 ins from the luno-s ao-ainst the cavities he can force 
 out the water and fill the hollows with air, m order to 
 lise. No one can doubt that such facts afford direct 
 evidence of an apt contrivance directed towards a 
 8;iecific object, and adopted by some power thoroughly 
 ac(piaintcd with the laws of hydrostatics, as well as 
 perfectly skilful in workmanship. 
 
 To draw an example from a very diftcrent source.
 
 28 A DISCOUESE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 let US observe the structure of the planetary system. 
 There is one particular arrangement which produces a 
 certain effect — namely, the stability of the system, — 
 produces it in a manner peculiarly adapted for per- 
 petual duration, and produces it through the agency of 
 an influence quite universal, pervading all space, and 
 equally regulating the motions of the smallest particles 
 of matter and of its most prodigious masses. This 
 arrangement consists in making the planets move in 
 orbits more or less elliptical, but none differing materi- 
 ally from circles, with the sun near the centre, revolving 
 almost in one plane of motion, and moving in the same 
 direction — those whose eccentricity is the most con- 
 siderable having the smallest masses, and the larger 
 ones deviating hardly at all from the circular path. 
 The influence of gravitation, which is inseparably con- 
 nected with all matter as far as we know, extends over 
 the whole of this system ; so that all those bodies which 
 move round the sun — twenty-three planets including 
 their satelhtes, and six or seven comets — are con- 
 tinually acted upon each by two kinds of force, — the 
 original projection which sends them forward, and is 
 accompanied with a similar and probably a coeval rota- 
 tory motion in some of them round their axis, and the 
 attraction of each towards every other body, which 
 attraction produces three several effects — consolidating 
 the mass of each, and, in conjunction with the rotatory 
 motion, moulding their forms — retaining each planet 
 in its orbit round the sun, and each satellite in its 
 orbit round the planet — altering or disturbing what 
 would be the motion of each round the sun if there 
 were no other bodies in the system to attract and 
 disturb. Now it is demonstrated by the strictest pro- 
 cess of mathematical reasoning, that the result of the 
 whole of these mutual actions, proceeding from the 
 universal influence of gravitation, must necessarily, in 
 consequence of the peculiar arrangement which has 
 been described of the orbits and masses, and in con-
 
 NATUEE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 29 
 
 sequence of the law by which gravitation acts, produce 
 a constant alteration in the orbit of each body, which 
 alteration goes on for thousands of years, very slowly 
 making that orbit bulge, as it were, until it reaches a 
 certain shape, when the alteration begins to take the 
 opposite direction, and for an equal number of years 
 goes on constantly, as it were, flattening the orbit, till 
 it reaches a certain shape, when it stops, and then the 
 bulsiino; again beo-ins ; and that this alternate chano-o 
 of bulging and flattening must go on for ever by the 
 same law, without ever exceeding on either side a 
 certain point. ^Vll changes in the system are thus 
 periodical, and its perpetual stability is completely 
 secured. It is manifest that such an arrangement, so 
 conducive to such a purpose, and so certainly accom- 
 plishing that purpose, could only have been made with 
 the express design of attaining such an end — that some 
 power exists capable of thus producing such wonderful 
 order, so marvellous and wholly admirable a harmony, 
 out of such numberless disturbances — and that this 
 power was actuated by the intention of producing 
 this effect.* The reasoning upon this subject, I have 
 observed, is purely mathematical ; but the facts re- 
 specting the system on which all that reasoning rests 
 are known to us by induction alone : consequently 
 the grand truth respecting the secular disturbance, or 
 the periodicity of the changes in the system — that 
 discovery which makes the glory of Lagrange and 
 Laplace, and constitutes the triumph of the Integral 
 Calculus, whereof it is the fruit, and of the most 
 patient course of astronomical observation whereon 
 
 • Earum autem perennes cursns atque perpetui cum admirabili in- 
 credibilique constantia, declarant in his vim et mentem esse divinam, ut 
 h«c ipsa qui non sentiat deorum vim liabcre, is niliil omnino sensurus 
 esse videatur. — [Hut their course, everlasting and perpetual, performed 
 with admirable and incredible constancy, declares the Divine force and 
 mind, so that whosoever fails to perceive the power of the Deity in them 
 should seem incapable of perceiving anything.] — Cicero De Nat. Deo. 
 II. 21.
 
 so A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 the analysis is groimdecl — may most justly be classed 
 as a truth both of the Mixed Mathematics and of 
 Natural Theology — for the theologian only adds a 
 single short link to the chain of the physical as- 
 tronomer's demonstration, in order to reach the great 
 Artificer from the phenomena of his system. 
 
 But let us examine further this matter. The posi- 
 tion which we reach by a strict process of induction, is 
 common to Natural Philosophy and Natural Theology 
 — namely, that a given organ performs a given function, 
 or a given arrangement possesses a certain stability, by 
 its adaptation to mechanical laws. I have said that 
 the process of reasoning is short and easy, by which 
 we arrive at the doctrine more peculiar to Natural 
 Theology — namely, that some power acquainted with 
 and acting upon the knowledge of those laws, fashioned 
 the organ with the intention of having the function of 
 vision performed, or constructed the system so that it 
 might endure. Is not this last process as much one of 
 strict induction as the other? It is plainly only a 
 generalization of many particular facts; a reasoning 
 from things known to things unknown ; an inference 
 of a new or unknown relation from other relations 
 formerly observed and known. If, to take Dr. Paley's 
 example, we pass over a common and strike the foot 
 against a stone, we do not stop to ask who placed it 
 there ; but if we find that our foot has struck on a 
 watch, we at once conclude that some mechanic made 
 it, and that some one dropt it on the ground. Why 
 do we draw this inference ? Because all our former 
 experience had told us that such machinery is the 
 result of human skill and labour, and that it nowhere 
 grows wild about, or is found in the earth. When we 
 see that a certain effect, namely, distinct vision, is per- 
 formed by an achromatic instrument, the eye, why do 
 we infer that some one must have made it : Because 
 we nowhere and at no time have had any experience 
 of any one thing fashioning itself, and indeed cannot
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 31 
 
 form to ourselves any distinct idea of what such a 
 process as self-creation means; and further, because 
 when we ourselves would produce a similar result, we 
 have recourse to like means. Again, when we perceive 
 the adaptation of natural objects and operations to a 
 perceived end, and from thence infer design in the 
 maker of these objects and superintender of these 
 operations, why do Ave draw this conclusion ? Because 
 we know by experience that if we ourselves desired to 
 accomplish a similar purpose, we should do so by the 
 like adaptation; we know by experience that this is 
 design in us, and that our proceedings are the result 
 of such design ; we know that if some of our works 
 were seen by others, who neither were aware of our 
 having made them, nor of the intention with which we 
 made them, they would be right should they, from 
 seeing and examining them, both infer that we had 
 made them, and conjecture why we had made them. 
 The same reasoning, by the help of experience, from 
 what we know to what we cannot know, is manifestly 
 the foundation of the inference, that the members of 
 the body were fashioned for certain uses by a maker 
 acquainted with their operations, and willing that those 
 uses should be served. 
 
 Let us consider a branch of science which, if not 
 wholly of modern introduction, has received of late 
 years such vast additions that it may really be said to 
 have its rise in our owm times — I allude to the sublime 
 speculations in Osteology prosecuted by Cuvier, Buck- 
 land, and others, in its connection with Zoological and 
 Geological researches. 
 
 A comparative anatomist, of profound learning and 
 marvellous sagacity, has presented to him what to 
 common eyes would seem a piece of half-decayed bone, 
 found in a wild, in a forest, or in a cave. By accu- 
 rately examining its shape, particularly tlic form of its 
 extremity or extremities (if both ends liappcn to be 
 entire), by close inspection of the texture of its surface,
 
 32 A DISCOUESE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 and by admeasurement of its proportions, he can with 
 certainty discover the general form of the animal to 
 which it belonged, its size as well as its shape, the 
 economy of its viscera, and its general habits. Some- 
 times the investigation in such cases proceeds upon 
 chains of reasoning where all the hnks are seen and 
 understood ; where the connection of the parts found 
 with other parts and vnth. habitudes is perceived, and 
 the reason understood, — as that the animal had a 
 trunk because the neck was short compared with its 
 height; or that it ruminated because its teeth were 
 imperfect for complete mastication. But, frequently, 
 the inquiry is as certain in its results, although some 
 links of the chain are concealed from our view, and 
 the conclusion wears a more empirical aspect — as 
 gathering that the animal ruminated from observing 
 the print of a cloven foot, or that he had horns from 
 his wanting certain teeth, or that he wanted the collar- 
 bone from his having cloven hoofs. Limited experi- 
 ence having already shown such connexions as facts, 
 more extended experience will assuredly one day enable 
 us to comprehend the reason of the connexion. 
 
 The discoveries already made in this branch of 
 science are truly wonderful, and they proceed upon 
 the strictest rules of induction. It is shown that 
 animals formerly existed on the globe, being unknown 
 varieties of species still known; but it also appears 
 that species existed, and even genera, wholly unknown 
 for the last five thousand years. These peopled the 
 earth, as it was, not before the general deluge, but 
 before some convulsion long prior to that event had 
 overwhelmed the countries then dry, and raised others 
 from the bottom of the sea. In these curious inquiries, 
 we are conversant not merely with the world before 
 the flood, but with a world which, before the flood, was 
 covered with water, and wliich, in far earher ages, had 
 been the habitation of birds, and beasts, and reptiles. 
 We are carried, as it were, several worlds back, and
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 33 
 
 we reach a period when all was water, and slime, and 
 mud ; and the waste, without either man or plants, 
 gave resting place to enormous heasts like elephants 
 and river-horses, while the water was tenanted by 
 lizards, sixty or seventy feet long, and by others with 
 eyes having shields of sohd bone to protect them, and 
 glaring from a neck ten feet in length, and the air 
 was darkened by flying reptiles covered with scales, 
 opening long jaws, and expanding wings armed at the 
 tips with claws. 
 
 No less strange, and yet no less proceeding from 
 induction, are the discoveries made respecting the 
 former state of the earth ; the manner in which those 
 animals, whether of known or unknown tribes, occupied 
 it ; and the period when, or, at least, the way in which, 
 they ceased to exist. Professor Buckland has demon- 
 strated the identity with the hyaena's of the animal's 
 habits that cracked the bones which fill some of the 
 caves, in order to come at the marrow; but he has 
 also satisfactorily shown that it inhabited the neigh- 
 bourhood, and must have been suddenly exterminated 
 by drowning. His researches have been conducted by 
 experiments with living animals, as well as by observa- 
 tion upon the fossil remains.* 
 
 That this branch of scientific inquiry is singularly 
 attractive all will allow. Nor will any one dispute that 
 
 • The researches both of Cuvier and Buckland, far from impugning the 
 testimony to the great fact of a dehige borne by tlie Mosaic writings, rather 
 fortify it ; and bring additional proofs of the fallacy which, for some time, 
 had led philosophers to ascribe a very high antiquity to the world we now 
 live in. 
 
 The extraordinarj' sagacity of Cuvier is, perhaps, in no instance more 
 shown, nor the singular nature of the science better illustrated, than in 
 the correction which it enabled him to give the speculation of President 
 Jefferson upon the Megalonyx — an animal which the President, from the 
 size of a bone discovered, supposed to have existed, four times tin- size of 
 an ox, and witii the form and habits of the lion. Cuvier has irrefragably 
 shown, by an acute and learned induction, that the animal was a sloth, 
 living entirely upon vegetable food, but of enormous size, like a rhinoceros, 
 and whose paws could tear up huge trees. 
 
 VOL. VI. D
 
 34 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 its cultivation demands great knowledge and skill. 
 But this is not our chief purpose in referring to it. 
 We learn from it that as a world existed without 
 human beings, for no human bones are found in the 
 earlier strata, it must be true that a superior power, a 
 divine and creative power, interfered with the estab- 
 hshed order of things, and made man. But for another 
 reason I have introduced these details. There can be 
 as little doubt that the investigation of the former 
 world from its scanty remains, forms, in the strictest 
 sense of the term, a branch of physical science, and 
 that this branch sprang legitimately from the grand 
 root of the whole, — induction; in a word, that the 
 process of reasoning employed to investigate — the 
 kind of evidence used to demonstrate — its truths, is 
 the modern analysis or induction taught by Bacon and 
 practised by Newton. Now wherein, with reference 
 to its nature and foundations, does it vary from the 
 inquiries and illustrations of Natural Theology, one of 
 Avhose propositions I have given as a corollary from 
 this science ? When from examining a few bones, or 
 it may be a single fragment of a bone, we infer that, 
 in the wilds where we found it, there Hved and ranged, 
 some thousands of years ago, an animal wholly different 
 from any we ever saw, and from any of which any 
 account, any tradition, written or oral, has reached us, 
 nay, from any that ever was seen by any person of 
 whose existence we ever heard, we assuredly are led 
 to this remote conclusion, by a strict and rigorous pro- 
 cess of reasoning ; but, as certainly, we come through 
 that same process to the knowledge and belief of things 
 unseen, both of us and of all men — things respecting 
 which we have not, and cannot have, a single particle 
 of evidence, either by sense or by testimony. Yet Ave 
 harbour no doubt of the fact in fossil osteology ; we go 
 farther, and not only implicitly believe the existence of 
 this creature, for which avg are forced to invent a name, 
 but we clothe it with attributes, till, reasoning step by
 
 KATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 35 
 
 step, we come at so accurate a notion of its form and 
 habits, that we can represent the one, and describe the 
 other, Avith nnerring accuracy ; picturing to ourselves 
 how it looked, what it fed on, and how it continued 
 its kind. 
 
 Now, the question is this : What perceivable differ- 
 ence is there between the kind of investigations we 
 have just been considering, and those of Natural Theo- 
 logy — except, indeed, that the latter are far more 
 sublime in themselves, and incomparably more inter- 
 esting to us? Where is the logical precision of the 
 arrangement which would draw a broad line of demar- 
 cation between the two speculations, giving to the one 
 the name and the rank of a science, but refusing it to 
 tlie other, and affirming that the one rested upon in- 
 duction, but not the other ? We have, it is true, no 
 experience directly of that Great Being's existence in 
 whom we believe as our Creator; nor have we the 
 testimony of any man relating such experience of his 
 own. But so, neither we, nor any witnesses in any 
 age, have ever seen those works of that Being, the 
 lost animals that once peopled the earth ; and yet the 
 lights of inductive science have conducted us to a full 
 knowledge of their nature, as well as a perfect belief 
 in their existence. Without any evidence from our 
 senses, or from the testimony of eye-witnesses, we be- 
 lieve in the existence and qualities of those animals, 
 because we infer by the induction of facts that they 
 once lived, and were endowed with a certain nature. 
 This is called a doctrine of inductive philosophy. Is it 
 less a doctrine of the same philosophy, that the eye 
 could not have been made without a knowledge of 
 optics, and as it could not make itself, and as no 
 human artist, though possessed of the knowledge, has 
 the skill and power to fashion it by his liandy-work, 
 that there must exist some being of knowledge, 
 skill, and power, superior to our own, and sufficient to 
 create it? Is the corollary which I have given from
 
 36 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 the proposition that these lost animals once existed 
 before man was created, a corollary of Natural Theo- 
 logy, less the result of induction than that proposition 
 itself a proposition of physical science ? Has the Na- 
 tural Theology any other foundation than the Natm'al 
 Philosophy ?
 
 37 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 COifPARISON OF THE PSYCHOLOGICAL BRANCH OF NATURAL 
 THEOLOGY WITH PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Hitherto, our argument has rested upon a comparison 
 of the truths of Natural Theology with those of Physi- 
 cal Science. But the evidences of design presented by 
 the universe are not merely those which the material 
 world affords ; the intellectual system is equally fruitful 
 in proofs of an intelligent cause, although these have 
 occupied little of the philosopher's attention, and may, 
 indeed, be said never to have found a place among the 
 speculations of the Natural Theologian. Nothing is 
 more remarkable than the care with which all the 
 Avriters upon this subject, at least among the moderns, 
 have confined themselves to the proofs afforded by the 
 visible and sensible works of nature, while the evidence 
 furnished by the mind and its operations has been 
 wholly neglected.* The celebrated book of Ray on 
 tlic Wonders of the Creation seems to assume that the 
 liuman soul has no separate existence — that it forms no 
 ])art of the created system. Derhani has written upon 
 Astro-theology and Physico-theology as if the heavens 
 alone proclaimed the glory of God, and the earth only 
 showed forth his handy-work ; for his only mention of 
 intellectual nature is in the single chapter of the 
 Physico-theology on the soul, in which he is content 
 with two observations : one, on the variety of man's 
 inclinations, and another, on his inventive powers — 
 giving nothing which precisely proves design. Dr. 
 Paley, whose work is chiefly taken from the writings of 
 
 • Note II. 
 
 fi si 4 f) 1
 
 38 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Derham, deriving from them its whole plan and much of 
 its substance, but clothing the harsher statements of 
 his original in an attractive and popular style,* had so 
 little of scientific habits, so moderate a power of 
 generalizing, that he never once mentions the mind, or 
 any of the intellectual phenomena, nor ever appears to 
 consider them as forming a portion of the works or 
 operations of nature. Thus, all these authors view the 
 revolutions of the heavenly bodies, the structure of 
 animals, the organization of plants, and the various 
 operations of the material world which we see carried 
 on around us, as indicating the existence of design, and 
 leading to a knowledge of the Creator. But they pass 
 over in silence, unaccountably enough, by far the most 
 singular work of divine wisdom and power — the mind 
 itself. Is there any reason whatever to draw this line ; 
 to narrow within these circles the field of Natural 
 Theology ; to draw from the constitution and habits of 
 matter alone the proof that one InteUigent Cause 
 formed and supports the universe? Ought we not 
 rather to consider the phenomena of the mind as more 
 pecuharly adapted to help this inquiry, and as bearing 
 a nearer relation to the Great Intelligence which 
 created and which maintains the system ? 
 
 There cannot be a doubt that this extraordinary 
 omission had its origin in the doubts which men are 
 prone to entertain of the mind's existence independent 
 of matter. The eminent persons above named | were 
 
 • This observation in nowise diminislies the peculiar merit of the style, 
 and also of the homely, but close and logical, manner in which the argu- 
 ment is put ; nor does it deny the praise of bringing down the facts cv 
 former writers, and adapting them to the improved state of physical 
 science — a merit the more remarkable, that Paley wrote his Natural 
 Theology at the close of his life. 
 
 f Some have thought, imjustly, that the language of Paley rather 
 savours of materialism : but it may at least be doubted whether he was 
 fully impressed with the evidence of mental existence. His unexercised 
 powers of abstract discussion, and the natural predilection for what he 
 handled so well — a practical argument level to all comprehensions — apoear 
 not to have given him any taste for metaphysical speculations.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 39 
 
 not materialists, that is to say, if you had asked them 
 the question, they would have answered in the negative ; 
 they would have gone farther, and asserted their belief 
 in the separate existence of the soul independent of the 
 body. But they never felt this as strongly as they 
 were persuaded of the natural world's existence. Their 
 habits of thinkino- led them to consider matter as the 
 only certain existence — as that which composed the 
 universe — as alone forming the subject of our con- 
 templations — as furnishing the only materials for our 
 inquiries, whether respecting structure or habits and 
 operations. They had no firm, definite, abiding, pre- 
 cise idea of any other existence respecting which they 
 could reason and speculate. They saw and they felt 
 external objects ; they could examine the lenses of the 
 eye, the valves of the veins, the ligaments and the 
 sockets of the joints, the bones and the drum of the 
 oar ; but though they now and then made mention of 
 the mind, and, if forced to the point, would have ac- 
 knowledged a belief in it, they never were fully and 
 intimately persuaded of its separate existence. They 
 thought of it and of matter very differently ; they gave 
 its structure, and its habits, and its operations, no 
 place in their inquiries ; their contemplations never 
 rested upon it with any steadiness, and indeed scarcely 
 ever even glanced upon it at all. That this is a very 
 great omission, proceeding, if not upon mere careless- 
 ness, upon a grievous fallacy, there can be no doubt 
 whatever. 
 
 The evidence for the existence of mind is to the full 
 as complete as that upon which we believe in the ex- 
 istence of matter. Indeed it is more certain and more 
 irrefragable. The consciousness of existence, the per- 
 j)etual sense that wo are thinking, and that we are per- 
 forming the operation quite independently of all material 
 objects, proves to us the existence of a being diifcrent 
 from our bodies, with a degree of evidence higher than 
 any we can have for the existence of those bodies them-
 
 40 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 selves, or of any other part of the material world. It is 
 certain — proved, indeed, to demonstration — that many 
 of the perceptions of matter which we derive through 
 the senses are deceitful, and seem to indicate that which 
 has no reality at all. Some inferences which we draw 
 respecting it are confounded with direct sensation or 
 perception, for example, the idea of motion; other 
 ideas, as those of hardness and solidity, are equally the 
 result of reasoning, and often mislead. Thus we never 
 doubt, on the testimony of our senses, that the parts of 
 matter touch — that different bodies come in contact 
 with one another, and with our organs of sense ; and 
 yet nothing is more certain than that there still is some 
 small distance between the bodies which we think we 
 perceive to touch. Indeed it is barely possible that all 
 the sensations and perceptions which we have of the 
 material world may be only ideas in our own minds : it 
 is barely possible, therefore, that matter should have no 
 existence. But that mind — that the sentient prmciple 
 — that the thing or the being which we call " /" and 
 "tf/e," and which thinks, feels, reasons — should have 
 no existence, is a contradiction in terms. Of the two 
 existences, then, that of mind as independent of matter 
 is more certain than that of matter apart from 
 mind. In a subsequent branch of this discourse* we 
 shall have occasion to treat again of this question, when 
 the constitution of the soul with reference to its future 
 existence becomes the subject of discussion. At present 
 we have only to keep steadily in view the undoubted 
 fact, that mind is quite as much an integral part of the 
 universe as matter. 
 
 It follows that the constitution and functions of the 
 mind are as much the subjects of inductive reasoning 
 and investigation as the structure and actions of matter. 
 The mind, equally with matter, is the proper subject of 
 observation by means of consciousness, which enables 
 
 • Sec. V. and Note IV.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 41 
 
 ns to arrest and examine our own thoughts : it is even 
 the suhject of experiment, by the power which we have, 
 through the efforts of abstraction and attention, of 
 turning those thoughts into courses not natural to them, 
 not spontaneous, and watching the resuUs.* Noav the 
 phenomena of mind, at the knowledge of which we 
 arrive by this inductive process, the only legitimate 
 intellectual philosophy, afford as decisive proofs of de- 
 sign as do the phenomena of matter, and they furnish 
 those proofs by the strict method of induction. In 
 other words, we study the nature and operations of the 
 mind, and gather from them evidences of design, by 
 one and the same species of reasoning, the induction of 
 facts. A few illustrations of these positions may be 
 useful, because this branch of the science has, as we 
 have seen, been unaccountably neglected by philoso- 
 phers and theologians. 
 
 First. The structure of the mind, in every way in 
 which we can regard it, affords evidences of the most 
 skilful contrivance. All that adapts it so admirably to 
 the operations which it performs, all its faculties, are 
 plainly means working to an end. Among the most 
 remarkable of these is the power of reasoning, or first 
 comparing ideas and drawing conclusions from the 
 comparison, and then comparing together those con- 
 clusions or judgments. In this process the great in- 
 strument is attention, as indeed it is the most important 
 of all the mental faculties. It is the power by whicli 
 the mind fixes itself upon a subject, and its operations 
 are facilitated by many contrivances of nature, without 
 which the effort would be painful, if not impossible — 
 voluntary attention being the most difficult of all acts 
 of the understanding. 
 
 Observe, then, in the second place, the helps which 
 are provided for the exertion of this faculty. Curiosity, 
 or the thirst of knowledge, is one of the chief of these. 
 
 • An instance will occur in the Fifth Section of tliis Part, in which ex- 
 I criments upon the course of our thoughts in sleep are described.
 
 42 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 This desire renders any new idea the source of attrac- 
 tion, and makes the mind almost involuntarily, and with 
 gratification rather than pain, bend and apply itself 
 to whatever has the quality of novelty to rouse it. But 
 association gives additional facilities of the same kind, 
 and makes us attend with satisfaction to ideas which 
 formerly w^ere present and familiar, and the revival 
 of which gives pleasure oftentimes as sensible as that 
 of novelty, though of an opposite kind. Then, 
 again, habit, in this, as in all other operations of our 
 faculties, has the most powerful influence, and en- 
 ables us to undergo intellectual labour with ease and 
 comfort. 
 
 Thirdly. Consider the phenomena of memory. This 
 important faculty, without which no intellectual pro- 
 gress whatever could be made, is singularly adapted 
 to its uses. The tenacity of our recollection is in pro- 
 portion to the attention which has been exercised upon 
 the several objects of contemplation at the time they 
 were submitted to the mind. Hence it follows, that 
 by exerting a more vigorous attention, by detaining 
 ideas for some time under our view, as it were, while 
 they pass through the mind or before it, we cause 
 them to make a deeper impression upon the memory, 
 and are thus enabled to recollect those things the 
 longest which we most desire to keep in mind. Hence, 
 too, whatever facilitates attention, whatever excites it, 
 helps the memory, as we sometimes say ; so that we 
 recollect those things the longest which were most 
 striking at the time. But those things are, generally 
 speaking, most striking, and most excite the attention, 
 which are in themselves most important. In propor- 
 tion, therefore, as anything is most useful or for any 
 reason most desirable to be remembered, it is most 
 easily stored up in our memory. 
 
 We may observe, however, in the fourth place, that 
 readiness of memory is almost as useful as tenacity — 
 quickness of bringing out as power of retention. Habit
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 43 
 
 enables us to tax our recollection Avith surprising facil- 
 ity and certainty ; as any one must be aware who has 
 remarked the extraordinary feats performed by boys 
 trained to learn thino-s by heart, and especially to re- 
 collect numbers in calculating. From the same force 
 of habit we derive the important power of forming 
 artificial or conventional associations between ideas — of 
 tacking, as it were, one to the other, in order to have 
 them more under our control ; and hence the relation 
 between arbitrary signs and the things signified, and 
 the whole use of language, Avhether ordinary or alge- 
 braical : hence, too, the formation of what is called 
 artificial memory, and of all the other helps to recol- 
 lection. But a help is provided for quickness of mem- 
 or}^ independent of any habit or training, in what may 
 be termed the natural association of ideas, wherebv 
 one things sugg-ests another from various relations of 
 likeness, contrast, contiguity, and so forth. The same 
 association of ideas is of constant use in the exercise of 
 the inventive faculty, which mainly depends upon it, 
 and which is the great instrument not only in works 
 of imagination, but in conducting all processes of 
 original investigation by pure reasoning. 
 
 Fifthly. The eff'ect of liabit upon our whole intel- 
 lectual system deserves to be further considered, though 
 we have already adverted to it. It is a law of our 
 nature that any exertion becomes more easy the more 
 frequently it is repeated. This might have been other- 
 wise : it might have been just the contrary, so that 
 each successive operation should have been more diffi- 
 cult ; and it is needless to dwell upon the slowness of 
 our progress, as well as the painfulness of all our exer- 
 tions, say, rather, the impossibility of our making any 
 advances in learning, which must have been the result 
 of such an intellectual conformation. But the infiucncc 
 of habit upon the exercise of all our faculties is valu- 
 able beyond expression. It is indeed the great means 
 of our improvement, both intellectual and moral, and
 
 44 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 it furnishes us with the chief, almost the only power 
 we possess of making the different faculties of the mind 
 obedient to the will. Whoever has observed the ex- 
 traordinary feats performed by calculators, orators, 
 rhymers, musicians, nay, by artists of all descriptions, 
 can want no further proof of the power that man 
 derives from the contrivances by which habits are 
 formed in all mental exertions. The performances of 
 the Italian Improvvisatori, or makers of poetry off- 
 hand upon any presented subject and in almost any 
 kind of stanza, are generally cited as the most surpris- 
 ing efforts in this kind. But the power of extempore 
 speaking is not less singular, though more frequently 
 displayed, at least in this country. A practised orator 
 will declaim in measured and in various periods — will 
 weave his discourse into one texture — form paren- 
 thesis within parenthesis — excite the passions, or move 
 to laughter — take a turn in his discourse from an 
 accidental interruption, making it the topic of his 
 rhetoric for five minutes to come, and pursuing in like 
 manner the new illustrations to which it gives rise — 
 mould his diction with a view to attain or to shun an 
 epigrammatic point, or an aUiteration, or a discord ; 
 and all this with so much assured reliance on his own 
 powers, and with such perfect ease to himself, that he 
 shall even plan the next sentence while he is pronounc- 
 ing off-hand the one he is engaged with, adapting each 
 to the other, and shall look forward to the topic which 
 is to follow, and fit in the close of the one he is hand- 
 ling to be its introducer ; nor shall any auditor be able 
 to discover the least difference between all this and the 
 portion of his speech which he has got by heart, or 
 mark the transition from the one to the other.* 
 
 Sixth. The feelings and the passions with which 
 we are moved or agitated are devised for purposes 
 apparent enough, and to effect which their adaptation 
 
 "This experiment has been tried with perfect success to my kaowledg^.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 45 
 
 is undeniable. That of love tends to the continuance 
 of the species — the affections, to the rearing of the 
 young ; and the former is fitted to the difference of sex, 
 as the latter are to that of age. Generally, there are 
 feehngs of sympathy excited by distress and by weak- 
 ness, and these beget attachment towards their objects, 
 and a disposition to relieve them or to support. Both 
 individuals and societies at large gain by the effects 
 thence arising of union and connexion, and mutual 
 help. So hope, of which the seeds are indigenous in 
 all bosoms, and which springs up like certain plants in 
 the soil as often as it is allowed to repose, encourages 
 all our labours, and sustains us in every vicissitude of 
 fortune, as well as under all the toils of our being. 
 Fear, again, is the teacher of caution, prudence, cir- 
 cumspection, and preserves us from danger. Even 
 anger, generally so painful, is not without its use : for 
 it stimulates to defence, and it oftentimes assuages the 
 pain given to our more tender feelings by the harsh- 
 ness, or ingratitude, or injustice, or treachery of those 
 upon whom our claims were the strongest, and whose 
 cruelty or whose baseness would enter like steel into 
 the soul, were no re-action excited to deaden and to 
 protect it. Contempt, or even ^3«Yy, is calculated to 
 exercise the same healing influence.* The operation 
 of these reagents, so to speak, resembles the vis medi- 
 catrix in our bodily system, the form it has of throw- 
 ino; off foreign matter, or of healino- injuries sustained. 
 
 • ''I I'll 
 
 Til en, to go no farther, curiosity is implanted m all 
 minds to a greater or a less degree ; it is proportioned 
 to the novelty of objects, and consequently to our igno- 
 
 • " Atque illi (Grantor et PanaHius) quidem etiam utiliter a iiatuni 
 dicebant permotiones istas animis nostris datas, metum cavendi causa; 
 misericordiam a;gritudinemque dementia!; ipsam iracundiain fortitudinis 
 quasi cotem esse dicebant." — ["And, indeed, tbese jjliilosophers (Grantor 
 and Panaetius) bold that such emotions were usefully implanted in our 
 minds by Nature ; fear for jijivini,' caution, jiity and sufl'ering for giving 
 clemency ; anger itself they maintained to be, as it were, the whetstone of 
 fortitude."] — Acud. Qucust. iv. 44.
 
 4G A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 ranee, and its immediate effects are to fix om* attention 
 — to stimulate our apprehensive powers — by deepening 
 the impressions of all ideas on our minds, to give the 
 memory a hold over them — to make all intellectual 
 exertion easy, and convert into a pleasure the toil that 
 would otherwise be a pain, Can anything be more 
 perfectly contrived as an instrument of instruction, and 
 an instrument precisely adapted to the want of know- 
 ledge, by being more powerful in proportion to the 
 ignorance in which we are? Hence it is the great 
 means by which, above all in early infancy, we are 
 taught everything most necessary for our physical as 
 well as moral existence. In riper years it smooths the 
 way for further acquirements to most men ; to some in 
 whom it is strongest, it opens the paths of science ; but 
 in all, without any exception, it prevails at the be- 
 ginning of life so powerfully as to make them learn the 
 faculties of their own bodies, and the general properties 
 of those around them — an amount of knowledge which, 
 for its extent and its practical usefulness, very far ex- 
 ceeds, though the most ignorant possess it, whatever 
 additions the greatest philosophers are enabled to build 
 upon it in the longest course of the most successful in- 
 vestigations. 
 
 Nor is it the curiosity natural to us all that alone 
 tends to the acquirement of knowledge ; the desire of 
 communicating it is a strong propensity of our nature, 
 and conduces to the same important end. There is a 
 positive pleasure as well in teaching others what they 
 knew not before, as in learning what we did not know 
 ourselves ; and it is undeniable that all this might have 
 been differently arranged without a material alteration 
 of our intellectual and moral constitution in other re- 
 spects. The propensity might have been, like the per- 
 verted desires of the miser, to retain what we know 
 without communication, as it might have been made 
 painful instead of pleasurable to acquire new ideas, by 
 novelty being rendered repulsive and not agreeable.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES, 47 
 
 The stagnation of our faculties, the suspension of men- 
 tal exertion, the obscuration of the intellectual world, 
 would have then followed as certainly as universal 
 darkness would veil the universe on the extinction of 
 the sun. 
 
 Thus far we have been considering the uses to which 
 the mental faculties and feelings are subservient, and 
 their admirable adaptation to these ends. But view 
 the intellectual world as a whole, and surely it is im- 
 possible to contemplate without amazement the extra- 
 ordinary spectacle which the mind of man displays, and 
 the immense progress which it has been able to make 
 in consequence of its structure, its capacity and its pro- 
 pensities, such as we have just been describing them. 
 If the brightness of the heavenly bodies, the prodigious 
 velocity of their motions, their vast distances and 
 mighty bulk, fill the imagination with awe, there is 
 the same Avonder excited by the brilliancy of the intel- 
 lectual powers — the inconceivable swiftness of thought 
 — the boundless range which our fancy can take — the 
 vast objects which our reason dan embrace. That we 
 should have been able to resolve the elements into their 
 more simple constituents — to analyze the subtle hght 
 which fills all space — to penetrate from that remote 
 particle in the universe, of which we occupy a speck, 
 into regions infinitely remote — ascertain the weight of 
 bodies at the surface of the most distant worlds — inves- 
 tigate the laws that govern their motions, or mould 
 their forms — and calculate to a second of time the 
 periods of their reappearance during the revolution of 
 centuries, — all this is in the last degree amazing, and 
 affords nuich more food for admiration than any of the 
 phenomena of the material creation. Then what shall 
 we say of that incredible power of generalization which 
 has enabled some even to anticipate by ages the dis- 
 covery of truths the farthest removed above ordinary 
 apprehension, and the most savouring of improbability 
 and fiction — not merely of a Clairaut conjecturing the
 
 48 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 existence of a seventh planet, and the position of its 
 orbit, but of a Newton learnedly and sagaciously in- 
 ferring, from the refraction of light, the inflammable 
 quality of the diamond, the composition of apparently 
 the simplest of the elements, and the opposite nature 
 of the two ingredients, unknown for a century after, of 
 which it is composed ? * Yet there is something more 
 marvellous still in the processes of thought, by which 
 such prodigies have been performed, and in the force 
 of the mind itself, Avhen it acts wholly without external 
 aid, borrowing nothing whatever from matter, and re- 
 lying on its own powers alone. The most abstruse 
 investigations of the mathematician are conducted with- 
 out any regard to sensible objects; and the helps he 
 derives in his reasonings from material things at all, 
 are absolutely insignificant, compared with the portion 
 of his work which is altogether of an abstract kind — 
 the aid of figures and letters being only to facilitate 
 and abridge his labour, and not at all essential to his 
 progress. Nay, strictly speaking, there are no truths 
 in the whole range of the pure mathematics which 
 might not, by possibility, have been discovered and 
 systematized by one deprived of sight and touch, or 
 immured in a dark chamber, without the use of a 
 single material object. The instrument of Newton's 
 most sublime speculations, the calculus which he in- 
 vented, and the astonishing systems reared by its 
 means, which have given immortalitj^ to the names of 
 Euler, Lagrange, Laplace, all are the creatures of pure 
 abstract thought, and all might, by possibility, have 
 existed in their present magnificence and splendour, 
 without owing to material agency any help whatever, 
 except such as might be necessary for their recording 
 and communication. These are, surely, the greatest 
 
 * Further induction may add, to the list of these wonderful conjectures, 
 the thin ether, of which he even calculated the density and the effects 
 upon planetary motion. Certainly the acceleration of Encke's comet does 
 seem to render the existence of some such medium by no means improbable.
 
 XATtTRE OF THE SCIENCE, A^'D ITS EVIDENCES. 49 
 
 of all the wonders of nature, when justly considered, 
 although they speak to the understanding and not to 
 the sense. Shall Ave, then, deny that the eye could be 
 made without skill in optics, and yet admit that the 
 mind could be fashioned and endowed without the most 
 exquisite of all skill, or could proceed from any but an 
 intellect of infinite power ? 
 
 At first sight, it may be deemed that there is an 
 essential difference between the evidence from mental 
 and from physical phenomena. It may be thought that 
 mind is of a nature more removed beyond our power 
 than matter — that over the masses of matter man can 
 himself exercise some control — that, to a certain de- 
 gree, he has a plastic power — that into some forms 
 he can mould them, and can combine into a certain 
 machinery — that he can begin and can continue motion, 
 and can produce a mechanism by which it may be 
 begun, and maintained, and regulated — while mind, it 
 may be supposed, is wholly beyond his reach ; over it 
 he has no grasp ; its existence alone is known to him, 
 and the laws by which it is regulated ; — and thus, it 
 may be said, the great First Cause, which alone can 
 call both matter and mind into existence, has alone the 
 power of modulating intellectual nature. But, when 
 the subject is well considered, this difference between 
 the two branches of science disappears with all the rest. 
 It is admitted, of course, that we can no more create 
 matter than we can mind ; and we can influence mind 
 in a way altogether analogous to our power of modu- 
 lating matter. By means of the properties of matter 
 we can form instruments, machines, and figures. So 
 by availing ourselves of the properties of mind, we can 
 affect the intellectual faculties — exercisino- them, train- 
 ing them, miprovmg them, producing, as it were, new 
 forms of the understanding. Nor is there a greater 
 difference between the mass of rude iron from which 
 we make steel, and the thousands of watch-springs into 
 which that steel is cut, or the cln'onometer which we 
 
 VOL. VI. E
 
 50 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 form of this and other masses equally inert — than there 
 is between the untutored indocile faculties of a rustic 
 who has grown up to manhood without education, and 
 the skill of the artist who invented that chronometei , 
 and of the mathematician who uses it to trace the mc - 
 tions of the heavenly bodies. 
 
 Although writers on Natural Theology have alto- 
 gether neglected, at least in modern times, that branch 
 of the subject at large with which we have now been 
 occunied, there is one portion of it which has always 
 attracted their attention — the Instincts of animah. 
 These are unquestionably mental faculties, which we 
 discover by observation and consciousness, but which 
 are themselves wholly unconnected with any exercise 
 of reason. They exhibit, however, the most striking 
 proofs of design, for they all tend immediately to the 
 preservation or to the comfort of the animals endowed 
 with them. The lower animals are provided with a 
 far greater variety of instincts, and of a more singular 
 kind than man, because they have only the most cir- 
 cumscribed range and feeblest powers of reason, while 
 to reason man is in almost everything indebted. Yet 
 it would be as erroneous to deny that we are endowed 
 with any instincts, because so much is accomplished by 
 reason, as it would be rash to conclude that other 
 animals are wholly destitute of reasoning, because 
 they owe so much to instinct. Granting that infants 
 learn almost all those animal functions which are of a 
 voluntary nature, by an early exercise of reason, it is 
 plain that instinct alone guides them in others which 
 are necessary to continue their life, as well as to begin 
 their instruction : for example, they suck, and even 
 swallow by instinct, and by instinct they grasp what is 
 presented to their hands. So, allowing that the brutes 
 exercise but very rarely, and in a limited extent, the 
 reasoning powers, it seems impossible to distinguish 
 from the operations of reason those instances of saga- 
 city which some dogs exhibit in obeying the directions
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 51 
 
 of their master, and indeed generally the docility- 
 shown by them and other animals ; not to mention 
 the ingenuity of birds in breaking hard substances by 
 letting them drop from a height, and in bringing the 
 water of a deep pitcher nearer their beaks by throwing 
 in pebbles. These are different from the operations of 
 instinct, because they are acts wliich vary with circum- 
 stances novel and unexpectedly varying; they imply 
 therefore the adaptation of means to an end, and the 
 power of varying those means when obstacles arise : 
 we can have no evidence of design, that is, of reason, 
 in other men, which is not similar to the proof of 
 reason in animals afforded by such facts as these. 
 
 But the operations of pure instinct, by far the 
 greater portion of the exertions of brutes, have never 
 been supposed by any one to result from reasoning, 
 and certainly they do afford the most striking proofs 
 of an intelligent cause, as well as of a unity of design 
 in the world. The work of bees is among the most 
 remarkable of all facts in both these respects. The 
 form is in every country the same — the proportions 
 accurately alike — the size the very same to the frac- 
 tion of a line, go where you will ; and the form is 
 proved to be that which the most refined analysis has 
 enabled mathematicians to discover as of all others the 
 best adapted for the purposes of saving room, and 
 work, and materials. This discovery was only made 
 about a century ago ; nay, the instrument that enabled 
 us to find it out — the fluxional or differential calculus 
 — was unknown half a century before that application 
 of its powers. And yet the bee had been for thousands 
 of years, in all countries, unerringly working according 
 to this fixed rule, choosing the same exact angle of 120 
 degrees for the inclination of the sides of its little room, 
 which every one had for ages known to be the best 
 possible angle, but also choosing the same exact angles 
 of 110 and 70 degrees for the parallelograms of the 
 roof, Avhich no one had ever discovered till the 18th
 
 52 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 century, when Koenig solved that most curious problem 
 of maxima and minima, the means of investigating 
 which had not existed till the century before, when 
 Newton and Leibnitz invented the calculus, whereby 
 such problems can now be easily worked. It is impos- 
 sible to conceive anything more striking as a proof of 
 refined skill than the creation of such instincts, and it 
 is a skill altogether apphed to the formation of intel- 
 lectual existence.* 
 
 Now, all the inferences drawn from the examination 
 which we have just gone through of psychological 
 phenomena are drawn according to the strict rules of 
 inductive science. The facts relating to the velocity of 
 mental operations — to the exercise of attention — to its 
 connexion with memory — to the helps derived from 
 curiosity and from habit — to the association of ideas — 
 to the desires, feelings, and passions — and to the ad- 
 joining provinces of reason and instinct — are all dis- 
 covered by consciousness or by observation ; and we 
 even can make experiments upon the subject by vary- 
 ing the circumstances in which the mental powers are 
 exercised by ourselves and others, and marking the 
 results. The facts thus collected and compared to- 
 gether we are enabled to generahze, and thus to show 
 that certain effects are produced by an agency cal- 
 culated to produce them. Aware that if we desired 
 to produce them, and had the power to employ this 
 agency, we should resort to it for accomplishing our 
 purpose, we infer both that some being exists capable 
 of creating this agency, and that he employs it for this 
 end. The process of reasoning is not lilce, but identical 
 with, that by which we infer the existence of design in 
 others (than ourselves) with whom we have daily inter- 
 course. The kind of evidence is not like, but identical 
 with, that by Avhich we conduct all the investigations 
 of intellectual and of natural science. 
 
 * See Dialogues on Instinct, where the subject of the Cee-architectuio 
 is more fully treated.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 53 
 
 Such is the process of reasoning by which we infer 
 the existence of desio-n in the natural and moral world. 
 To this abstract argument an addition of great im- 
 portance remains to be made. The whole reasoning 
 proceeds necessarily upon the assumption that there 
 exists a being or thing separate from, and independent 
 of, matter, and conscious of its own existence, which 
 we call mind. For the argument is — " Had I to ac- 
 complish this purpose, I should have used some such 
 means;" or, " Had I used these means, I should have 
 thought I was accomplishing some such purpose." 
 Perceiving the adaptation of the means to the end, the 
 inference is, that some being has acted as we should 
 ourselves act, and with the same views. But when we 
 so speak, and so reason, we are all the while referring 
 to an intelligent principle or existence : we are re- 
 ferring to our mind, and not to our bodily frame. The 
 agency which we infer from this reasoning is, therefore, 
 a spiritual and immaterial agency — the w^orking of 
 somethino- like our own mind — and intcllio-ence like our 
 own, though incomparably more powerful and more 
 skilful. The Being of whom we thus acquire a know- 
 ledge, and whose operations as well as existence we 
 thus deduce from a process of inductive reasoning, 
 must be a spirit, and wholly immaterial. But his being 
 such is only inferred, because we set out Avith assuming 
 the separate existence of our own mind, independently 
 of matter. Without that we never could conclude that 
 superior intelligence existed or acted. The belief that 
 mind exists is essential to the whole argument by which 
 we infer that the Deity exists. This belief we have 
 shown to be perfectly well grounded, and further occa- 
 sions of confirming the truth of it will occur under 
 another head of discourse.* But at any rate it is the 
 foundation of Natural Theology in all its branches : and 
 upon the scheme of materialism no rational, indeed no 
 
 • Sec. V. and Kotc IV.
 
 54 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 intelligible, account can be given for a First Cause, or 
 of the creation or government of the universe.* 
 
 The preceding observations have been directed to 
 the inquiries respecting the design exhibited in the 
 universe. But the other parts of the first great branch 
 of Natural Theology come strictly within the scope of 
 the same reasoning. Thus, all the proofs of the Deit^-'s 
 personality, that is. His individuality. His unity ; all 
 the evidence which we have of His works, showing 
 throughout not only that they proceeded from design, 
 but that the design is of one distinctive kind — that they 
 come from the hand not only of an intelligent being, 
 but of a being whose intellect is specifically peculiar, 
 and always of the same character ; all these proofs are 
 in the most rigorous sense inductive. 
 
 * It is worthy of observation, that not the least illusion is made in Dr. 
 Paley's work to the argument here stated, although it is the foundation of 
 the whole of Natural Theology. Not only does this author leave entirely 
 untouched the argument a 2^riori (as it is called), and also all the induc- 
 tive arguments derived from the phenomena of mind, but he does not even 
 advert to the argument upon which the inference of design must of necessity 
 rest — that design which is the whole subject of his book. Nothing can 
 more evince his distaste or his inferior capacity for metaphysical researches. 
 He assumes the very position which alone sceptics dispute. In combating 
 him they would assert that he begged the whole question ; for certainly 
 they do not deny, at least in modern times, the fact of adaptation. As to 
 the fundamental doctrine of causation, not the least allusion is ever made 
 to it in any of his writings, even in his Moral Philosophy. This doctrine 
 is discussed in Note III.
 
 55 
 
 SECTION iV. 
 
 OF THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI. 
 
 Hitherto we have confined our attention to the e\'i- 
 dences of Natural Rehgion afforded by the phenomena 
 of the universe — what is commonly termed the argu- 
 ment d 2^osteriori. But some ingenious men, conceiv- 
 ing that the existence and attributes of a Deity are 
 discoverable by reasoning merely, and without refer- 
 ence to facts, have devised what they term the argument 
 d priori, of which it is necessary now to speak. 
 
 The Jirst thing that strikes us on this subject is the 
 consequence which must inevitably follow from admit- 
 ting the possibility of discerning the existence of the 
 Deity and His attributes d priori, or wholly indepen- 
 <lent of facts. It would follow that this is a necessary, 
 not a contingent truth, and that it is not only as impos- 
 sible for the Deity not to exist, as for the whole to be 
 greater than the sum of its parts, but that it is equally 
 impossible for His attributes to be other than the argu- 
 ment is supposed to prove they are. Thus the reason- 
 ers in question show, by the argument d priori, that 
 He is a being of perfect wisdom and perfect benevolence. 
 Dr. Clarke is as clear of this as he is clear that His 
 existence is proved by the same argument. Now, first, 
 It is impossible that any such truths can be necessary ; 
 for their contraries are not things wholly inconceivable, 
 inasmuch as there is nothinfj at all inconceivable in the 
 Maker of tlio universe existing as a being of limited 
 power and of mixed goodness, nay of malevolence. We 
 never, before all experience, could pronounce it mathe- 
 matically impossible that such a being should exist,
 
 50 A DISCOURSE OF AATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 and should have created the universe. But next, the 
 facts, when we came to examine them, might disprove 
 the conclusions drawn a priori. The universe might 
 by possibility be so constructed that every contrivance 
 might fail to produce the desired effect — the eye might 
 be chromatic and give indistinct images — the joints 
 might be so unhinged as to impede motion — every 
 smell, as Paley has it, might be a taint, and every 
 touch a sting. Indeed, we know that, perfect as the 
 frame of things actually is, a few apparent exceptions 
 to the general beauty of the system have made many 
 disbelieve the perfect power and perfect goodness of 
 the Deity, and invent Manichean theories to account 
 for the existence of evil. Nothing can more clearly 
 show the absurdity of those arguments by which it is 
 attempted to demonstrate the truths of this science as 
 mathematical or necessary, and cognizable a priori. 
 
 But, secondly, let us see whether the argument in 
 question be really one a priori, or only a very imper- 
 fect process of induction — an induction from a limited 
 number of facts. 
 
 Dr. Clarke is the chief patron of this kind of de- 
 monstration, as he terms it ; and though his book con- 
 tains it more at large, the statement of his fundamental 
 argument is, perhaps, to be found most distinctly given 
 in the letters subjoined to that celebrated work. The 
 fundamental propositions in the discourse itself are. 
 That something must have existed from all eternity, 
 and that this something must have been a being in- 
 dependent and self-existent. In the letters he con- 
 denses, perhaps explains, certainly illustrates, these 
 positions (see Answers to Letters 3, 4, and 5) by argu- 
 ing that the existence of space and time (or, as he 
 terms it, duration) proves the existence of something 
 Avhereof these are qualities, for they are not themselves 
 substances ; he cites the celebrated Scholium Generate 
 of the Principna; and he concludes that the Deity 
 must be the infinite being of whom they are qualities.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EA'IDENCES. 57 
 
 But to argue from the existence of space and time 
 to the existence of anvtliino; else, is assumino- that those 
 two things have a real being independent of our con- 
 ceptions of them ; for the existence of certain ideas in 
 om* minds cannot be the foundation on which to build 
 a conclusion that anything external to our minds exists. 
 To infer that space and time are qualities of an infinite 
 and eternal being is surely assuming the very thing to 
 be proved, if a proposition can be said to have a distinct 
 meaning at all which predicates space and time as 
 quahties of anything. What, for example, is time but 
 the succession of ideas, and the consciousness and the 
 recollection which we have of that succession ? To call 
 it a quahty is absurd ; as well might we call motion a 
 quality, or our ideas of absent things and persons a 
 quality. 
 
 Again, if space is to be deemed a quality, and if in- 
 finite space be the quality of an infinite being, finite 
 space must also be a quality, and must, by parity of 
 reason, be the quality of a finite being. Of what being ? 
 Here is a cube of one foot within an exhausted receiver, 
 or a cylinder of half an mcli diameter and three inches 
 high in the Torricellian vacuum. What is the being of 
 whom that square and that round space are to be 
 deemed as qualities ? Is distance, that is, the supposed 
 movement of a point in a straight line, ad infinitum, a 
 quality ? It must be so if infinite space is. Then of 
 what is it a quality ? If infinite space is the quality of 
 an infinite being, infinite distance must be the quality 
 of an infinite being also. But can it be said to be the 
 quality of the same infinite being ? Observe that the 
 mind can form just as correct an idea of infinite dis- 
 tance as of infinite space, or, rather, it can form a 
 somewhat more distinct idea. But the being to be in- 
 ferred from this infinite distance cannot be exactly the 
 same in kind with that to be inferred from space infinite 
 in all directions. Again, if infinite distance shows an 
 infinite being of whom it is the quality, finite distance
 
 58 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOaT. 
 
 must be the quality of a finite being. What being ? 
 Of what kind of being is the distance between two 
 trees or two points a quahty ? There can be no doubt 
 that this argument rests either upon the use of words 
 without meaning, or it is a disguised form of the old 
 doctrine of the anima mundi, or of the hypothesis 
 that the whole universe is a mere emanation of the 
 Deity. 
 
 But it deserves to be remarked that this argument, 
 which professes to be a jjriori, and wholly independent 
 of all experience, is, strictly speaking, inductive, and 
 nothing more. We can have no idea whatever of space 
 apart from experience. The experience of space filled 
 with matter enables us, by means of abstraction, to con- 
 ceive space without the matter ; and a further abstrac- 
 tion and generahzation enable us to conceive infinite 
 space by imagining the limits indefinitely removed of a 
 particular portion of space. But the foundation of the 
 whole reasoning is the experience of certain finite por- 
 tions of space first observed in connexion with matter. 
 Therefore our ideas of space are the result of our expe- 
 rience as to external objects. Even if we would fancy 
 figure (which is possible) without having seen or touched 
 any objects external to ourselves, still it would be the 
 experience of our own ideas that had given us this idea. 
 So of time ; it is the succession of our ideas, and we 
 have the notion of it from consciousness and memory. 
 From hence we form an idea of indefinite time or 
 eternal duration. But the basis of the whole is the 
 observation which we have made upon the actual 
 succession of our ideas ; and this is inductive, though 
 the process of reasoning be very short. It is as muth 
 a process of inductive reasoning as that by which we 
 arrive at the knowledge of the mind's existence. There 
 is, therefore, great inaccuracy in denominating the ar- 
 gument in question, were it ever so sound, an argument 
 a priori, for it is a reasoning founded on experience, 
 and it is to be classed with the arguments derived from
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 59 
 
 the observation of external objects, the gronnd of our 
 reasoning a posteriori as to matter, or, at the utmost, 
 with the information given by consciousness, the whole 
 ground of our reasoning a posteriori as to mind. 
 
 When, however. Dr. Clarke has once fixed the pro- 
 jwsitions to which we have been adverting, he deduces 
 from them the whole qualities of the Deity — those which 
 we learn from experience — and thinks he can derive 
 them all from the simple propositions that lie at the 
 foundation of his argument. It is truly astonishing to 
 find so profound a thinker, and, generally speaking, so 
 accurate a reasoner, actually supposing that he can 
 deduce from the proposition, that a self-existent being 
 must have existed from all time, this other proposition, 
 that therefore this being must be infinitely Avise (Prop. 
 XL), and that he " must of necessity be a being of in- 
 finite goodness, justice, and truth, and all other moral 
 perfections, such as become the supreme governor and 
 judge of the world." (Prop. XII.) With the general 
 texture of this argument we have at present nothing 
 to do, further than to show how little it can by possi- 
 bility either deserve the name of an argument a priori, 
 or be regarded as the demonstration of a necessary 
 truth. For surely, prior to all experience, no one 
 could ever know that there were such things as either 
 judges or governors ; and without the previous idea of 
 a finite or worldly ruler and judge, we could never 
 gain any idea of an eternal and infinitely just ruler or 
 judge ; and equally certain it is tliat this demonstra- 
 tion, if it proves the existence of an infinite and eternal 
 ruler or judge to be a necessary and not a contingent 
 truth fwlncli is Dr. Clarke's whole argument), would 
 just as strictly prove the existence of finite rulers and 
 judges to be a necessary and not a contingent truth ; 
 or, in other words, it would follow, that the existence 
 of governors and judges in the world is a necessary 
 truth, like tiie e([uality of the three angles in a triangle 
 to two right angles, and that it would be a contradiction
 
 CO A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 in terms, and so an impossibility, to conceive the world 
 existing without governors and judges. 
 
 I believe it may safely be said, that very few men 
 have ever formed a distinct apprehension of the nature 
 of Dr. Clarke's celebrated argument, and that hardly 
 any person has ever been at all satisfied with it. The 
 opinion of Dr. Reid is well known upon this subject, 
 and it has received the full acquiescence of no less an 
 authority than that of Mr. Stewart. 
 
 " These," says Dr. Reid, " are the speculations of 
 men of superior genius ; but whether they be as solid as 
 they are sublime, or whether they be the wanderings 
 of imagination in a region beyond the limits of human 
 understanding, I am unable to determine." 
 
 To this Mr. Stewart adds — "After this candid ac- 
 knowledgment from Dr. Reid, I need not be ashamed 
 to confess my own doubts and difficulties on the same 
 subject."* 
 
 That the argument a priori has been most explicitly 
 handled by Dr. Clarke, and that its acceptation rests 
 pi-incipally upon his high authority, cannot be denied. 
 Nevertheless, other great men preceded him in this 
 field ; and beside Sir Isaac Newton's Scholium Gener- 
 ale, which is thought to have suggested it, the same 
 reasoning is to be found in the writings of others of 
 Dr. Clarke's predecessors. 
 
 The tenth chapter of Mr. Locke's fourth book does 
 not materially differ, in its fundamental position, from 
 the "Demonstration of the Being and Attributes." 
 The argument is all drawn from the truth, assumed as 
 self-evident. " Nothing can no more produce any real 
 being than it can be equal to two right angles." From 
 this, and the knowledge we have of our own existence, 
 it is shown to follow, that, " from eternity there has 
 been something ;" and again, " that this eternal being 
 must have been most powerful and most knowing," and 
 
 • Philosophy of the Active Powers, i. 334.
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 61 
 
 " tlicrefore God."' The only difference between this 
 argument and Dr. Clarke's is, that Mr. Locke states, 
 as one of his propositions, our knowledge of our own 
 existence. But this difference is only in appearance ; 
 for Dr. Clarke really has assumed what Mr. Locke 
 has more logically made a distinct proposition. Dr. 
 Clarke's first proposition, that something must have 
 existed from all eternity, is demonstrated by showing 
 the absurdity of the supposition that " the things which 
 now are were produced out of nothing." He therefore 
 assumes the existence of those things, while Mr. Locke 
 more strictly assumes the existence of ourselves only, 
 and indeed states it as a proposition. The other argu- 
 ments of Mr. Locke are more ingenious than Dr. 
 Clarke's, and the whole reasoning is more rigorous, 
 although he does not give it the name of a Demonstra- 
 tion, and scarcely can be said to treat it as proving 
 that the Deity's existence is a necessary truth. Were 
 it to be so considered, the objections formerly stated 
 would apply to it. Indeed, if Dr. Clarke had stated 
 the different steps of his reasoning as distinctly as Mr. 
 TiOcke has done, he would have perceived it to be 
 inconclusive beyond a very limited extent, and to that 
 extent mductive.* 
 
 Dr. Cudworth, in the fifth chapter of his great 
 work,t has, in answering the Democritick arguments, 
 so plainly anticipated Dr. Clarke, that it is hardly 
 possible to conceive how the latter should have avoided 
 referring to the passage. | " If space be indeed a 
 nature distinct from body, and a thing really incor- 
 poreal, then will it undeniably follow, from this very 
 
 * See particularly INIr. Locke's proofs of his first position. — Bum.. Undcr- 
 itnnding, IV. x. .sec. 2. 
 
 t Intellectual %stem, Hock I. c. v. s. 3, par. 4. Tlie profound Icaruiiig 
 of this unfinished work, and its satisfactory exposition of the ancient 
 [ihilosophers, are above all praise. Why are the manuscripts of the author 
 Hlill buried in the liritLsh IMuiOuni? 
 
 I Cudworth's book was published in 1G78. The 'Demonstration' 
 waa delivered in 1704-5 at Uie lioyle Lecture.
 
 62 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 principle of theirs (the Democritists), that there must 
 be incorporeal space ; and (this space being supposed 
 by them also to be infinite) an infinite incorporeal 
 Deity. Because if space be not the extension of body, 
 nor an affection thereof, then must it of necessity be, 
 either an accident existing alone by itself, without a 
 substance, which is impossible ; or else the extension 
 or affection of some other incorporeal substance that 
 is infinite." He then supposes a reply (founded on 
 the doctrines of Gassendi), that space is of a middle 
 nature and essence, and proceeds to observe upon it : 
 — " Whatsoever is, or hath any kind of entity, doth 
 either subsist by itself, or else is an attribute, affection, 
 or mode of something that doth subsist by itself. For 
 it is certain that there can be no mode, accident, or 
 affection of nothing ; and, consequently, that nothing 
 cannot be extended nor mensurable. But if space be 
 neither the extension of body, nor yet of substance 
 incorporeal, then must it of necessity be the extension 
 of nothing, and the affection of nothing, and notliing 
 must be measurable by yards and poles. We con- 
 clude, therefore, that from this very hypothesis of the 
 Democritick and Epicurean atheists, that space is a 
 nature distinct from body, and positively infinite, it 
 follows undeniably that there must be some incorporeal 
 substance whose affection its extension is : and because 
 there can be nothing infinite but only the Deity, that 
 it is the infinite extension of our incorporeal Deity." 
 The statement of Dr. Clarke's argument, given in his 
 correspondence, is manifestly, if not taken from this, 
 at least coincident with it in every important respect. 
 Dr. Cudworth, indeed, confines his reasoning to the 
 consideration of space and immensity, and Dr. Clarke 
 extends his to time and eternity also. But of the two 
 portions of the argument this has been shown to be the 
 most fallacious. 
 
 The arguments of the ancient theists were in great 
 part drawn from metaphysicj>l speculations, some of
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 63 
 
 vrliich I'esembled the argument a priori* But they 
 were pressed by the difficulty of conceiving the pos- 
 sibiUty of creation, whether of matter or spirit ; and 
 their inaccurate vicAvs of physical science made them 
 consider this difficulty as peculiar to the creative act. 
 They were thus driven to the hypothesis that matter 
 and mind are eternal, and that the creative power of 
 the Deity is only plastic, T^ey supposed it easy to 
 . comprehend how the divine mind should be eternal 
 and seh'-existing, and matter also eternal and self- 
 existing. They found no difficulty in comprehending 
 how that mind could, by a wish or a word, reduce 
 chaos to order, and mould all the elements of things 
 into their present form ; but how everything could be 
 made out of notliing they could not understand. When 
 rightly considered, however, there is no more difficulty 
 in comprehending the one than the other operation — 
 the existence of the plastic, than of the creative power ; 
 or rather, the one is as incomprehensible as the other. 
 How the Supreme Bemg made matter out of the void 
 is not easily comprehended. This must be admitted ; 
 but is it more easy to conceive how the same Being, 
 by his mere will, moved and fashioned the primordial 
 atoms of an eternally existing chaos into the beauty 
 of the natural world, or the regularity of the solar 
 system ? In truth, these difficulties meet us at every 
 step of the argument in Natural Theology, when we 
 would penetrate beyond those things, those facts which 
 our faculties can easily comprehend ; but they meet us 
 just as frequently, and are just as hard to surmount, 
 in our steps over the field of Natural Philosophy. 
 How matter acts on matter — how motion is begun, or, 
 when begun, ceases — how impact takes place — what 
 are the conditions and limitations of contact — whether 
 or not matter consists of ultimate particles, endowed 
 with opposite powers of attraction and repulsion, and 
 
 * Notes VI. and VI 1.
 
 64 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY, 
 
 how these act — how one planet acts npon another at 
 the distance of a hundred milhon of miles — or how one 
 piece of iron attracts and repels another at a distance 
 less than any visible space — all these, and a thousand 
 others of the like sort, are questions just as easily put, 
 and as hard to answer, as how the universe could be 
 made out of nothing, or how, out of chaos, order could 
 be made to spring. 
 
 In concluding these observations upon the argument 
 a priori, I may remark, that although it carries us but a 
 very little way, and would be unsafe to build upon alone, 
 it is yet of eminent use in two particulars. First, it 
 illustrates, if it does not indeed prove, the possibility of 
 an Infinite Being existing beyond and independent of 
 us and of all visible things ; and, secondly, the fact of 
 those ideas of immensity and eternity, forcing them- 
 selves, as Mr. Stewart expresses it, upon our belief, 
 seems to furnish an additional argument for the ex- 
 istence of an immense and Eternal Being. At least 
 we must admit that excellent person's remark to be 
 well-founded, that after we have, by the argument a 
 posteriori (I should rather say the other parts of the 
 argument d posteriori), satisfied ourselves of the ex- 
 istence of an intelligent cause, we naturally connect 
 with this cause those impressions which we have de- 
 rived from the contemplation of infinite space and 
 endless duration, and hence we clothe with the attri- 
 butes of immensity and eternity the awful Being whose 
 existence has been proved by a more rigorous process 
 of investigation.* 
 
 • The late Earl Spencer, who had deeplj' studied these abstruse subjects, 
 cnmniunicated to me, before he was aware of my opinion, that he had 
 arrived at nearly the same conclusion upon the merits of the argument 
 a priori.
 
 65 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 MORAL OR ETHICAL BRANCH OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 If we now direct our attention to the other great 
 branch of Natural Theology, that which we have 
 termed the moral or ethical portion, which treats of 
 the probable designs of the Deity with respect to the 
 future destiny of his creatures, we shall find that the 
 same argument applies to the nature of its truths which 
 we have been illustrating in its application to the first 
 or ontological branch of the science, or that relating to 
 the existence and attributes of the Creator, whether 
 proved by physical or by psychological reasoning. 
 The second branch, like the first, rests upon the same 
 foundation with all the other inductive sciences, the 
 only difference being that the one belongs to the in- 
 ductive science of Natural and Mental, and the other 
 to the inductive science of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 The means which we have of investigating the pro- 
 bable designs of the Deity are derived from two sources 
 — the nature of the human mmd, and the attributes of 
 the Creator. 
 
 To the consideration of these we now proceed ; but 
 in discussing them, and especially the first, there is this 
 difference to be marked as distinguishing them from 
 the former branch of Natural Theology. They are 
 far less abundant in doctrine ; they have been much 
 less cultivated by scientific incpiircrs ; and the truths 
 ascertained in relation to them are fewer in number : 
 in a word, our knowledge of the Creator's designs in 
 the order of nature is much more linitod than oui 
 acquaintance with his existence and attributes. But 
 
 VUL. Vi. F
 
 G6 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 on the other hand, the identity of the evidence with 
 that on which the other inductive sciences rest is far 
 more conspicuous in what may be termed the psycholo- 
 gical part of the second branch of Natural Theology 
 than in any portion of the first branch, it being much 
 less apparent that the inferences drawn from facts in 
 favour of the Deity's existence and attributes are of the 
 same nature with the ordinary deductions of physical 
 science — in other words, that this part of Natural 
 Theology is a branch of Natural Philosophy — than it 
 is that the deductions from the nature of the mind in 
 favour of its separate and future existence are a branch 
 of Metaphysical science. 
 
 From this diversity it follows, that, in treating this 
 second branch of the subject, there will be more 
 necessity for entering at large into the subject of the 
 Deity's probable designs in regard to the soul, especially 
 those to be inferred from its constitution, than we found 
 there was for entering into the evidences of his existence 
 and attributes, although there will not be so much 
 labour required for proving that this is a branch of 
 inductive science, 
 
 I. PSYCHOLOGICAL ARGUMENT, OR EVIDENCE OP THE 
 deity's designs drawn from THE NATURE OP THE 
 MIND. 
 
 The Immateriality of the Soul is the foundation of 
 all the doctrines relating to its future State. If it con- 
 r,ists of material parts, or if it consists of any modifica- 
 tion of matter, or if it is inseparably connected with 
 any combination of material elements, we have no 
 reason whatever for believino; that it can survive the 
 existence of the physical part of our frame ; on the 
 contrary, its destruction seems to follow as a necessary 
 consequence from the dissolution of the body. It is 
 true that the body is not destroyed in the sense of 
 being annihilated ; but it is equally true that the par- 
 ticular conformation, the particular arrangement of
 
 KATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 67 
 
 material particles with whicli the soul is supposed to 
 have been inseparably connected, or in whicli it is sup- 
 posed to consist, is gone and destroyed even in the 
 sense of annihilation ; for that arrangement or con- 
 formation has no longer an existence, any more than a 
 marble statue can be said to have an existence when 
 it is burned into a mass of pounded quick-hme. Now 
 it is to the particular conformation and arrangement, 
 and not to the matter itself, that the soul is considered 
 as belonging by any theory of materiahsm, there being 
 none of the theories of materialists so absurd as to 
 make the total mass of the particles themselves, inde- 
 pendent of their arrangement, the seat of the soul. 
 Therefore, the destruction of that form and organiza- 
 tion as effectually destroys the soul which consists in it, 
 as the beauty or the intellectual expression of the 
 statue is gone when the marble is reduced to lime-dust. 
 
 Happily, however, the doctrines of materialism rest 
 upon no solid foundation, either of reason or experience. 
 The vague and indistinct form of the propositions in 
 which they are conveyed affords one strong argument 
 against their truth. It is not easy to annex a definite 
 meaning to the proposition that mind is inseparably 
 connected with a particular arrangement of the particles 
 of matter ; it is more difficult to say what they mean 
 who vaguely call it a modification of matter ; but to 
 consider it as consisting in a combination of matter, as 
 coming into existence the instant that the particles of 
 matter assume a given arrangement, appears to be a 
 wholly unintelligible collocation of words. 
 
 Let us, however, resort to experience, and inquire 
 what results may be derived from that safe guide 
 whom modern philosophers most willingly trust, though 
 despised as too humble a helpmate by most of the 
 ancient sages. 
 
 We may first of all observe that if a particular 
 combination of matter gives Ijirth to what we call 
 mind, this is an operation altogether peculiar and
 
 G8 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 unexampled. We have no other instance of it ; we 
 know of no case in which the combination of certain 
 elements produces something quite different, not only 
 from each of the simple ingredients, but also different 
 from the whole compound. We can, by mixing an 
 acid and an alkali, form a third body, having the 
 qualities of neither, and possessing qualities of its own 
 different from the properties of each; but here the 
 third body consists of the other two in combina- 
 tion. There are not two things — two different exist- 
 ences — the neutral salt composed of the acid and the 
 alkali, and another thing different from that neutral 
 salt and engendered for the first time by that salt 
 coming into existence. So when, by chiselling, " the 
 marble softened into life grows warm," we have the 
 marble new moulded, and endowed with the power of 
 agreeably affectmg our senses, our memory, and our 
 fancy ; but it is all the while the marble : there is the 
 beautiful and expressive marble instead of the amor- 
 phous mass, and we have not, beside the marble, a 
 new existence created bv the form which has been 
 given to that stone. But the materialists have to 
 maintain that, by matter being arranged in a particu- 
 lar way, there is produced both the organized body 
 and something different from it, and having not one 
 of its properties — neither dimensions, nor weight, nor 
 colour, nor form. They have to maintain that the che- 
 mist who mixed the aqua-fortis and potash produced 
 both nitre and something quite different from all the 
 three, and which began to exist the instant that the 
 nitre crystallized ; and that the sculptor who fashioned 
 the Apollo, not only made the marble into a human 
 fio-ure. but called into beino- somethina; different from 
 the marble and the statue, and which exists at the same 
 time with both and without one property of either. If, 
 therefore, their theory is true, it must be admitted to 
 rest upon nothing which experience has ever taught 
 us : it supposes operations to be performed and rela-
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 69 
 
 tlons to exist of which we see nothing that bears the 
 least resemblance in anything we know. 
 
 But secondly, the doctrine of the materialists in 
 every form which it assumes is contradicted by the 
 most plain and certain deductions of experience. The 
 evidence which we have of the existence of the mind 
 is complete in itself, and wliolly independent of the 
 qualities or the existence of matter. It is not only as 
 strong and conclusive as the evidence which makes us 
 1 )clieve in the existence of matter, but more strong and 
 more conclusive; the steps of the demonstration are 
 fewer ; the truth to which they conduct the reason is 
 less remote from the axiom — the intuitive or self- 
 evident position whence the demonstration springs. 
 We believe that matter exists because it makes a 
 certain impression upon our senses, that is, because it 
 produces a certain change or a certain effect ; and we 
 argue, and argue justly, that this effect must have a 
 cause, though the proof is by no means so clear that 
 this cause is something external to ourselves. But we 
 know the existence of mind by our consciousness of 
 or reflection on Avhat passes within us, and our own 
 existence as sentient and thinking beings implies the 
 existence of the mind which has sense and thought. 
 To know, therefore, that we are, and that we think, 
 implies a knowledge of the soul's existence. But this 
 knowledge is altogether independent of matter, and 
 the subject of it bears no resemblance whatever to 
 matter in any one of its qualities, or habits, or modes 
 of action. Nay, we only know the existence of matter 
 through the operations of the mind ; and were we to 
 doubt of the existence of either, it would be far more 
 reasonable to doubt that matter exists than that mind 
 exists. The existence and the operations of mind, 
 supposing it to exist, will account for all the pheno- 
 mena which matter is supposed to exhibit. But the 
 existence and action of matter, vary it how we may, 
 will never account for one of the phenomena of mhid.
 
 70 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 We do not believe more firmly in the existence of the 
 sensible objects around us when we are well and awake, 
 than we do in the reality of those phantoms which the 
 imagination conjures up in the hours of sleep, or the 
 season of derangement But no effect produced by 
 material agency ever produced a spiritual existence, 
 or engendered the belief of such an existence ; indeed, 
 the thing is almost a contradiction in terms. That all 
 around us should only be the creatures of our fancy, 
 no one can affirm to be impossible. But that our 
 mind — that which remembers — compares — imagines — 
 in a word, that which thinks — that of the existence of 
 which we are perpetually conscious — that which cannot 
 but exist if we exist — that which can make its own 
 operations the subject of its own thoughts — that this 
 should have no existence is both impossible and indeed 
 a contradiction in terms. We have, therefore, evidence 
 of the strictest kind — induction of facts the most precise 
 and unerring — to justify the conclusion that the mind 
 exists, and is different from and independent of matter 
 altogether.* 
 
 Now this proposition not only destroys the doctrine 
 of the materialists, but leads to the strono'est inferences 
 m tavour of the mmd surviving the body with which it 
 is connected through life. All our experience shows 
 no one instance of annihilation. Matter is perpetually 
 changing — never destroyed ; the form and manner of 
 its existence are endlessly and ceaselessly varying — ^its 
 existence never terminates. The body decays, and is 
 said to perish ; that is, it is resolved into its elements, 
 and becomes the material of new combinations, animate 
 and inanimate, but not a single particle of it is annihi- 
 lated ; nothing of us or around us ever ceases to exist. 
 If the mind perishes, or ceases to exist at death, it is 
 the only example of annihilation which we know. 
 
 But, it may be said, why should it not, like the 
 
 • See. on the Hypothesis of Materialism, Note IV.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 71 
 
 body, be clianged, or dissipated, or resolved into its 
 elements ? The answer is plain : it differs from the 
 body in this, that it has no parts ; it is absolutely one 
 and simple ; therefore it is incapable of resolution or 
 dissolution. These words, and the operations or events 
 they refer to, have no application to a simple and 
 immaterial existence. 
 
 Indeed, our idea of annihilation is wholly derived 
 from matter, and what we are wont to call destruction 
 means only change of form and resolution into parts, 
 or combination into new forms. But for the example 
 of the changes undergone by matter, we should not 
 even have any notion of destruction or anniliilation. 
 When we come to consider the thing itself, we cannot 
 conceive it to be possible; we can Avell imagine a 
 parcel of gunpowder or any other combustible sub- 
 stance ceasing to exist as such by burning or explod- 
 ing ; but that its whole elements should not continue 
 to exist in a different state, and in new combinations, 
 appears inconceivable. We cannot follow the process 
 so far ; we can form no conception of any one particle 
 that once is, ceasing wholly to be. How then can we 
 form any conception of the mind which we now know 
 to exist ceasing to be ? It is an idea altogether above 
 our comprehension. True, we no longer, after the 
 V)ody is dissolved, perceive the mind, because we never 
 knew it by the senses ; we only were aware of its 
 existence in others by its effects upon matter, and had 
 no experience of it unconnected with the body. But 
 it by no means follows that it should not exist, merely 
 because we have ceased to perceive its effects upon any 
 jiortion of matter. It had connexion with the matter 
 which it used to act upon, and by which it used to 
 be acted upon; when its entire severance took place 
 that matter underwent a great change, but a change 
 arising from its being of a composite nature. The 
 same separation cannot have affected the mind in the 
 like manner, because its nature is simple and not
 
 72 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 composite. Our ceasing to perceive any effects pro- 
 duced by it on any portion of matter, the only means 
 we can have of ascertaining its existence, is therefore 
 no proof that it does not still exist ; and even if we 
 admit that it no longer does produce any effect upon 
 any portion of matter, still this will offer no proof that 
 it has ceased to exist. Indeed, when we speak of its 
 being annihilated, we may be said to use a word to 
 which no precise meaning can be attached by our 
 imaginations. At anv rate it is much more difR- 
 cult to suppose that this annihilation has taken place, 
 and to conceive in what way it is effected, than to 
 suppose that the mind continues in some state of 
 separate existence, disencumbered of the body, and 
 to conceive in what manner this separate existence 
 is maintained. 
 
 It may be further observed that the material world 
 affords no example of creation, any more than of 
 annihilation. Such as it was in point of quantity 
 since its existence began, such it still is, not a single 
 particle of matter having been either added to it or 
 taken from it. Chano;e — unceasing chano-e — in all its 
 parts, at every mstant of tmie, it is for ever under- 
 going ; but though the combinations or relations of 
 these parts are unremittingly varying, there has not 
 been a single one of them created, or a single one 
 destroyed. Of mind this cannot be said ; it is called 
 into existence perpetually before our eyes. In one 
 respect this may weaken the argument for the con- 
 tinued existence of the soul, because it may lead to 
 the conclusion, that as we see mind created, so may it 
 be destroyed ; while matter, which suffers no addition, 
 is liable to no loss. Yet the argument seems to gain 
 in another direction more force than it loses in this; 
 for nothing can more strongly illustrate the diversity 
 between mind and matter, or more strikingly shoAv 
 that the one is independent of the other. 
 
 Again, the mind's independence of matter and capa-
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 73 
 
 c'.tj of existence without it, appears to be strongly 
 illustrated by whatever shows the entire dissimilarity 
 of its constitution. The inconceivable rapidity of its 
 operations is, perhaps, the most striking feature of the 
 diversity ; and there is no doubt that this rapidity in- 
 creases in proportion as the interference of the senses 
 — that is. the influence of the body — is withdrawn. A 
 multitude of facts, chiefly drawn from and connected 
 with the Phenomena of Dreams, throw a strong light 
 upon this subject, and seem to demonstrate the possible 
 disconnexion of mind and matter. 
 
 The bodily functions are in part suspended during 
 sleep — that is, all those which depend upon volition. 
 The senses, however, retain a portion of their acute- 
 ness ; and those of touch* and hearing, especially, may 
 be affected without awakening the sleeper. The conse- 
 quence of the cessation which takes place of all com- 
 munication of ideas through the senses is that the 
 action of the mind, and, above all, of those powers 
 connected with the imagination, becomes much more 
 vigorous and uninterrupted. This is shown in two 
 ways — first, by the celerity with which any impression 
 upon the senses, strong enough to be felt without 
 awakening, is caught up and made the groundwork of 
 a new train of ideas, the mind instantly accommodating 
 itself to the suggestions of the impression, and making 
 all its thoughts chime in with that ; and, secondly, by 
 the prodigiously long succession of images that pass 
 through the mind, with perfect distinctness and the 
 greatest liveliness, in an instant of time. 
 
 The facts upon this subject are numerous, and of 
 undeniable certainty, because of daily occurrence. 
 Every one knows the effect of a bottle of hot water 
 applied during sleep to the soles of the feet : you 
 
 • The common classification of the senses which makes the touch com- 
 prehend tlie sense of heat and cold, is here adopted ; though, certainly, 
 there seems almost as little reason for ranging this under touch, as for 
 ranging sight, smell, hearing, and taste under the same head.
 
 74 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 instantly dream of walking over hot mould, or ashes, 
 or a stream of lava, or having your feet burnt by com- 
 ing too near the fire. But the effect of falling' asleep 
 in a stream of cold air, as in an open carriage, varies 
 this experiment in a very interesting, and, indeed, 
 instructive manner. You will, instantly that the wind 
 begins to blow, dream of being upon some exposed 
 point, and anxious for shelter, but unable to reach it ; 
 then you are on the deck of a ship, suffering from the 
 gale — you run behind a sail for shelter, and the wind 
 changes, so that it still blows upon you — ^you are driven 
 to the cabin, but the ladder is removed, or the door 
 locked. Presently you are on shore, in a house with 
 all the windows open, and endeavour to shut them in 
 vain ; or, seeing a smith's forge, you are attracted by 
 the fire, and suddenly a hundred bellows play upon it, 
 and extinguish it in an instant, but fill the whole 
 smithy with their blast, till you are as cold as on the 
 road. If you from time to time awake, the moment 
 you fall asleep again, the same course of dreaming 
 succeeds in the greatest variety of changes that can be 
 rung on our thoughts.* 
 
 But the rapidity of these changes, and of the suc- 
 cession of ideas, cannot be ascertained by this experi- 
 ment : it is most satisfactorily proved by another. Let 
 any one who is extremely overpowered with drowsiness 
 — as after sitting up all night, and sleeping none the 
 next day — lie down and begin to dictate : he will find 
 himself falHng asleep after uttering a few words, and 
 he will be awakened by the person who writes re- 
 peating the last word, to show he has written the 
 whole ; not above five or six seconds may elapse, and 
 the sleeper will find it at first quite impossible to be- 
 lieve that he has not been asleep for hours, and will 
 chide the amanuensis for having fallen asleep over his 
 work, so great apparently will be the length of the 
 
 * This happened to me many years ago when travelling in Sweden by 
 night. Lord Stuart, who was with me, slept sounder and did not feel it..
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AM) ITS EVIDENCES. i i) 
 
 dream whicli he has dreamt, extending through half a 
 Ufetime. This experiment is easily tried: again and 
 again the sleeper will find his endless dream renewed ; 
 and he will always be able to tell in hoAv short a time 
 he must have performed it. For suppose eight or ten 
 seconds required to write the four or five words dictated, 
 sleep could hardly begin in less than four or five seconds 
 after the effort of pronouncing the sentence ; so that, 
 at the utmost, not more than four or five seconds can 
 have been spent in sleep. But, indeed, the greater 
 probability is, that not above a single second can have 
 been so passed : for a writer will easily finish two words 
 in a second ; and suppose he has to write four, and 
 half the time is consumed in falling asleep, one second 
 only is the duration of the dream, which yet seems to 
 last for years, so numerous are the images that com- 
 pose it.* 
 
 Another experiment is still more striking, and affords 
 a more remarkable proof both of the velocity of thought, 
 and of the quickness with which its course is moulded 
 to suit any external impression made on the senses. 
 But this experiment is not so easily tried. A puncture 
 made will immediately produce a long dream, whicli 
 seems to terminate in some such accident as that the 
 sleeper has been wandering through a wood, and re- 
 ceived a severe wound from a spear, or the tooth of a 
 wild animal, which at the same instant awakens him. 
 A gun fired in one instance, during the alarm of inva- 
 sion, made a military man at once dream the enemy 
 had landed, so that he ran to his post, and repairing to 
 tiie scene of action, was present when the first discharge 
 took place, which also the same moment awakened him.j 
 
 Now these facts show the infinite rapidity of thought ; 
 
 • The experiment related in the text was made by myself after I had 
 been in court all iii^ht on a trial, and had not slept next day. 
 
 + The ingenious Eastern tale, in tlie Spectator, of the magician wlio 
 made the prince plunge liis head into a pail of water, is founded on facts 
 like those to which I have been referring.
 
 76 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 for the puncture and discharge of the gun took place 
 in an instant, and their impression on the senses was 
 as instantaneous ; and yet, during that instant, the 
 mind went through a long operation of fancy, suggested 
 by the first part of the impression, and terminated, as 
 the sleep itself was, by the continuation — the last por- 
 tion of the same impression. Mark what was done in 
 an instant — in a mere point of time. The sensation of 
 the pain or noise beginning is conveyed to the mind, 
 and sets it a thinking of many things connected with 
 such sensations. But that sensation is lost or forgotten 
 for a portion of the short instant during which the im- 
 pression lasts ; for the conclusion of the same impression 
 gives rise to a new set of ideas. The walk in the wood, 
 and the hurrying to the post, are suggested by the 
 sensation beginning. Then follow many things uncon- 
 nected with that sensation, except that they grew out 
 of it ; and, lastly, comes the wound, and the broadside, 
 suggested by the continuance of the sensation, while, 
 all the time, this continuance has been producing an 
 effect on the mind wholly different from the train of 
 ideas the dream consists of, nay, destructive of that 
 train — namely, the effect of rousing it from the state of 
 sleep, and restoring its dominion over the body. Nay, 
 there may be said to be a third operation of the mind 
 going on at the same time with these two — a looking 
 forward to the denouement of the plot, — for the fancy 
 is all along so contriving as to fit that, by terminating 
 in some event, some result consistent with the impression 
 made on the senses, and which has given rise to the 
 whole train of ideas. 
 
 There seems every reason to conclude, from these 
 fiicts, that we only dream during the instant of transi- 
 tion into and out of sleep, and when our sleep is not 
 complete. That instant is quite enough to account for 
 the whole of what appears a night's dream. It is quite 
 certain we remember no more than ought, according to 
 these experiments, to fill an instant of time ; and there
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 77 
 
 can be no reason why we should only recollect this one 
 portion if we had dreamt much more. The fact that 
 we never dream so much as when our rest is frequently 
 broken, proves the same proposition almost to demon- 
 stration. An uneasy and restless night passed in bed 
 is always a night studded full with dreams. So, too, 
 a night passed on the road in travelling, by such as 
 sleep well in a carriage, is a night of constant dreaming. 
 Every jolt that awakens or half-awakens us seems to 
 be the cause of a dream. If it be said that we always 
 or generally dream when alseep, but only recollect a 
 portion of our dream, then the question arises why Ave 
 recollect a dream each time we fall asleep, or are 
 awakened, and no more? If we can recall twenty 
 dreams in a night of interrupted sleep, how is it that 
 we can only recall one or two when our sleep is con- 
 tinued ? The length of time occupied by the dream we 
 recollect is the only reason that can be given for our 
 forgetting the rest ; but this reason fails if, each time 
 we are roused, we remember separate dreams. 
 
 Nothing can be conceived better calculated than 
 these facts to demonstrate the extreme agility of the 
 mental powers, their total diversity from any material 
 substances or actions ; nothing better adapted to satisfy 
 us that the nature of the mind is consistent with its 
 existence apart from the body. 
 
 The changes which the mind undergoes in its activity, 
 its capacity, its mode of operation, are matter of con- 
 stant observation, indeed of every man's experience. 
 Its essence is the same ; its fundamental nature is un- 
 alterable ; it never loses the distinguishing peculiarities 
 which separate it from matter ; never acquires any of 
 the properties of the latter ; but it undergoes important 
 changes, both in the progress of time, and by means of 
 exercise and culture. The development of the bodily 
 powers appears to affect it, and so docs their decay ; 
 i)ut we rather ought to say, that, in ordinary cases, its 
 improvement is contemporaneous with the growth of
 
 78 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 the body, and its decline generally is contemporaneous 
 Avitli that of the body, after an advanced period of life. 
 For it is an undoubted fact, and almost universally true, 
 that the mind before extreme old ao-e becomes more 
 sound, and is capable of gTeater things during nearly 
 thirty years of diminished bodily powers ; that, in most 
 cases, it suffers no abatement of strength during ten 
 years more of bodily decline ; that, in many cases, a 
 few years more of bodily decrepitude produce no effect 
 upon the mind ; and that, in some instances, its faculties 
 remain bright to the last, surviving the almost total 
 extinction of the corporeal endowments. It is certain 
 that the strength of the body, its agility, its patience 
 of fatigue, indeed all its quahties, decline from thirty 
 at the latest ; and yet the mind is improving rapidly 
 from thirty to fifty ; suffers little or no decline before 
 sixty : and therefore is better when the body is en- 
 feebled, at the age of fifty-eight or fifty-nine, than it 
 was in the acme of the corporeal faculties thirty years 
 before. It is equally certain, that while the body is 
 sensibly decaying, between sixty or sixty-three and 
 seventy, the mind suffers hardly any loss of strength 
 in the generality of men ; that men continue to seventy- 
 five or seventy-six in the possession of all their mental 
 powers, while few can then boast of more than the re- 
 mains of physical strength ; and instances are not 
 wanting of persons who, between eighty and ninety, or 
 even older, when the body can hardly be said to hve, 
 possess every faculty of the mind unimpaired. We are 
 authorized to conclude, from these facts, that unless 
 some unusual and violent accident interferes, such as a 
 serious illness or a grave contusion, the ordinary course 
 of life presents the mind and the body running courses 
 widely different, and in great part of the time in 
 opposite directions ; and this affords strong proof, both 
 that the mind is independent of the body, and that its 
 destruction in the period of its entire vigour is contrary 
 to the analogy of nature.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE. AND ITS EVIDENCES. 79 
 
 The strono-cst of all the arguments both for the 
 separate existence of mind, and for its surviving the 
 body, remains, and it is drawn from the strictest in- 
 duction of facts. The body is constantly undergoing 
 change in all its parts. Probably no person at the age 
 of twenty has one single particle in any part of his 
 body which he had at ten ; and still less does any por- 
 tion of the body he was born with continue to exist in 
 or with him. All that he before had has now entered 
 into new combinations, forming parts of other men, or 
 of animals, or of vegetable or mineral substances, ex- 
 actly as the body he now has will afterwards be resolved 
 into new combinations after his death. Yet the mind 
 continues one and the same, " without change or shadow 
 of turning." None of its parts can be resolved or 
 dispersed ; for it is one and single, and it remains un- 
 changed by the changes of the body. The argument 
 would be quite as strong though the change undergone 
 by the body were admitted not to be so complete, and 
 though some small portion of its harder parts* were 
 supposed to continue with us through life. 
 
 But observe how strong the inferences arising from 
 these facts are, both to prove that the existence of the 
 mind is entirely independent of the existence of the 
 body, and to show the probability of its surviving ! If 
 the mind continues the same while all or nearly all the 
 body is changed, it follows that the existence of the 
 mind depends not in the least degree upon the exist- 
 ence of the body ; for it has already survived a total 
 change of, or, in the common use of the words, an 
 entire destruction of that body. But, again, if the 
 strongest argument to show that the mind perishes 
 with the body, nay, the only argument be, as it indu- 
 bitably is, derived from the phenomena of death, the 
 fact to which we have been referring affords an answer 
 to this. For the argument is, that we know of no 
 
 • Except the ciiainfl of the teeth none sucli appear to exist ; and the 
 teeth of course grow long alter the mhid exists.
 
 80 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 instance in which the mind has ever been known to exist 
 after the death of the body. Now here is exactly the 
 instance desiderated, it being manifest that the same 
 process which takes place on the body more suddenly 
 at death is taking place more gradually, but as effect- 
 ually in the result, during the whole of life, and that 
 deatli itself does not more completely resolve the body 
 into its elements and form it into new combinations 
 than hving fifteen or twenty years does destroy, by 
 like resolution and combination, the self-same body. 
 And yet after those years have elapsed and the former 
 body has been dissipated and formed into new com- 
 binations, the mind remains the same as before, exer- 
 cising the same memory and consciousness, and so 
 preserving the same personal identity as if the body 
 had suffered no change at all. In short, it is not more 
 correct to say that all of us who are now hving have 
 bodies formed of what were once the bodies of those 
 who went before us, than it is to say that some of us 
 who are now living at the age of fifty have bodies 
 which in part belonged to others now living at that 
 and other ages. The phenomena are precisely the 
 same, and the operations are performed in like manner, 
 though with different degrees of expedition. Now all 
 would believe in the separate existence of the soul if 
 they had experience of its existing apart from the 
 body. But the facts referred to prove that it does 
 exist apart from one body with which it once was 
 united, and though it is in union with another, yet as 
 it is not adherent to the same, it is shown to have an 
 existence separate from, and independent of, that body. 
 So all would believe in the soul surviving the body, if 
 after the body's death its existence were made mani- 
 fest. But the facts referred to prove that after the 
 body's death, that is, after the chronic dissolution which 
 the body undergoes during life, the mind continues to 
 exist as before. Here, then, we have that proof so 
 much desiderated — the existence of the soul after the
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 81 
 
 dissolution of the bodily frame with which it was con- 
 nected. The two cases cannot, in any soundness of 
 reasoning, be distinguished ; and this argument, there- 
 fore, one of pure induction, derived partly from physical 
 science, through the evidence of our senses, partly from 
 psychological science by the testimony of our conscious- 
 ness, appears to prove the possible Immortality of the 
 Soul almost as rigorously as " if one were to rise from 
 the dead." 
 
 XoAV we have gone through the first division of this 
 second branch of the subject, and have considered the 
 proofs of the separate and future existence of the soul 
 afforded by the nature of mind. It is quite clear that 
 all of them are derived from a strict induction of facts, 
 and that the doctrines rest upon precisely the same 
 kind of evidence with that upon which the doctrines 
 respecting the constitution and habits of the mind are 
 founded. In truth, the subjects are not to be dis- 
 tinguished as regards the species of demonstration ap- 
 plicable to them — the process by which the investigation 
 of them is to be conducted. That mind has an exist- 
 ence perceivable and demonstrable as well as matter, 
 and that it is wholly different from matter in its quali- 
 ties, is a truth proved by induction of facts. That 
 mind can exist independent of matter and survive the 
 dissolution of the body, is a truth proved exactly in 
 the same manner, by induction of facts. The pheno- 
 mena of dreams which lead to important conclusions 
 touching the nature of the mind, lead, and by the self- 
 same kind of reasoning, to important conclusions of a 
 similar description, touching the mind's existence inde- 
 pendent of the body. The facts, partly physical, partly 
 psychological, wdiich show the mind to be unaffected by 
 the decay and by even the total though gradual change 
 of the body during life, likewise show that it can exist 
 after the more sudden change of a similar kind, which 
 wo term the dissolution of the body by death. There 
 is no means of separating the two classes of truths, those 
 
 VOL. VI. G
 
 82 A DISCOURSE OF NATTJEAL THEOLOGY, 
 
 of Psycliology and those of Natural Theology ; they 
 are parts of one and the same science ; they are ascer- 
 tained by one and the same process of investigation ; 
 they repose upon one and the same kind of evidence ; 
 nor can any person, without giving way to a most 
 groundless and unphilosophical prejudice, profess his 
 belief in the former doctrines, and reject the latter. 
 The only difference between the two is that the Theo- 
 logical propositions are of much greater importance to 
 human happiness than Metaphysical. 
 
 II. MORAL ARGUMENT, OR EVIDENCE OP THE DEITY's DE- 
 SIGNS DRAWN FROM HIS ATTRIBUTES IN CONNEXION 
 WITH THE CONDITION OP THE SPECIES. 
 
 The probable designs of Divine Providence with re- 
 spect to the future lot of man are to be gathered in 
 part from the nature of the mind itself, the work of 
 the Deity, and in part from the attributes of the Deity, 
 ascertained by an examination of his whole works. It 
 thus happens that a portion of this head of the argu- 
 ment has been anticipated in treating the other head, 
 the nature of the mind. Whatever qualities of the soul 
 show it to differ from matter, both make it improbable 
 that it should perish with the body, and make it im- 
 probable tliat the Deity should destine it to such a 
 catastrophe ; and whatever facts show that it can sur- 
 vive a total change of the body during life, show like- 
 wise the probability that the same being who endowed 
 it with that capacity will suffer it, in like manner, to 
 continue in beino- after the more sudden chano;e which 
 the body undergoes at death. 
 
 The argument built upon the supposed designs of 
 the Creator requires to be handled in a humble and 
 submissive spirit ; but, if so undertaken, there is 
 nothing in it which can be charged with presumption, 
 or deemed inconsistent with perfect though rational 
 devotion. In truth, all the investigations of Natural 
 Theology are equally liable to such a charge ; for to
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS E\aDENCES. 83 
 
 trace the evidences of design in the works of nature, 
 and inquire how far benevolence presides over their 
 formation and maintenance — in other words, to deduce 
 from what we see, the existence of the Deity, and 
 speculate upon His wisdom and goodness in the crea- 
 tion and government of the universe — is just as daring 
 a thing, and exactly of the same kind of audacity, as 
 to speculate upon His probable intentions with respect 
 to the future destiny of man. 
 
 The contemplation of the Deity's goodness, as deduc- 
 ible from the great preponderance of instances in which 
 benevolent design is exhibited, when accompanied with 
 a consideration of the feelings and wishes of the human 
 mind, gives rise to the first argument which is usually 
 adduced in favour of the Immortality of the Soul. 
 There is nothing more universal or more constant than 
 the strong desire of immortality wliich possesses the 
 mind, and compared with Avhich its other wishes and 
 solicitudes are but faint and occasional. That a bene- 
 volent being should have implanted this propensity 
 without the intention of gratifying it, and to serve no 
 very apparent purpose unless it be the proving tliat 
 it is without an object, appears difficult to beheve : for 
 certainly the instinctive fear of death would have served 
 all the purposes of self-preservation without any desire 
 of immortality being connected with it, although there 
 can be no doubt that this desire, or at least the anxiety 
 about our future destiny, is intimately related to our 
 dread of dissolution. But the inference acquires ad- 
 ditional strength from the consideration that the 
 faculties of the mind ripen and improve almost 
 to the time of the body's extinction, and that the 
 destruction of the soul at the moment of its being 
 fitter than ever for worthy things seems quite incon- 
 ceivable. 
 
 The tender affections so strongly and so universally 
 operating in our nature afford another argument of 
 a like kind. No doubt the purpose to which they
 
 84 A DISCOFRSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 are subsei'vient in this life is much more distinctly 
 perceivable ; yet still it is inconsistent with the provi- 
 sions of a benevolent Power to suppose that we should 
 be made susceptible of such vehement feelings, and be 
 suffered to indulge in them, so as to make our happiness 
 chiefly consist in their gratification, and that then we 
 should suddenly be made to undergo the bitter pangs 
 of separation, while, by our surviving, those pangs are 
 lengthened out without any useful effect resulting from 
 our sufferings. That such separations should be eternal 
 appears irreconcilable with the strength of the affections 
 wounded, and with the goodness so generally perceived 
 in the order of the universe. The supposition of a re- 
 union hereafter overcomes the difficulty, and reconciles 
 the apparent inconsistency. 
 
 The unequal distribution of rewards and punishments 
 in this world, that is, the misery in which virtue often 
 exists, and the prosperity not seldom attendant upon 
 vice, can in no way be so well accounted for, consist- 
 ently with the scheme of a benevolent Providence, as 
 by the supposition of a Future State. 
 
 But perhaps there is nothing more strongly indica- 
 tive of such a design in the Creator than the universal 
 prevalence of religion amongst men. There can hardly 
 be found a tribe so dark and barbarous as to be without 
 some kind of worship, and some belief in a future state 
 of existence. Now all religions are so far of God that 
 he permits them ; he made and preserves the faculties 
 which have invented the false ones, as well as those 
 which comprehend and treasure up the true faith. 
 Rehgious behef, religious observance, the looking for- 
 ward to a future existence, and pointing to a condition 
 in which the deeds done on earth shall be visited with just 
 recompense, are all facts of universal occurrence in the 
 history and intellectual habits of the species. Are they 
 all a mere fiction ? Do they indeed signify nothing ? 
 Is that a mere groundless fancy, which in all places, in 
 all ages, occupies and has occupied the thoughts and
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 85 
 
 mingled itself with the actions of all mankind, whether 
 barbarous or refined ?* 
 
 But if it be said that the behef of such a state is 
 subservient to an important use, the restraining the 
 passions and elevating the feelings, it is obvious to 
 reply, that so great a mechanism to produce this effect 
 very imperfectly and precariously, appears little con- 
 sistent with the ordinary efficacy and simplicity of the 
 works of Providence, and that the disposition to shun 
 vice and debasement could have been more easily and 
 more certainly implanted by making them disgusting. 
 True, there would then have been little merit in the 
 restraint ; but of what value is the production of such 
 merit, if the mind which attains it and becomes adorned 
 by it has no sooner approached perfection than it ceases 
 to exist at all ? The supposition of a Future State at 
 once reconciles all inconsistencies here as before, and 
 enables us to comprehend why virtue is taught by the 
 hopes of another life, as well as why those hopes, and 
 the grounds they rest on, form so large a portion of 
 human contemplation. 
 
 That the existence of the soul in a new state after 
 the entire dissolution of the body — nay, that the exist- 
 ence of the body itself in a new state, after passing 
 through death, is nothing contrary to the analogies 
 which nature presents, has been oftentimes observed, 
 and is a topic much dwelt upon, especially by the 
 ancient philosophers. The extraorchnary transforma- 
 tions which insects undergo have struck men's imagina- 
 tions so powerfully in contemplating this subject, that 
 the soul itself was deemed of old to be aptly designated 
 under the emblematical form of a butterfly, which 
 liaving: cmerocd from the chrysalis state, flutters in 
 the air, instead of continuing to crawl on the earth, as 
 it did before the worm it once was ceased to exist. 
 The instance of the frx'tus of animals, and especially 
 of the human embryo, has occupied the attention of 
 
 •Xotis VIII. and IX.
 
 86 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 modern inquirers into this interesting subject. Mark- 
 ing the entire difference in one state of existence before 
 and after birth, and the diversity of every one animal 
 function at those two periods, philosophers have in- 
 ferred, that as on passing from the one to the other 
 state of existence so mighty a change is wrought, with- 
 out any destruction either of soul or body, a like 
 transition may take place at death, and the event 
 which appears to close our being may only open the 
 portals of a new, and higher, and more lasting con- 
 dition. As far as such considerations suggest analogies, 
 they furnish matter of pleasing contemplation, perhaps 
 lend even some illustration to the argument. Never- 
 theless they must be regarded as exceedingly feeble 
 helps in this latter respect, if indeed their aid be not 
 of a doubtful, and even dangerous kind. They are all 
 drawn from material objects, — all rest upon the pro- 
 perties and the fortunes of corporeal existences. Now 
 the stronghold of those who maintain the Immortality 
 of the Soul, and, indeed, all the doctrines of Natural 
 Theology, is the entire difference between mind and 
 matter, and the proofs we have constantly around us, 
 and within us, of existences as real as the bodies which 
 affect our outward senses, but resembling those perish- 
 able things in no one quality, no one habit of action, 
 no one mode of being. 
 
 Upon the particulars of a future state — the kind of 
 existence reserved for the soul — the species of its oc- 
 cupations and enjoyments— Natural Theology is, of 
 course, profoundly silent ; but not more silent than Re- 
 velation. We are left wholly to conjecture, and in a 
 field on which our hopelessness of attaining any certain 
 result is quite equal to our interest in the success of the 
 search. Indeed, all our ideas of happiness in this world 
 are such as rather to disqualify us for the mvestigation, 
 or what may more fitly be termed the imagination. 
 Those ideas are, for the most part, either directly con- 
 nected with the senses, or derived from our condition 
 of weakness here, which occasions the formation of con-
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 87 
 
 nexions for mutual comfort and support, and gives to 
 the feebler party the feeling of allegiance, to the 
 stronger the pleasure of protection. Yet may we con- 
 ceive that, hereafter, such of our affections as have been 
 the most cherished in life shall survive and form again 
 the delight of meeting those from whom death has 
 severed us — that the soul may enjoy the purest dehghts 
 in the exercise of its powers, above all, for the inves- 
 tigation of truth — that it may expatiate in the full dis- 
 covery of whatever has hitherto been most sparingly 
 revealed, or most carefully hidden from its vioAv — that 
 it may be gratified Avith the sight of the useful harvest 
 reaped by the world from the good seed which it helped 
 to sow. We can only conjecture or fancy. But these, 
 and such as these, are pleasures in which the gross in- 
 dulgences of sense have no part, and which are even 
 removed above the less refined of our moral gratifica- 
 tions : they may, therefore, be supposed consistent with 
 a pure and faultless state of spiritual being. 
 
 Perhaps the greatest of all the difficulties which we 
 feel in forming such conjectures, regards the endless 
 duration of an immortal existence. All our ideas in 
 this world are so adapted to a limited continuance of 
 hfe — not only so moulded upon the scheme of a being 
 incapable of lasting beyond a few years, but so insepar- 
 ably connected with a constant change even here — a 
 perpetual termination of one stage of existence and 
 beginning of another — that we cannot easily, if at all, 
 fancy an eternal, or even a long-continued, endurance 
 of the same faculties, the same pursuits, and the same 
 enjoyments. AU here is in perpetual movement — 
 ceaseless change. There is nothing in us or about us 
 that abides an hour — nay, an instant. Resting-place 
 there is none for the foot — no haven is provided where 
 the mind may bo still. How then shall a creature, 
 thus wholly ignorant of repose — unacquainted with 
 any continuation at all in any portion of his existence 
 — so far abstract his thoughts from his whole experi- 
 ence as to conceive a long, much more a perpetual,
 
 88 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 duration of the same powers, pursuits, feelings, plea- 
 sures ? Here it is that we are the most lost in our 
 endeavours to reach the seats of the blessed with our 
 imperfect organs of perception, and our inveterate and 
 only habits of thinking.* 
 
 It remains to observe, that all the speculations upon 
 which we have touched under this second subdivi- 
 sion of the subject, the moral argument, are similar 
 to the doctrines of inductive science — at least to suclv 
 of those doctrines as are less perfectly ascertained ; 
 but the investigation is conducted upon the same prin- 
 ciples. The most satisfactory proofs of the soul's im- 
 mortality are those of the first, or psychological class, 
 derived from studying the nature of mind ; those of 
 the second class which we have last been surveying, de- 
 rived from the condition of man in connexion with the 
 attributes of the Deity, are less distinct and cogent ; 
 nor would they be sufficient of themselves ; but they 
 add important confirmation to the others ; and both are 
 as truly parts ot legitimate inductive science as any 
 branch — we may rather say, any other branch of 
 moral philosophy. 
 
 * The part of Dean Swift's satire which relates to the Stulbrugs may 
 possibly occur to some readers as bearing upon this topic. That the 
 staunch admirers of that singularly-gifted person should have been flung 
 into ecstacies on the perusal of this extraordinary part of his writings, 
 needs not surprise us. Their raptures were full easily excited ; but I am 
 quite clear they have given a wrong gloss to it, and heaped upon its merits 
 a very undeserved praise. They think that the picture of the Stulbrags 
 was intended to wean us from a love of life, and that it has well accom- 
 plished its purpose. I am very certain that the Dean never had any such 
 thing in view, because his sagacity was far too great not to perceive that 
 he only could make out this position by a most undisguised begging of 
 the question. How could any man of the most ordinary reflection expect 
 to wean his fellow-creatures from love of life by describing a sort of per- 
 sons who at a given age lost their faculties, and became doting drivelling 
 idiots? Did any man breathing ever pretend that he wished to live, not 
 only for centuries but even for threescore years and ten, bereaved of his 
 understanding, and treated by the law and by his fellow-men as in hope- 
 less incurable dotage ? The passage in question is much more likely to 
 have proceeded from Swift's exaggerated misanthropy, and to have been 
 designed as an antidote to human pride, by showing that our duration is 
 necessarily limited — if, indeed, it is not rather to be regarded as the work 
 of mere -whim and caprice.
 
 89 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 LORD BACON^S DOCTRINE OF FINAL CAUSES.* 
 
 IT now appears, that when we said that Natural 
 Theology can no more be distinguished from the 
 physical, psychological, and ethical sciences, in respect 
 of the evidence it rests upon and the manner in which 
 its investigations are to be conducted, than the dif- 
 ferent departments of those sciences can be distin- 
 guished from each other in the like respect, we were 
 only making an assertion borne out by a close and 
 rigorous examination of the subject. How, then, comes 
 it to pass, it may be asked, that the father of Inductive 
 Philosophy has banished the speculation of Final Causes 
 from his system, as if it were no branch of inductive 
 science ? A more attentive consideration of the ques- 
 tion will show, first, that the sentence which he pro- 
 nounced has been not a little misunderstood by persons 
 who looked only at particular aphorisms, without duly 
 regarding the context and the occasion ; and, secondly, 
 that Lord Bacon may very probably have conceived 
 a prejudice against the subject altogether, from the 
 abuses, or indeed perversions, to which a misplaced 
 affection for it had given rise in some of the ancient 
 schools of philosophy. 
 
 That Lord Bacon speaks disparagingly of the in- 
 quiry concerning Final Ciiuses, both when he handles 
 it didactically, and when he mentions it incidentally, 
 is admitted. lie enumerates it among tlie errors 
 that spring from the restlessness of mind (impotentia 
 mentis), which forms the fourth class of the idols of 
 
 • NoteX.
 
 90 A DISCOURSE OP KATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 the species (idola tribus) or causes of false philosophy, 
 connected with the peculiarities of the human constitu- 
 tion.* In other parts of the same work he descants 
 upon the mischiefs which have arisen in the schools 
 fi'om mixino- the doctrines of natural religion with 
 those of natural philosophy;! and he more than once 
 treats of the inquiry concerning Fmal Causes as a 
 barren speculation, comparing it to a nun or a vestal 
 consecrated to heaven. J But a nearer examination of 
 this great authority will show that it is not adverse to 
 our doctrine. 
 
 ]. First of all it is to be remarked, that Lord 
 Bacon does not disapprove of the speculation con- 
 cerning Final Causes absolutely, and does not under- 
 value the doctrines of Natural Rehgion, so long as 
 that speculation and those doctrines are kept in their 
 proper place. His whole writings bear testimony to 
 the truth of this proposition. In the Parasceve to 
 natural and experimental history, which closes the 
 Novum Organmn, he calls the history of the pheno- 
 mena of nature a volume of the work of God, and as 
 it were another Bible — " volumen operum Dei, et 
 tanquam altera scriptura."§ In the first book of the 
 De Dignitate, he says there are two books of religion 
 to be consulted — the Scriptures, to tell the will of God, 
 and the book of creation, to show his power. || Accord- 
 ingly he maintains elsewhere li^ that a miracle was 
 never yet performed to convert atheists, because these 
 might always arrive at the knowledge of a Deity by 
 the light of nature. Nor ought we to pass over the 
 remarkable passage of the Cogitata et Visa, in which 
 he propounds the use of Natural Philosophy as the 
 
 * Nov. Org. lib. i. Aph. 48. 
 
 t lb. Aph. 96 ; and De Dig. et Aug. lib. i. 
 
 X " Sterilis et tanquam virgo Deo saura non parit." — [" A virgin barren 
 and, as it were, consecrated to God, never brings forth."] — c. 5. De Dig. 
 lib. iii. 
 
 § " The volume of the works of God, and, as it were, another Scripture." 
 — Parasceve, c. 9. || Lib. i. ^11^- lib. iii- c. 13,
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 91 
 
 cure for superstition and the support of true religion. 
 '•' Xaturalem Philosophiam, post verbum Dei, certissi- 
 mam superstitionis medicinam, eandem probatissimum 
 fidei alimentum esse. Itaque merito religioni tanquam 
 fidatissimam et acceptissimara aneillam attribui, cum 
 altera voluntatem Dei, altera potestatem manifestet." * 
 If the earhcr part of the passage left any doubt of the 
 kind of service which religion was to derive from in- 
 ductive science, the last words clearly show that it 
 could only be by the doctrine of final causes. 
 
 2. But further, he distinctly classes natural religion 
 among the branches of legitimate science ; and it is of 
 great and decisive importance to our present inquiry 
 that we should mark the particular place which he 
 assigns to it. He first divides science into two great 
 branches, Theology and Philosophy — comprehending 
 under the former description only the doctrines of 
 revelation, and under the latter all human science. 
 Now, after expressly excluding Natural Religion f 
 from the first class, he treats it as a part of the 
 second. The second, or philosophy, is divided into 
 three parts, according as its object is the Deity, 
 Nature, or Man. The first of these subdivisions con- 
 stitutes Natural Religion, which he says may be 
 termed Divine knowledge, if you regard its object, 
 but Natural knowledge, if you consider its nature 
 and evidence (" ratione informationis scientia naturahs 
 censeri potest." t) That he places it in a difierent sub- 
 division from Natural Philosophy proves nothing ; for 
 he classes anatomy, medicine, and intellectual philo- 
 sophy also in a different subdivision : they come under 
 the head of Human Philosophy, or the science of man, 
 as contradistinguislied from Natural Theology and 
 Natural Philosophy, or the science of God and of 
 external objects. Many objections may undoubtedly 
 
 * Francisci Baconi, Co;;itata et Visa. t De Di^. lib. iii. c. 1. 
 
 I " In respect of its inlVirmation or science it may be reckoned natural 
 philosophy." — De Di(j. lib. iii. c. 2.
 
 92 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 be made to this classification, of wliich it is perhaps 
 enough to say, that it leads to separating optics as 
 well as anatomy and medicine* from natural philo- 
 sophy. But, at all events, it shows both that Lord 
 Bacon deemed Natural Theology a fit object of philo- 
 sophical inquiry, and that he regarded the inductive 
 method as furnishing the means by which the inquiry 
 was to be conducted. 
 
 3. The general censure upon the doctrine of Final 
 Causes to which we have in the outset adverted, as 
 conveyed by certain incidental remarks, is manifestly 
 directed against the abuse of such speculations, and 
 more especially in the ancient schools of antiquity. 
 Lord Bacon justly objects to the confounding of final 
 with efficient or physical causes ; he marks the loose 
 and figurative language to which this confusion has 
 given rise ; he asks if it is philosophical to describe the 
 eye as Aristotle, Galen, and others do, with the eyelids 
 and eyelashes as a wall and a hedge to protect it ; or 
 the bones as so many beams and pillars to support the 
 body ; f and he is naturally apprehensive of the danger 
 which may result from men introducing fancies of their 
 own into science, and, above all, from their setting out 
 with such fancies, and then making the facts bend to 
 humour them. This is, indeed the great abuse of the 
 doctrine of final causes ; and the more to be dreaded 
 in its consequences, because of the religious feelings 
 which are apt to mix themselves with such speculations, 
 and to consecrate error.J 
 
 * De Dig. lib. iv. c. 3. He treats of the desiderata in optics under tie 
 head of the human mind — the senses. 
 
 f lb. lib. iii. e. 4. 
 
 X This idea is expressed by Bacon, with his wonted felicity, in the 75th 
 Aphorism. " Pessima enim res est errorum apotheosis ; et pro peste in- 
 tellecttis habenda est, si vanis accedat veneratio." — [" The worst of all this 
 is the consecration of errors, and it is to be accounted the pest of the un- 
 derstanding if vain things become objects of veneration."] — Nov. Org. lib. i. 
 He gives an instance of this folly in the perverted use made of some por- 
 tions of the Bible history — " Huic vanitati nonnulli ex modernis summa 
 levitate ita indulserunt, ut in primo capitulo Geneseos et in libro Job et
 
 I XATUEE OF THE SCIENCE, ANT) ITS EVIDENCES. 93 
 
 I 
 
 4. The objections of Lord Bacon are the more clearly 
 i shown to be levelled against the abuse only, that wo 
 find him speaking m nearly similar terms of logic and 
 the mathematics as having impeded the progress of 
 , natural science. In the passage already referred to, 
 I and which occurs twice in his books, where the Platonists 
 ■are accused of mixing Natural Religion with philosophy, 
 i the latter Platonists (or Eclectics) are in the same words 
 ; charged with corrupting it by the mathematics, and the 
 I Peripatetics by logic* Not certainly that the greatest 
 1 loo-ician of modern times could midervalue either his 
 ; own art or the skill of the analvst, but because Aristotle 
 I through dialectic, and Proclus through geometrical 
 I pedantry, neglected that humbler but more useful pro- 
 vince of watching and interpreting nature, and used 
 the instruments furnished by logic and the mathematics, 
 not to assist them in classifying facts or in reasoning 
 from them, but to construct phantastic theories, to 
 which they made the facts bend. 
 
 When rio'htlv examined, then, the authoritv of Lord 
 Bacon appears not to oppose the doctrine which we arc 
 seeking to illustrate. Yet it is possible that a strong 
 impression of the evils occasioned by the abuse of these 
 speculations may have given him a less favourable 
 opinion of them than they deserved. It appears that 
 he had even conceived some prejudice against logic and 
 the mathematics from a similar cause ; and he manifests 
 it, not only in the passages already referred to, but in 
 that portion of his treatise De Dig. et Aug. in which 
 he treats of mathematical as an appendix to physical 
 ' science, expressing much hesitation whether to rank it 
 I as a science, and delivering himself with some asperity 
 
 r aliis scriiituris sacris, Philosophiam Naturalein lundare coiiati .«int ; infer 
 viva qucerentes niortua." — [" In this vanity some of the moderns have so far 
 indulf^ed with the utmost thoughtlessness, that they have attempted to 
 found natural philosopliy on the first chapter of Genesis and the Book of 
 Job and otiier Scriptures — seekinfj the livinij ainoiif/ the dcad."''\ 
 * Nov. Org. lib. i. Aph. 96; De Dig. lib. i.
 
 94 A DISCOUKSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 
 ao'ainst both loo-Icians and mathematicians.* High as 
 is the authority of this great man — and upon the sub- 
 ject of the present inquiry the highest of all — yet, if it 
 clearly appears that the argument from Final Causes 
 comes within the scope of inductive science, we are 
 bound to admit it within the circle of legitimate human 
 knowledge, even if we found the father of that science 
 had otherwise judged. It is clear that, had he now 
 lived, he would himself have rejected some speculations 
 as wholly beyond the reach of the human faculties, 
 which he unhesitatingly ranges among the objects of 
 sound philosophy.f It is equally undeniable that he 
 would have treated others with greater respect than he 
 has shown them.J Above all, it is certain that he would 
 never have suffered that the veneration due to his own 
 name should enshrine an idol § to obstruct the progress 
 of truth, and alienate her votaries from the true worship 
 which he himself had founded. 
 
 That Lord Bacon has not himself indulged in any 
 speculations akin to those of Natural Theology is, 
 beyond all dispute, true. There is hardly any writer 
 
 • " Delicias et festutn mathematicorum, qui banc scientiam physicse 
 fieri imperare cupiunt. Nescio enim quo fato fiat ut matliematica et logica, 
 quie ancillarum loca erga physicam se gerere debebant, nihilominus, certi- 
 tudinem prce se jactantes, doniinationem exercere petunt." — [" The delight 
 and feast of the mathematicians, who would make this science control 
 natural philosophy ; for I know not by what fatalit}' it happens that 
 mathematics and logic, which ought to have behaved as the handmaidens 
 of physics, yet, vaunting their certainty, seek to exercise dominion."] — De 
 Dig. lib. iii. c. 6. 
 
 t He distinctly considers the "doctrine of angels and spirits" as an 
 " appendix to Natural Theology," and holds that their nature may be 
 investigated by science, including that of unclean spirits or dtemons, which 
 he says hold in this inquiry the same place as poisons do in physics, or 
 vices in ethics. — De Dig. lib. iii. c. 2. Natural magic, the doctrine of 
 fascination, the discovery of futuritj' from dreams and ecstacies, especially 
 in bad health from death-bed glimpses — in a word, divination — he holds 
 to be branches of science deserving of cultivation ; though he warns against 
 sorcery, or the practice of witchcraft. — lb. lib. iv. c. 3, and lib. ii. c. 2. 
 
 t He comjilains of treatises of Natural History being "swelled -with 
 figures of animals and plants, and other superfluous matter, instead of 
 being enriched with solid observations." — De Dig. lib. 2. c. 3. 
 
 § Idolum tbeatri.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 95 
 
 upon moral or natural science, in whose works fewer 
 references can be found to the power or wisdom of a 
 superintending- Providence. It would be difficult to 
 find in any other author, ancient or modern, as much 
 of very miscellaneous matter upon almost all physical 
 subjects as he has brought together in the Sylva 
 Sylvarnm, without one allusion to Final Causes. But 
 it must also be admitted, that it would not be easy to 
 find in any other writer of the least name upon physical 
 subjects so little of value, and so much that is wholly 
 unworthy of respect. That work is, indeed, a striking- 
 instance of the inequalities of the human faculties. 
 Among the one thousand observations of which it con- 
 sists, hardly one — of the two hundred and eighteen 
 pages certainly not one — can be found in which there 
 is not some instance of credulity, superstition, ground- 
 less hypothesis, manifest error of some kind or other ; 
 and nothing at any time given to the world ever ex- 
 hibited a more entire disregard of all his own rules of 
 philosophizing : for a superficial examination of facts, 
 a hasty induction, and a proneness to fanciful theory, 
 form the distinguishing characters of the whole book. 
 Assuredly it is a proof that the doctrine of Final Causes 
 is not the only parent of a " phantastic philosophy," 
 though the other base undergrowth of '•' heretical re- 
 ligion"* may not be found in the recesses of the Sylva. 
 Descartes, whose original genius for the abstract 
 sciences fixed an a?ra in the history of pure mathe- 
 
 • This striking and epigrammatic antithesis occurs more than once in 
 his writings. Tlius, in the Nov. Org. lib. i. Aph. 65— "Ex divinoniin 
 et humanorum malesana admixtionc, non solum edueitur pliil()S(i|)hia 
 phantastica, sod ftiam religio hicretica;" — [" From tiie unwholesome admix- 
 ture of divine and human things there comes not only a fantastic jihiloso- 
 jihy, but an heretical religion."] — and again, in I)e Dig. et Aug. lib. iii. 
 c. 2, pp)eaking of the abuse of speculations touching natural religion, he 
 remarks on the " incommoda et jiericula (|Uie ex eo (abusu) tum religion!, 
 tutn philosDphia! imjiendeiit, utpote qui religioncm liaMcticam procudit et 
 l)hil()so]]liiam ijlianta<ticam et superstitiosam." — [" Tiic inconveniences and 
 dangers which, I'roni that abuse, threaten botli religion and jihilosophy, 
 coining an heretical religion and a fantastical and superstitious pliilosophy. "J
 
 96 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 matics, as remarkable as Bacon's genius did in that of 
 logic, like him failed egregiously as a cultivator of 
 natural pliilosophy ; and he excluded Final Causes 
 altogether from his system as a preposterous specu- 
 lation — an irreverent attempt to penetrate mysteries 
 hidden from human eyes by the imperfection of our 
 nature. But it is to be observed, that all the success- 
 ful cultivators of physical science have, as if under the 
 influence of an irresistible impulsion, indulged in the 
 sublime contemplations of Natural Rehgion. Nor have 
 they fallen into this track from feeling and sentiment ; 
 they have pursued it as one of the paths which induc- 
 tive philosophy opens to the student of nature. To 
 say nothing of Mr. Boyle, one of the earliest cultivators 
 of experimental philosophy, whose works are through- 
 out imbued with this spirit, and who has left a treatise 
 expressly on the subject of Final Causes, let us listen 
 to the words of Sir Isaac Newton himself. The greatest 
 work of man, the Principia, closes with a swift transi- 
 tion from its most difficult investig-ation, the determina- 
 tion and correction of a comet's trajectory upon the 
 parabolic hypothesis,* to that celebrated scholium, upon 
 which Dr. Clarke's argument a priori for the existence 
 of a Deity is built. But whatever may be deemed the 
 soundness of that aroument, or the intrinsic value of 
 the eloquent and sublime passages which lay its foun- 
 dation, its illustrious author at the same time points 
 our attention to the demonstration from induction, and 
 in the most distinct and positive terms sanctions the 
 doctrine, that this is a legitimate branch of natural 
 knowledge. " Hunc (Deum) cognoscimus per proprie- 
 tates ejus et attributa et per sapientissimas et optimas 
 rerum structuras et causas finales, et admiramur ob 
 prospectiones." — "Deus sine dominio, providentia, et 
 causis finahbus, nihil aliud est quam fatum et natura." 
 — " Et hasc de Deo — de quo utique ex phaenomenis 
 
 * Principia, lib. iii. Prop. xli. and xlii.
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 97 
 
 disserere ad pliilosopliiam naturalem pertinet." * — 
 {Scholhim Generale.) 
 
 And if he could not rest from his immortal labours 
 in setting forth the system of the Universe, without 
 raising his mind to the contemplation of Him who 
 '• weighed the mountains in scales and the hills in a 
 balance," so neither could he pursue the more minute 
 operations of the most subtile material agent, without 
 again rising towards Him who said " Let there be 
 Ught." The most exquisite investigation ever con- 
 ducted by man of the laws of nature by the means of 
 experiment, abounds in its latter portion with explicit 
 references to the doctrines of Natural Theology, and 
 with admissions that the business of physical science is 
 " to deduce causes from effects till we come to the very 
 First Cause," and that " every true step made in in- 
 ductive philosophy is to be highly valued, because it 
 brings us nearer to the First Cause."f 
 
 * " Him (God) we know by his qualities and attributes, aad by his 
 most wise and excellent structure, and by final causes ; and we admire 
 him on account of our foresight of the future." — " A God without domin- 
 ion, providence, and final causes is nothing but fate and nature." — " And 
 thus far of God, to inquire concerning whom from the phenomena no doubt 
 it belongs to natural philosophy." / 
 
 t Optics, Book iii. Query 28 " How came the bodies of animals to 
 
 be contrived with so much art, and for what ends were the several parts ? 
 Was the eye contrived without skill in optics, and the ear without know- 
 ledge of sound?" (See, too, Query 31.) 
 
 VOL. VI. 11
 
 98 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 OP SCIENTIFIC ARRANGEMENT, AND THE METHODS OP 
 ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 
 
 Having shown that Natural Theology is a branch of 
 inductive science — partly physical, partly intellectual 
 and moral — it is of comparatively little importance to 
 inquire whether or not it can be kept apart from the 
 other branches of those sciences. In one view of this 
 question we may say, that there is no more ground for 
 the separation than there would be for making a dis- 
 tinct science of all the propositions in Natural Philo- 
 sophy which immediately relate to the human body — 
 whereby we should have portions of dynamics, pneu- 
 matics, optics, chemistry, electricity, and all human 
 anatomy and pathology as contradistinguished from 
 comparative, reduced under one and the same head — 
 a classification, indeed, resembling Lord Bacon's. But 
 in another, and, as it seems, the more just view, there 
 is a sufficient number of resemblances and diiferences, 
 and the importance of the subject is sufficient, to justify 
 the making a separate head of Natural Theology. The 
 question is entirely one of convenience ; nothing of 
 essential moment turns upon the classification; and 
 there is obviously an advantage in having the truths 
 collected in one body, though they are culled from the 
 various parts of Physical and Metaphysical science to 
 which they naturally belong. All that is needful is, 
 constantly to keep in mind the identity of the evidence 
 on which these truths rest with that which is the ground- 
 work of those other parts of philosophy. 
 
 Although, however, convenience and the paramount
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 99 
 
 importance of the subject seem to require such a sepa- 
 ration, it is manifest that much of theology must still 
 be found intermingled with physics and psychology, 
 and there only ; for the truths of Natural Theology 
 being sufficiently demonstrated by a certain induction 
 of facts — a certain number of experiments and obser- 
 vations — no further proof is required ; and to assemble 
 all the evidence, if it were possible, would be only en- 
 cumbering the subject with superfluous proofs, while the 
 collection would stiU remain incomplete, as every day 
 is adding to the instances discovered of design appear- 
 ing in the phenomena of the natural and moral world. 
 It has been said, indeed, that a single well-established 
 proof of design is enough, and that no additional strength 
 is gained to the argument by multiplying the instances. 
 We shall afterwards show with what hmitations this 
 proposition is to be received ; but for our present pur- 
 pose it is sufficient, that, at all events, a certain definite 
 number of instances are of force enough to work out 
 the demonstration ; and yet in every branch of physics 
 and psychology new instances are presented at each 
 step we make. These instances are of great impor- 
 tance ; they are to be carefully noted and treasured up ; 
 they form most valuable parts of those scientific in- 
 quiries, conveying, in its purest form and in its high- 
 est degree, the gratification of contemplating abstract 
 truths, in which consists the whole ef the pleasure de- 
 rived from science, properly so called — that is, from 
 science as such, and as independent of its application 
 to uses or enjoyments of a corporeal kind. 
 
 An apprehension has frequently been entertained by 
 learned and pious men — men of a truly philosophical 
 spirit — lest the natural desire of tracing design in the 
 works of nature should carr}"^ inquirers too far, and 
 lead them to give scope to their imagination rather 
 than contain their speculations within the bounds of 
 strict reasoning. They have dreaded the introduction 
 of what Lord Bacon calls a " phantastic philosophy,"
 
 100 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 and have also felt alarm at the injuries which religion 
 may receive from being exposed to ridicule, in the 
 event of the speculations proving groundless upon a 
 closer examination. But it does not appear reasonable 
 that philosophers should be deterred by such consider- 
 ations from anxiously investigating the subject of Final 
 Causes, and giving it the place which belongs to it in 
 all their inquiries; provided that they do not suffer 
 fancy to intermix with and chsturb their speculations. 
 If they do, they commit the greatest error of which 
 reasoners can be guilty — an error against which it is 
 the very object of inductive philosophy to guard ; but 
 it is no more an error in this, than in the other inves- 
 tigations of science. He who imagines design where 
 there is none ; he who either assumes facts in order to 
 build upon them an inference favourable to Natural 
 Religion, or from admitted facts draws such an infer- 
 ence fancifully, and not logically, comes within the 
 description of a false philosopher : he prefers the hypo- 
 thetical to the inductive method ; he cannot say with 
 his master, "hypotheses non Jingo;"* he renounces 
 the modern, and recurs to the exploded modes of philo- 
 sophizing. But he is not the more a false philosopher, 
 and does not the more sin against the light of improved 
 science, for committing the offence in the pursuit of 
 theological truth. He would have been liable to the 
 same charge if he had resorted to liis fancy instead of 
 observation and experiment while in search of any 
 other scientific truth, or had hypothetically assumed a 
 principle of classifying admitted phenomena, instead of 
 rigorously deducing it from examining their circum- 
 stances of resemblance and of diversity. 
 
 That any serious discredit can be brought upon the 
 science of Natural Theology itself, from the failures to 
 which such hypothetical reasonings may lead, seems 
 not very easy to conceive. Vain and superficial minds 
 
 • Principia, lib. iii. Sch. Gen.
 
 NATURE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 101 
 
 may take any subject for their ridicule, and may laugh, 
 as they heretofore have laughed, at the mechanician 
 and the chemist as well as the theologian, when they 
 chance to go astray in their searches after truth. Yet 
 no one ever thought of being discom-aged from experi- 
 mental inquiries, because even the strictest prosecution 
 of the inductive method cannot always guard against 
 error ; nor did the Scriblerus of the combmed wits 
 ever deter one student of Nature. It is of the essence 
 of all investigations of merely contingent truth, that 
 they are exposed to casualties which do not beset the 
 paths of the geometrician and the analyst. A conclu- 
 sion from one induction of facts may be well warranted 
 until a larger induction obliges us to abandon it, and 
 adopt another. Yet no one deems chemistry discredited 
 because a body considered in one state of our know- 
 ledge to be a compound acid has since appeared rather 
 to be a simple substance, bearing to the acids no re- 
 semblance in its composition; nor would the optical 
 discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton be discredited, much 
 less the science he cultivated be degraded, if the un- 
 dulatory hypothesis should, as appears likely enough 
 on a fuller inquiry, become established by strict proof. 
 Yet such errors, or rather such imperfect and partial 
 views, were the result of a strict obedience to the in- 
 ductive rules of philosophizing. How much less ground 
 for cavil against either those rules, or the sciences to 
 Avhich they are apphcable, would be afforded by the 
 observations of those who had mistaken theu* way 
 through a neglect of inductive principle, and by follow- 
 ing blindly false guides! 
 
 While then, on the one hand, we allow Natural 
 Theology to form a distinct head or branch, the other 
 sciences must of necessity continue to class its truths 
 among their own ; and thus every science may be 
 stated to consist of three divisions: — 1. The truths 
 which it teaches relative to the constitution and action 
 of matter or of mind ; — 2. The truths which it teaches
 
 102 A DISCOURSK OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 lelative to theology ; and 3. The apphcation of both 
 classes of truths to practical uses, physical or moral. 
 Thus, the science of pneumatics teaches, under tlie 
 first head, the doctrine of the pressure of the atmo- 
 sphere, and its connexion with respiration, and with the 
 suspension of weights by the formation of a vacuum. 
 Under the second head, it shows the adaptation of the 
 lungs of certain animals to breathe the air, and the 
 feet of others to support their bodies, in consequence 
 of both being framed in accordance with the former 
 doctrine — that is, with the law of pressure — and thus 
 demonstrates a wise and beneficent design. Under the 
 third head, it teaches the construction of barometers, 
 steam engines, &c., while the contemplation of the 
 Divine wisdom and goodness inculcates piety, patience, 
 and hope. 
 
 But, it may be said, that in this classification of the 
 objects of science, we omit one ordinarily reckoned 
 essential — the explanation of phenomena. The answer 
 is, that such a classification is not strictly accurate, as 
 no definite fine can be drawn between the explanation 
 of phenomena and the analytical process by which the 
 truths themselves are established ; in a word, between 
 analysis and synthesis in the sciences of contingent 
 truth. For the same phenomena which form the ma- 
 terials of the analytical investigation — the steps that 
 lead us to the proposition or discovery — would, in a 
 reversed order, become the subjects of the synthetical 
 operation : that is, the things to be explained by means 
 of the proposition or discovery, if we had been led to 
 it by another route, in other words, if we had reached 
 it by means of other phenomena of the like kind, 
 referrible to the same class, and falUng within the same 
 principle or rule. Thus the experiments upon the 
 prismatic spectrum prove the sun's fight to be com- 
 posed of rays of different refrangibility. This being- 
 demonstrated, we may explain by means of it the 
 phenomena which form the proofs of the first proposi-
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 103 
 
 lion of the " Optics" that lights which differ in colour 
 differ in refrangibility — as that a parallelogram of two 
 colours refracted through a prism has its sides no 
 longer parallel ; or, having shown the different re- 
 frangibility by the prismatic phenomena, we may ex- 
 plain why a lens has the focus of violet rays nearer 
 than the focus of red, while this experiment is of itself 
 one of the most cogent proofs of the different refrangi- 
 bihty. It is plain that, in these cases, the same phe- 
 nomena may be made indiscriminately the subject 
 matter either of analysis or synthesis. So, one of the 
 proofs given of latent heat is, that after you heat a 
 bar of iron once or twice by hammering it, the power 
 of being thus heated is exhausted, until by exposing it 
 to the fire that power is restored. Yet, suppose we 
 had proved the doctrine of the absorption of heat by 
 other experiments — as by the effects on the thermo- 
 meter of liquids of different temperatures mixed to- 
 gether — the phenomenon of the iron bar would be 
 explicable by that doctrine thus learnt. Again, another 
 proof of the same truth is the production of heat by 
 the sudden condensation of gaseous fluids, and of cold 
 by evaporation, the evolution of heat being inferred 
 from the former, and its absorption from the latter 
 operation. But if the experiments upon the mixture 
 of fluids of different temperatures, and other facts, had 
 sufficiently proved the disappearance of heat in its 
 sensible form, and its being held in a state in which 
 it did not affect the thermometer, we should by means 
 of that doctrine have been able to account for the re- 
 frigerating effect of evaporation, and the heating power 
 of condensation. 
 
 It cannot, then, be a real and an accurate distinc- 
 tion, or one founded on the nature of the thing, which 
 depends on the accident of the one set of tacts having 
 been chosen for the instruments of the analytical, and 
 the other set for the subjects of the synthetical opera- 
 tion, each set being alike applicable to either use.
 
 104 A. DISCOURSE OP NATUR.Mj THEOLOGY. 
 
 For, in order that the synthesis may be correct, nay, 
 in order that it may be strict and not hypothetical, it 
 is obviously necessary that the phenomena should be 
 of such a description as might have made them sub- 
 servient to the analysis. In truth, both the operations 
 are essentially the same — the generalization of parti- 
 culars — the arranging or classifying facts so as to obtain 
 a more general or comprehensive fact; and the ex- 
 planation of phenomena is just as much a process of 
 generalization or classification as the investigation of 
 the proposition itself, by means of which you are to 
 give the explanation. We do not perform two opera- 
 tions, but one, in these investigations. We do not in 
 reaUty first find by the prism that hght is differently 
 refrangible, and then explain the rainbow — or show 
 by the air-pump that the atmosphere presses with the 
 weight of so many pounds upon a square foot, and then 
 explain the steam engine and the fly's foot — or prove, 
 by burning the two weighed gases together and burn- 
 iron in one of them, that water is composed of them 
 both, and that rust is the metal combined with one, 
 and then explain why iron rusts in water. But we 
 observe all these several facts, and find that they are 
 related to each other, and resolvable into three classes 
 — that the phenomena of the prism and of the shower 
 are the same, the spectrum and the rainbow being 
 varieties of the same fact, more general than either, 
 and comprehending many others, all reducible within 
 its compass — that the air-pump, the steam engine, the 
 fly's foot, are all the same fact, and come Avithin a 
 description still more general and compendious — that 
 the rusting of iron, the burning of inflammable air, and 
 the partial consumption of the blood in the lungs, are 
 likewise the same fact in different shapes, and resolv- 
 able into a fact much more comprehensive. 
 
 If, then, the distinction of investigation and explana- 
 tion, or the analytical and synthetical process, is to be 
 retained, it can only be nominal ; and it is productive
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. 105 
 
 of but little if any convenience. On the contrary, it 
 is calculated to introduce inaccurate habits of philoso- 
 phizing, and holds out a temptation to hypothetical 
 reasoning. Having obtained a general law, or theory, 
 we are prone to apply it where no induction shows 
 that it is applicable ; and perceiving that it would 
 account for the observed phenomena, if certain things 
 existed, we are apt to assume their existence, that 
 we may apply our explanation. Thus we know, that 
 if the walrus's foot, or the fly's, make a vacuum, the 
 pressure of the air will support the animal's weight, 
 and hence we assume that the vacuum is made. Yet 
 it is clear that we have no right whatever to do 
 so ; and that the strict rules of induction require us to 
 prove the vacuum before we can arrange this fact in 
 the same class with the other instances of atmospheric 
 pressure. But when we have proved it by observa- 
 tion, it will be said we have gained nothing by our 
 general doctrine. True ; but all that the science entitles 
 us to do is, not to draw facts we are half acquainted 
 with under the arbitrary sway of our rule, but to 
 examine each fact in all its parts, and bring it legi- 
 timately within the rule by means of its ascertained 
 resemblances — that is, classify it with those others to 
 which we actually find that it bears the common rela- 
 tion. Induction gives us the right to expect that the 
 same result will always happen from the same action 
 operating in hke circumstances ; but it is of the essence 
 of this inference that the similarity be first shown. 
 
 It may be worth while to illustrate this further, as 
 it is an error very generally prevailing, and leads to 
 an exceedingly careless kind of inquiry. The funda- 
 mental rule of inductive science is, that no hypothesis 
 shall be admitted — that nothing shall be assumed 
 merely because, if true, it would explain the facts. 
 Thus the magnetic theory of ^pinus is admitted by all 
 to be admirably consistent with itself, and to explain 
 all the phenomena — that is, to tally exactly with tho
 
 106 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 facts observed. But there is no proof at all of the 
 accumulation of electrical or magnetic fluid at the one 
 pole, and other fundamental positions ; on the contrary, 
 the facts are rather against them : therefore, the theory- 
 is purely gratuitous ; and although it would be difficult 
 to find any other, on any subject, more beautiful in 
 itself, or more consistent with all the phenomena, it 
 is universally rejected as a mere hypothesis, of no 
 use or value in scientific research. The inductive 
 method consists in only admitting those things which 
 the facts prove to be true, and excludes the suppos- 
 ing tilings merely because they square with the facts. 
 Whoever makes such suppositions upon observing a 
 certain number of facts, and then varies those supposi- 
 tions when new facts come to his knowledge, so as to 
 make the theory tally with the observation — whoever 
 thus goes on touching and retouching liis theory each 
 time a new fact is observed which does not fall within 
 the original proposition, is a mere framer of hypo- 
 theses, not an mductive inquirer — a fancier and not 
 a philosopher. 
 
 JN'ow, this being the undoubted rule, does not the 
 course of those fall exactly withm it, who, having upon 
 a certain class of phenomena, built a conclusion legi- 
 timately and by strict induction, employ that conclu- 
 sion to explain other phenomena, wliich they have not 
 previously shown to fall within the same description ? 
 Take the example of the Torricellian vacuum. Ha\ing 
 by that experiment proved the weight of the atmo- 
 sphere, we have a right to conclude that a tube filled 
 with water forty feet high would have a vacuum in the 
 uppermost seven feet — because we know the relative 
 specific gravities of water and mercury, and might 
 prechct from thence that the hghter fluid would stand 
 at the height of thirty-tlu^ee feet ; and this conclusion 
 we have a right to draw, without any experiments to 
 ascertain the existence of a vacuum in the upper part 
 of the tube. But we should have no right whatever
 
 NATURE OF THE SCIENCE, AJS'D ITS EVIDENCES. 107 
 
 to di'aw this conclusion, without ascertaining the speci- 
 tic gravities of the two fluids ; for if we did, it would 
 be assuming that the two facts belonged to the same 
 class. So respecting the power of the walrus or the 
 fly to walk up a vertical plane. We know the efl'ects 
 of exhausting the air between any two bodies, and 
 leaving the external atmosphere to press against them : 
 they will cohere. But if from thence we explain the 
 support given to the walrus or the fly without examin- 
 ing their feet, and ascertaining that they do exhaust or 
 press out the air — if, in short, we assume the existence 
 of a vacuum under their feet, merely because were 
 there a vacuum the pressure of the air would produce 
 the cohesion, and thus account for the phenomena — 
 we really onlj- propound a hypothesis. We suppose 
 certain circumstances to exist, in order to classify the 
 fact with other facts actually observed, and the exist- 
 ence of which circumstances is necessary, in order that 
 the phenomena may be reducible under the same head. 
 There is no reason whatever for asserting that this 
 view of the subject restricts the use of induction by 
 requiring too close and constant a reference to actual 
 observation. The inductive principle is this — that 
 from observing a number of particular facts, we reason 
 to others of the same kind — that from observing a 
 certain thing to happen in certain circumstances, we 
 expect the same thing to happen in the like circum- 
 stances. This is to generalize ; but then this assumes 
 that we first show the identity of the facts, by proving 
 the similarity of the circumstances. If not, we suppose 
 or fancy, and do not reason or generalize. The ten- 
 dency of the doctrine that a proposition being demon- 
 strated by one set of facts, may be used to explain 
 another set, has the effect of making us suppose or 
 assume the identity or resemblance which ought to be 
 ])roved. The true principle is, that induction is the 
 generalizing or classifying of facts by observed resem- 
 blances and diversities.
 
 108 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Nothing here stated has any tendency to shackle 
 our experimental inquiries by too rigidly narrowing 
 the proof. Thus, although we are not allowed to 
 suppose any thing merely because, if it existed, other 
 things would be explained; yet, when no other sup- 
 positron will account for the appearances, the hypothesis 
 is no longer gratuitous ; and it constantly happens, that 
 an inference drawn from an imperfect induction, and 
 which would be, on that state of the facts, unauthorized 
 because equivocal and not the only supposition on which 
 the facts could be explained, becomes legitimate on a 
 further induction, whereby we show that, though the 
 facts first observed might be explained by some other 
 supposition, yet those facts newly observed could to no 
 other supposition be reconciled. Thus, the analytical 
 experiment on the constitution of water, by passing 
 steam over red hot iron, is not conclusive, because, 
 although it tallies well with the position that water 
 consists of oxygen and hydrogen, yet it would also 
 tally with another supposition, that those gases were 
 produced in the process, and not merely separated 
 from each other ; so that neither oxygen nor hydrogen 
 existed in the water any more than acid and water 
 exist in coal and wood, but only their elements, and 
 that, hke the acid and water, the products of the 
 destructive distillation of those vegetable substances, 
 the oxygen and hydrogen were compounded and in 
 fact produced by the process. But when, beside the 
 analytical, we have the synthetical experiments of Mr. 
 Cavendish and Dr. Priestley* — when we find that by 
 
 * Dr. Priestley drew no conclusion of the least value from his experi- 
 ments. But Mr. Watt, after thoroughly weighing them, by careful com- 
 parison with other facts, arrived at the opinion that they proved the 
 composition of water. This may justly be said to have been the discovery 
 of that great truth in chemical science. I have examined the evidence, 
 and am convinced that he was the first discoverer, in point of time, 
 although it is very possible that Mr. Cavendish may have arrived at the 
 same truth from his own experiments, without any knowledge of Mr. 
 Watt's earlier process of reasoning. — See Life of Watt, and Paper annexed 
 to M. Arago's Elogt.
 
 NATTTRE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. l09 
 
 burning the two gases in a close vessel, they disappear, 
 and leave a weight of water equal to their united 
 weights — we have a fact not reconcilable to any other 
 supposition, except that of the composition of this fluid. 
 It is as when, in solving a problem, we fix upon a point 
 in one hue, curved or straight, because it answers one 
 of the conditions — it may be the right point, or it may 
 not, for all the other points of the line equally answer 
 that condition; but when we also show that the re- 
 maining conditions require the point to be in another 
 lino, and that this other intersects the former in the 
 very point we had assumed, then no doubt can exist, 
 and the point is evidently the one required, none other 
 fulfilling all the conditions. 
 
 We have used the words analytical and synthetical 
 as applicable to the experiments of resolution and com- 
 position ; and in this sense these terms are strictly 
 correct in reference to inductive operations. But the 
 use of the terms analysis and synthesis as applicable 
 to the processes of induction — the former being the 
 investigation of truths by experiment or observation, 
 and the latter the explaining other facts by means of 
 the truths so ascertained — is by no means so correct, 
 and rests upon an extremely fallacious analogy, if there 
 bo indeed any analogy, for identity, or even resem- 
 blance, there is none. The terms are borrowed from 
 mathematical science, where they denote the two kinds 
 of investigation employed in solving problems and 
 investigating theorems. When, in order to solve a 
 problem, we suppose a thing done which we know not 
 liow to do, we reason upon the assumption that the 
 prescribed conditions have been complied with, and 
 proceed till we find something which we already possess 
 the means of doing. This gives us the construction ; 
 and the synthetical demonstration consists in merely 
 retracing the steps of the analysis. And so of a 
 theorem : we assume it to be true, and reasoning on 
 that assumption, we are led to something which we
 
 110 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 know from other sources to be true, the synthesis 
 being the same operation reversed. The two opera- 
 tions consist here, of manifest necessity, of the very 
 same steps — the one being the steps of the other taken 
 in the reverse order. In physics, to make the opera- 
 tion similar to these, the same facts should be the 
 ground or component parts of both. In analysis, we 
 should ascend not only from particulars to generals, 
 but from the same particulars, and then the -^jii- 
 thesis would be a descent through the same steps 
 to the particular phenomena from the general fact. 
 But it is a spurious synthesis, unlike the mathematical, 
 and not warranted by induction, to prove the proposi- 
 tion by one set of facts, and by that proposition to 
 explain — that is, classify — another set, without ex- 
 amining it by itself. If we do examine it by itself, 
 and find that it is such as the proposition apphes to, 
 then also is it such as might prove the proposition: 
 and the synthesis is here, as in the case of the mathe- 
 matical investigation, the analysis reversed. As far 
 as any resemblance or analogy goes, there is even a 
 greater affinity between the inductive analysis and the 
 geometrical synthesis, than between those operations 
 wliich go by the same name; and I hardly know 
 anything in experimental investigation resembling the 
 mathematical analysis, unless it be when, from observ- 
 ing certain facts, we assume a position, and then infer, 
 that if this be true, some other facts must also exist, 
 which we find (from other proofs) really do exist. 
 This bears a resemblance rather to the analytical 
 investigation than to the composition or synthetical 
 demonstration of theorems in the ancient geometry. 
 It is not the course of reasoning frequently pursued in 
 experimental sciences ; but a most beautiful example 
 of it occurs in the second part of Dr. Black's experi- 
 ments on Magnesia Alba and Quick Lime, the founda- 
 tion of the modern gaseous chemistry. 
 
 Upon the whole, the use of these terms is apt to
 
 NATUKE OP THE SCIENCE, AND ITS EVIDENCES. Ill 
 
 mislead : and, for the reasons which have been assigned, 
 there seems no sohdity in the division of inductive 
 inquiry into the two classes.* 
 
 * When this section was ■written, I had not seen Mr. Stewart's learned 
 remarks upon analysis and synthesis in the second volume of his Elements, 
 nor was aware of the observations of Dr. Hook, quoted by him, and which 
 show a remarkable coincidence with one of the observations in the text. 
 ^Ir. Stewart's speculations do not come upon the same ground with mine ; 
 but Dr. Hook having reversed the use of the terms analysis and synthesis 
 in experimental science, affords a strong confirmation of the remark which 
 I have ventured to make upon the inaccuracy of this application uf 
 mathematical language— See Ekrn. of PhiL of Humon Mind, voL ii, 
 p. 354, 4to.
 
 112 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 OP THE ADVANTAGES OF THE STUDY OB 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 The uses of studying the science to which our inquiries 
 have been directed now demand some consideration 
 These consist of the pleasures which attend all scientific 
 pursuits, the pleasures and the improvement peculiar to 
 the study of Natural Theology, and the service ren- 
 dered by this study to the doctrines of Revelation. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 OF THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 
 
 As we have established the position that Natural 
 Theology is a branch of Inductive Science, it follows 
 that its truths are calculated to bestow the same kind 
 of gratification which the investigation and the contem- 
 plation of scientific truth generally is fitted to give. 
 
 That there is a positive pleasure in such researches 
 and such views, wholly independent of any regard to 
 the advantages derived from their application to the 
 aid of man in his physical necessities, is quite undeni- 
 able. The ascertaining by demonstration any of the 
 great truths in the mathematics, or proving by experi- 
 ment any of the important properties of matter, would
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 113 
 
 give a real and solid pleasure, even were it certain that 
 no practical use could be made of either the one or the 
 other. To know that the square of the hypothenuse 
 is always exactly equal to the sum of the squares of 
 the sides of a right-angled triangle, whatever be its 
 size, and whatever the magnitude of the acute angles, 
 is pleasing ; and to be able to trace the steps by which 
 the absolute certainty of this proposition is established 
 is gratifying, even if we were Avholly ignorant that the 
 art of guiding a ship through the pathless ocean mainly 
 depends upon it. Accordingly we derive pleasure from 
 rising to the contemplation of the much more general 
 truth, of which the discovery of Pythagoras (the 47th 
 proposition of the First Book of Euclicl) is but a par- 
 ticular case, and which is also applicable to all similar 
 triangles, and indeed to circles and ellipses also, de- 
 scribed on the right-angled triangle's sides; and yet 
 that general proposition is of no use in navigation, nor 
 indeed in any other practical art. In like manner, the 
 pleasure derived from ascertaining that the pressure 
 of the air and the creation of a vacuum alike cause the 
 rise of the mercury m the barometer, and give the 
 power to flies of walking on the ceiling of a room, is 
 wholly independent of any practical use obtained from 
 the discovery, inasmuch as it is a pleasure superadded 
 to that of contemplating the doctrine proved by the 
 Torricellian experiment, which had conferred all its 
 practical benefits long before the cause of the fly's 
 power Avas found out. Thus again it is one of tlie 
 most subUme truths in science, and the contemplation 
 of which, as mere contemplation, affords the greatest 
 pleasure, that the same power which makes a stone fall 
 to the ground keeps the planets in their course, moulds 
 the huge masses of those heavenly bodies into their 
 appointed forms, and reduces to perfect order all the 
 apparent irregularities of the system : so that the 
 handful of sand wliich for an instant ruffles the sur- 
 face of the lake, acts by the same law which governs, 
 
 VOL. VI. I
 
 114 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 throiigli myriads of ages, the mighty system composed 
 of myriads of worlds. There is a positive pleasure in 
 generalizing facts and arguments — in perceiving the 
 wonderful production of most unlike results from a few 
 very simple principles — in finding the same powers or 
 agents reappearing in different situations, and pro- 
 ducing the most diverse and unexpected effects — in 
 tracing unexpected resemblances and diiferences — in 
 ascertaming that truths or facts apparently unlike are 
 of the same nature, and observing wherein those appa- 
 rently similar are various : and this pleasure is quite 
 independent of all considerations relating to practical 
 application ; nay, the additional knowledge that those 
 truths are susceptible of a beneficial application gives a 
 further gratification of the like kind to those who are 
 certain never to have the opportunity of sharing the 
 benefits obtained, and who indeed may earnestly desire 
 never to be in the condition of being able to share 
 them. Thus, in addition to the pleasure received from 
 contemplating a truth in animal physiology, we have 
 another gratification from finding that one of its corol- 
 laries is the construction of an instrument useful in 
 some painful surgical operation. Yet, assuredly, we 
 have no desire ever to receive advantage from this 
 corollary; and our scientific gratification was wholly 
 without regard to any such view. In truth, generahzing 
 — the discovery of remote analogies — of resemblances 
 among unlike objects — forms one of the most pleasing 
 employments of our faculties in every department of 
 mental exertion, from the most severe investigations 
 of the mathematician to the lightest efi^orts of the wit. 
 To trace the same equality, or other relation, between 
 figures apparently unlike, is the chief glory of the 
 geometrician ; to bring together ideas of the most op- 
 posite description, and show them in unexpected, yet 
 when suddenly pointed out, undeniable connexion, is 
 the very definition of wit. Nay, the proposition which 
 we have just enunciated is a striking instance of the
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY, 115 
 
 same general truth ; for we have been surveyino- the 
 resemblance, or rather the identity, in one important 
 particular of two pursuits, in all other respects the most 
 widely remote from each other — mathematics and wit. 
 
 If the mere contemplation of scientific truth is the 
 source of real gratification, there is another pleasure, 
 alike remote from all reference to practical use or 
 benefit, and which is obtained by tracing the investi- 
 gations and demonstration — the steps that lead ana- 
 lytically to the discovery, and synthetically to the 
 proof of those truths. This is a "^source of pleasure, 
 both by giving us the assurance that the propositions 
 of generahzation — the statements of resemblance and 
 diversity — are true in themselves, and also by the con- 
 sciousness of power which it imparts, and the feeling 
 of difiiculty overcome which it involves. We feel grati- 
 fied when we have closely followed the brilliant induc- 
 tion which led Newton to the discovery that white is 
 the union of all colours, and when we have accom- 
 panied him in the series of profound researches, from 
 the invention of a new calculus or instrument of in- 
 vestigation, through innumerable original geometrical 
 lemmas, to the final demonstration that the force of 
 gravitation deflects the comet from the tangent of its 
 elhptical orbit ; and we feel the gratification, because 
 the pursuit of these investigations assures us that the 
 marvellous propositions are indeed true — because there 
 is a consciousness of man's power in being able to pene- 
 trate so fVir into the secrets of nature, and search so 
 far into the structure of the universe — and because 
 there is a pleasure, which we enjoy individually, in 
 having accomplished a task of considerable difficulty. 
 In these gratifications, derived from the contemplation 
 and the investigation of general laws, consists the 
 Pleasure of Science properly so called, and apart from 
 all views of deriving particular advantages from its 
 application to man's use. 
 
 This pleasure is increased as often as we find that
 
 116 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 any scientific discovery is susceptible of practical appli- 
 cations. The contemplation of this adaptation is pleas- 
 ing, independent of any regard to our own individual 
 advantage, and even though we may desire never to 
 be in a condition to reap benefit from it. We sympathize, 
 perhaps, with those who may be so unfortunate as to 
 require the aid afforded by such applications to relieve 
 and assuage pain ; but the mere knowledge that such 
 a corollary follows from the discovery of the scientific 
 truth is pleasing. Of course the gratification is in- 
 creased, if we know that individually we shall profit 
 by it, and we may perhaps always more or less con- 
 template this possibility ; but this is a pleasure, properly 
 speaking, of a different kind from that wliich science, 
 as such, bestows. 
 
 The branch of science which we are here particu- 
 larly considering differs in no respect from the other 
 departments of philosophy in the kind of gratification 
 which it affords to those who cultivate it. Natural 
 Theology, like the other sciences, whether physical or 
 mental, bestows upon the student the pleasures of con- 
 templation — of generalization ; and it bestows this 
 pleasure in an eminent degree. To trace design in 
 the productions and in the operations of nature, or in 
 those of the human understanding, is, in the strictest 
 sense of the word, generalization, and consequently 
 produces the same pleasure with the generalizations of 
 physical and of psychological science. Every part of 
 the foregoing reasoning, therefore, applies closely and 
 rigorously to the study of Natural Theology. Thus, 
 if it is pleasing to find that the properties of two 
 curves so exceedingly unlike as the ellipse and the 
 hyperbola closely resemble each other, or that appear- 
 ances so dissimilar as the motion of the moon and the 
 fall of an apple from the tree are different forms of 
 the same fact, it affords a pleasure of the same kind 
 to discover that the lio-ht of the p'low-worm and the 
 song of the nightingale are both provisions of nature
 
 ADVANTAGES OP STn)Y OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 117 
 
 for the same end of attracting the animal's mate, and 
 continuing its kind — that the pecuhar law of attraction 
 pervading all matter, the magnitude of the heavenly 
 bodies, the inclination of the planes they move in, and 
 the directions of their courses, are all so contrived as 
 to make their mutual actions, and the countless dis- 
 turbances thence arising, all secure a perpetual stability 
 to the system which no other arrangement could attain. 
 It is a highly pleasing contemplation of the self-same 
 kind with those of the other sciences to perceive every- 
 where design and adaptation — to discover uses even in 
 things apparently the most accidental — to trace this so 
 constantly, that where pcradventure we cannot find 
 the purpose of natm*e, we never for a moment suppose 
 there was none, but only that we have hitherto failed 
 in finding it out — and to arrive at the intimate per- 
 suasion that all seeming disorder is harmony — all 
 chance, design — and that nothing is made in vain, 
 Nav, things Avhich in our io-norance we had overlooked 
 as unimportant, or even complained of as evils, fill us 
 afterwards with contentment and delight, when we Und 
 that they are subservient to the most important and 
 beneficial uses. Thus inflammation and the generation 
 of matter in a wound we find to be the effort whicli 
 Nature makes to produce new flesh, and effect tho 
 cure ; the opposite hinges of the valves in the veins 
 and arteries are the means of enabling the blood to 
 circulate ; and so of innumerable other arrangements 
 of the anin)al economy. So, too, there is the highest 
 •rratification derived from observing; that there is a 
 perfect unity, or, as it has been called, a personality, 
 in the kind of the contrivances in which the universe 
 abounds ; and truly this peculiarity of cliai*actcr or of 
 manner, as other writers have termed it, affords the 
 same species of pleasure which we derive from contem- 
 plating general resemblances in the other sciences. 
 
 We may close this branch of the subject with the 
 observation that those other sciences have often iu
 
 118 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 their turn derived aid from Natural Theology, at least 
 from the speculation of Final Causes, for which they, 
 generally speaking, lay the foundation. Many dis- 
 coveries in the physiology both of animals and plants 
 owe their origin to some arrangement or structure 
 being remarked, the peculiar object of which was not 
 known, and the ascertaining of which led to the know- 
 ledge of an important truth. The well-known anecdote 
 of Harvey, related by Mr. Boyle, is the best example of 
 this which can be given. In his tract on Final Causes 
 lie thus writes : " I remember that when I asked our 
 famous Harvey, in the only discourse I had with him, 
 (which was but a while before he died), what were the 
 things that induced him to think of a circulation of the 
 blood, he answered me, that when he took notice that 
 the valves in the veins of so many parts of the body 
 were so placed that they gave free passage to the 
 blood towards the heart, but opposed the passage of 
 the venal blood the contrary way, he was incited to 
 imagine that so provident a cause as Nature had not 
 so placed so many valves without design, and no design 
 seemed more probable than that since the blood could 
 not well, because of the interposing valves, be sent by 
 the veins to the limbs, it should be sent through the 
 arteries, and return through the veins whose valves 
 did not oppose its course that way."* Even the arts 
 have borrowed from the observation of the animal 
 economy. Those valves — the hollow bones of birds — 
 the sockets of the joints — have all furnished sugges- 
 tions upon which some of our most useful machinery 
 is constructed. Nor can any abuse arise from this 
 employment of the argument, so long as we take care 
 only to let it occupy the subordinate place of a sug- 
 gestor — an originator of inquiry — and never suffer it 
 to usurp the station of a sole guide, or a substitute for 
 that induction which alone can be rehed on in forming 
 
 * Disquisition about the Final Causes of Natural Things. — Works, 
 vol. V. p. 427. 4to.
 
 ADVANTAGES OP STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 119 
 
 our conclusions. The ancients were ignorant of this 
 caution, and Avould probably have rested satisfied with 
 the consideration Avhich only set Harvey upon making 
 experiments, instead of proving in this way what the 
 argument from Final Causes only rendered probable. 
 Hence much of what, as we have already explained, 
 Lord Bacon has said upon the subject of this specula- 
 tion, abused as it certainly has been in all a^es, but 
 especially in ancient times.
 
 120 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 OP THE PLEASURE AND IJIPROVEMENT PECULIAR TO 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Hitherto we have only shown that the gratification 
 which the contemplation of scientific truth is calculated 
 to bestow belongs to Natural Theology in common 
 with the other branches of philosophy. But there are 
 several considerations which make it plain that the 
 pleasure must be greater which floAvs from the specula- 
 tions of this than any which the other sciences confer. 
 In the first place, the nature of the truths with which 
 Natural Theology is conversant is to be considered. 
 They relate to the evidences of design, of contrivance, 
 of power, of wisdom, of goodness, but let us only say of 
 design or contrivance. Nothing can be more gratifying 
 to the mind than such contemplations : they afford 
 great scope to the reasoning powers ; they exercise the 
 resources of our ingenuity ; they give a new aspect to 
 the most ordinary appearances ; they impart life, as it 
 were, to dead matter ; they are continually surprising 
 us with novel and unexpected proofs of intentions 
 plainly directed to a manifest object. If some scoffers 
 and superficial persons despise the enthusiasm with 
 which these investigations have at times been pursued, 
 and hold the exercise given by them to the ingenuity 
 of inquirers to be rather a play of imagination than of 
 reasoning, it is equally undeniable that in some of the 
 most important and most practically useful of the 
 sciences, design, so far from being a matter of fanciful 
 conjecture, is always assumed as incontestable, and the 
 inquiry, often with a merely practical view, is confined
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 121 
 
 to discovering what the object of the design is. Thus, 
 when the physiologist has discovered some part of the 
 animal bodv before unknown, or observed some noAv 
 operation of the known organs, he never doubts that 
 desio'n exists, and that some end is to be answered. 
 This he takes for granted without any reasoning ; and 
 he only endeavours to find out what the purpose is — 
 what use the part can have — what end the operation is 
 intended to accomplish ; never supposing it possible 
 that either the part could be created, or the function 
 appointed, without an object. The investigation con- 
 ducted upon the assumption of this postulate has fre- 
 quently led to the most brilliant discoveries — among 
 others, as we have just seen, to by far the most im- 
 portant ever made in physiological science. For the 
 mere exercise of the intellectual faculties, or gratifica- 
 tion of scientific curiosity, we may refer to almost all 
 the singular phenomena which form the bases of the 
 reasonino;s as to desio;n — the structure of the ear, and 
 still more of the eye — the circulation of the blood — the 
 physiology of the foetus in the womb, as contrasted 
 with the economy of the born animal, and the prospec- 
 tive contrivances of a system which, until the birth, is 
 to be wholly useless — the structure of the eye and the 
 nictitating membrane in different birds, and the haw in 
 certain quadrupeds — the powers of the eye in birds of 
 prey — perhaps more than anything else, the construc- 
 tion of their cells by bees, according to the most certain 
 principles discovered by men only with the help of the 
 most refined analytical calculus. The atheist can only 
 deny the wonderful nature of such operations of instinct 
 by the violent assumption that the bee works as the 
 heavenly bodies roll, and that its mathematically correct 
 operations are no more to be wondered at than the 
 equally mathematically adjusted movements of the 
 planets — a truly violent assumption, and especially of 
 those who angrily deny that men have a soul ditt'cring 
 in kind from the sentient principle in the lower animals.
 
 122 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Secondly. The universal recurrence of the facts on 
 which Natural Theology rests deserves to be regarded 
 as increasinp; the interest of this science. The other 
 sciences, those of Physics at least, are studied only 
 when we withdraw from all ordinary pursuits, and give 
 up our meditations to them. Those which can only be 
 prosecuted by means of experiment can never be studied 
 at all without some act of our own to alter the existing 
 state of things, and place nature in circumstances which 
 force her by a kind of question, as Lord Bacon phrases 
 it, to reveal her secrets. Even the sciences which de- 
 pend on observation have their fields spread only here 
 and there, hardly ever lying in our way, and not always 
 accessible when we would go out of our way to walk in 
 them. But there is no place where the evidences of 
 Natural Beligion are not distributed in ample measure. 
 It is equally true that those evidences continually meet 
 us in all the other branches of science. A discovery 
 made in these almost certainly involves some new proofs 
 of design in the formation and government of the 
 universe. 
 
 Thirdly and chiefly. Natural Theology stands far 
 above all other sciences from the sublime and elevating 
 nature of its objects. It tells of the creation of all 
 things — of the mighty power that fashioned and that 
 sustains the universe — of the exquisite skill that con- 
 trived the wings, and beak, and feet of insects invisible 
 to the naked eye — and that lighted the lamp of day, 
 and launched into space comets a thousand times larger 
 than the earth, whirhng a milhon of times swifter than 
 a cannon ball, and burning with a heat which a thousand 
 centuries could not quench. It exceeds the bounds of 
 material existence, and raises us from the creation to 
 the Author of Nature. Its office is, not only to mark 
 what things are, but for what purpose they were made 
 by the infinite wisdom of an all-powerful Being, with 
 whose existence and attributes its high prerogative is 
 to bring us acquainted. If we prize, and justly, the
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 123 
 
 delightful contemplations of the other sciences ; if we 
 hold it a marvellous gratification to have ascertained 
 exactly the swiftness of the remotest planets — the 
 nimiber of grains that a piece of lead would weigh at 
 their surlaces — and the degree in which each has 
 become flattened in shape by revolving on its axis ; it 
 is sui'ely a yet more noble employment of our faculties, 
 and a still higher privilege of our nature, humbly, but 
 confidently, to ascend from the universe to its Great 
 First Cause, and investigate the unity, the personality, 
 the intentions, as well as the matchless skill and mighty 
 power of Him who made and sustains and moves those 
 prodigious bodies, and all that inhabit them. 
 
 Now, all the gratification of which we have been 
 treating is purely scientific, and wholly independent of 
 any views of practical benefit resulting from the science 
 of Natural Theology. The pleasure in question is 
 merely that double gratification which every science 
 bestows — namely, the contemplation of truth, in tracing 
 resemblances and differences, and the perception of the 
 evidence by which that truth is established. Natural 
 Theology gives this double pleasure, like all other 
 branches of science — like the mathematics — Hke physics 
 — and would give it if we were beings of an order differ- 
 ent from man, and whose destinies never could be af- 
 fected by the truth or the falsehood of the doctrines in 
 question. Nay, we may put a still stronger case, 
 one analogous to the instance given above of the 
 pleasure derived from contemplating some fine inven- 
 tion of a suro-ical instrument. Persons of such lives as 
 should make it extremely desirable to them that there 
 was no God, and no Future State, might very well, as 
 philosophers, derive gratification from contemplating 
 the truths of Natural Theology, and from following the 
 chain of evidence by which these are established, and 
 might, in such sublime meditation, find some solace to 
 the pain which reflection upon the past and fears of 
 the future are calculated to inflict upon them,
 
 124 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 But it is equally certain that the science derives an 
 interest incomparably greater from the consideration 
 that we ourselves, who cultivate it, are most of all con- 
 cerned in its truth — that our own highest destinies are 
 involved in the results of the investigation. This, in- 
 deed, makes it, beyond all doubt, the most interesting 
 of the sciences, and sheds on the other branches of 
 philosophy an interest beyond that which otherwise 
 belongs to them, rendering them more attractive in 
 proportion as they connect themselves with this grand 
 branch of human knowledge, and are capable of being 
 made subservient to its uses. See only in what con- 
 templations the wisest of men end their most sublime 
 inquiries ! Mark where it is that a Newton finally 
 reposes after piercing the thickest veil that envelopes 
 nature — grasping and arresting in their course the 
 most subtle of her elements and the swiftest — travers- 
 ing the regions of boundless space — exploring worlds 
 beyond the solar way — giving out the law which binds 
 the universe in eternal order ! He rests, as by an 
 inevitable necessity, upon the contemplation of the 
 Great First Cause, and holds it his highest glory to 
 have made the evidence of his existence, and the dis- 
 pensations of his power and of his wisdom, better 
 understood by men. 
 
 If such are the peculiar pleasures which appertain 
 to this science, it seems to follow that those philoso- 
 phers are mistaken who would restrict us to a very 
 few demonstrations, to one or two instances of design, 
 as sufficient proofs of the Deity's power and skill in 
 the creation of the world. That one sufiicient proof 
 of this kind is, in a certain sense, enough cannot be 
 denied : a single such proof overthrows the dogmas of 
 the atheist, and dispels the doubts of the sceptic ; but 
 is it enough to the gratification of the contemplative 
 mind ? The great multiplication of proofs undeniably 
 strengthens our positions ; nor can we ever aflftrm 
 respecting the theorems in a science not of necessary
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 125 
 
 but of contingent truth, that the evidence is sufficiently 
 cogent without variety and repetition. But, indepen- 
 dently altogether of this consideration, the gratification 
 is renewed by each instance of design which w^e are 
 led to contemplate. Each is different from the other. 
 Each step renews our delight. The finding that at 
 every step we make in one science, and with one 
 object in view, a new proof is added to those before 
 possessed by another science, affords a perpetual source 
 of new interest and fresh enjoyment. This would be 
 t!'ue if the science in question were one of an ordinary 
 description. But when we consider what its nature is 
 — how intimately connected Avith our highest concerns 
 — hoAv immediately and necessarily leading to the 
 religious adoration of the Supreme Being — can we 
 doubt that the perpetually renewed proofs of his 
 power, wisdom, and goodness tend to fix and to tran- 
 sport the mind, by the constant nourishment thus 
 afforded to feelings of pure and rational devotion ? It 
 is, in truth, an exercise at once intellectual and moral, 
 in which the highest faculties of the understanding and 
 the warmest feelings of the heart alike partake, and in 
 which not only without ceasing to be a philosopher the 
 student feels as a man, but in which the more warmly 
 his human feelings are excited, the more philosophic- 
 ally he handles the subject. What delight can be more 
 elevating, more truly worthy of a rational creature's 
 enjojTnent, than to feel, wherever we tread the paths 
 of scientific inquiry, new evidence springing up around 
 our footsteps — new traces of divine intelligence and 
 power meeting our eye ! We are never alone ; at 
 least, like the old Roman, we are never less alone 
 than in our solitude. We walk with the Deity ; we 
 commune with the Great First Cause, who sustains at 
 every instant what the word of his power made. The 
 delight is renewed at each step of our progress, though 
 as far as evidence is concerned we have long ago had 
 proof cnounh. But that is no more a reason for ccas-
 
 126 A DTSCOIJESE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 ing to contemplate the subject in its perpetually reno- 
 vated and varied forms, than it would be a reason for 
 resting satisfied with once seeing a long-lost friend, 
 that his existence had been sufficiently proved by one 
 interview. Thus, instead of restricting ourselves to 
 the proofs alone required to refute atheism or remove 
 scepticism, we should covet the indefinite multiplication 
 of evidences of design and skill in the universe, as sub- 
 servient in a threefold way to purposes of use and of 
 gratification : first, as strengthening the foundation 
 whereupon the system reposes ; secondly, as conducive 
 to the ordinary purposes of scientific gratification : each 
 instance being a fresh renewal of that kind of enjoy- 
 ment ; and thirdly, as giving additional ground for de- 
 vout, pleasing, and wholesome adoration of the Great 
 First Cause who made and who sustains all nature. 
 
 It is, therefore, manifest that, instead of resting 
 satisfied with details and reasons barely sufficient to 
 prove the existence of design in the universe, the 
 gratification of a laudable scientific curiosity, and the 
 proper indulgence of rational devotion, require that 
 every occasion should be taken of exhibiting those 
 evidences upon which the system of Natural Theology 
 rests. The professed treatises upon that science do 
 not suffice for this purpose, although they ought un- 
 questionably to enter largely, and with very great 
 variety of illustration, into the proofs : but each several 
 branch of science, natural and moral, should have a 
 constant reference to this, and should never fail to 
 apply its peculiar doctrines towards the proof and the 
 illustration of the doctrines of Natural Theology.
 
 127 
 
 SECTIONS" III. 
 
 ON THE CONNEXION BETWEEN NA.TTJEAL AND REVEALED 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 The ordinary arguments against Natural Theologj 
 with which we have to contend are those of atheists 
 and sceptics ; of persons who deny the existence of a 
 First Cause, or who involve the whole question in 
 doubt; of persons who think they see a balance of 
 reason for denying the existence of a Deity, or who 
 consider the reasons on both sides as so equally poised 
 that it is impossible to decide either way. An objection 
 of a very different nature has sometimes proceeded, 
 unexpectedly, from a very different quarter — the 
 friends of Revelation — who have been known, without 
 due reflection, to contend that by the light of unas- 
 sisted reason we can know absolutely nothing of God 
 and a Future State. They appear to be alarmed lest 
 the progress of Natural Religion should prove danger- 
 ous to the acceptance of Revealed; lest the former 
 should, as it were, be taken as a substitute for the 
 latter. They argue as if the two systems were rivals, 
 and whatever credit the one gained, were so much lost 
 to the other. They seem to think that if any discovery 
 of a First Cause and another world were made by 
 natural reason, it would no longer be true that " life 
 and immortality were brought to light by the gospel." 
 Although these rcasoners are neither the most famous 
 advocates of revelation, nor the most enlightened, we 
 yet may do well to shoAv the groundlessness of the 
 alarms which they would excite. 
 
 1. In the first place, it is worthy of our consideration
 
 128 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 that the greatest advocates of Natural Theology have 
 always been sincere and even zealous Christians. 
 The name's of Ray, Clarke, Derliam, Keill, Paley, 
 attest the truth of this assertion. None of these was 
 likely to lend his support to any system, the evidence 
 of which put the out-works of Christianity in jeopardy. 
 Some of them, as Clarke and Paley, have signalized 
 themselves as strenuous and able defenders of the 
 truth of Revelation. Derham actually delivered his 
 celebrated work on the great truths of Natural Theo- 
 logy as a series of sermons preached in Bow Church, 
 at a Lecture for the promotion of the Christian reli- 
 gion, founded by Mr. Boyle. At the same Lecture, 
 in St. Paul's, was delivered Dr. Clarke's argument a 
 2Jriori, and indeed his whole " Evidence of Natural 
 and Revealed Religion," as well as his " Demonstra- 
 tion of the Being and Attributes of God ; " and Dr. 
 Bentley, the first preacher upon that foundation, de- 
 livered in like manner as sermons his argument in 
 favour of Natural Religion from the structure of 
 the human mind, the animal body, and the universe 
 at large. 
 
 This Lecture was expressly founded by Mr. Boyle 
 in support of the Christian religion ; and no reference 
 to Natural Theology, apart from its uses in supporting 
 Revelation, is to be found in the terms of the gift. 
 The subject of the eight sermons is to be, in the words 
 of the will, " The proof of the Christian religion against 
 notorious infidels, viz. atheists, theists. Pagans, Jews, 
 and Mahometans, not descending lower to any con- 
 troversies that are among Christians themselves." Yet 
 the great Christian divines whom we have named so 
 construed these words as to include a proof of Natural 
 Relio'ion among- the most essential aro'uments for Chris- 
 tianity ; and almost as many of the sermons preached 
 at the Boyle Lecture, during the first forty years 
 after its foundation, relate to the doctrines of Natural 
 Theology as to those of Revelation. So far were the
 
 ADVAXTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 129 
 
 divines of that day from holding the two subjects as 
 hostile to each other.* 
 
 2. But, second hj, Natural Theology is most service- 
 able to the support of Revelation. All the soundest 
 arguments in behalf of the latter presuppose the former 
 to be admitted. Witness the profound work of Butler, 
 his ' Analoofv of Natural and Revealed Relig-ion to the 
 Order of Nature,' the most argumentative and philo- 
 sophical defence of Christanity ever submitted to the 
 world. But Lardner and Paley, and all other writers 
 on the same side, abound in references to Natural 
 Theology, and in the course of their reasomngs assume 
 its truth as postulates. 
 
 We may suppose that those practised controversialists 
 and zealous Christians did not make such assumptions 
 gratuitously. We may safely give them credit for not 
 resting their case upon more postulates than the exi- 
 gency of the argument required. Such a course, if 
 unnecessary, should have been most unskilful, and 
 might have proved dangerous by opening the door to 
 new attacks. But they are not peculiar in their view 
 of the subject. Boyle and Newton were as sincerely 
 attached to Christianity as any men in any age, and 
 they are likewise the most zealous advocates of Natural 
 Religion. Lord Bacon, though imbued perhaps with 
 a certain degree of predjudice on tliis subject, but of a 
 philosophical and not a polemical origin, distinctly 
 ])laces the truth of Natural Religion at the entrance of 
 theological study, and regards the evidences of Revela- 
 tion as founded upon the previous demonstration of 
 Natural Theology. " The latter," he says, " is the key 
 of the former, and opens our understanding to the 
 genuine spirit of the Scriptures, but also unlocks our 
 belief, so that we may enter upon the serious contem- 
 
 * If any one will read the vituperation rather than sermon against 
 intldels with which Dr. IJentley commences his discourses upon Natural 
 Relitrion, he will see no reason to doubt the zeal for Christianity of that 
 most learned preacher. 
 
 VuL. Vi. tt
 
 130 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 plation of the divine Power, the characters of which 
 are so deeply graven in the works of the creation." * He 
 elsewhere also lays it down as clear that atheism is to 
 be refuted not by miracles but by the contemplation of 
 nature, and accurately takes the distinction between 
 Revelation and Natural Religion ; that the former de- 
 clares the will of God as to the worship most acceptable, 
 while the latter teaches liis existence and powers, but 
 is silent as to a ritual.f 
 
 3. Accordingly we proceed a step farther, and assert, 
 thirdly, that it is a vain and ignorant thing to suppose 
 that Natural Theology is not necessary to the support 
 of Revelation. The latter may be untrue, though the 
 former be admitted. It may be proved, or allowed, 
 that there is a God, though it be denied that he ever 
 sent any message to man, through men or other inter- 
 mediate agents ; as indeed the Epicureans believed in 
 the existence of the gods, but held them to keep wholly 
 aloof from human affairs, leaving the world, physical as 
 well as moral, to itself, without the least interference 
 in its concerns.^ But Revelation cannot be true if 
 Natural Religion is false, and cannot be demonstrated 
 strictly by any argument, or established by any evi- 
 dence, without proving or assuming the latter. A little 
 attention to the subject will clearly prove this proposition. 
 
 Suppose it were shown by incontestable proofs that 
 a messenger sent immediately from heaven had ap- 
 peared on the earth ; suppose, to make the case more 
 strong against our argument, that this messenger ar- 
 rived in our own days, nay appeared before our eyes, 
 
 * De Dig. et Aug. lib. i. t De Dig. lib. iii. c. 2. 
 
 X It is singular, too, that this sect inculcated religious duties towards the 
 gods, -whom nevertheless they neither believed to be the creators nor 
 governors of the universe. Cicero says of its founder, " De sanctitate, de 
 pietate adversus deos libros scripsit Epicurus. At quomodo in his loquitur? 
 ut Coruncanum, ut Sccevolam, pontifices maximos, te audire dicas." — 
 [" Epicurus wrote two books on holiness and piety towards the Gods : but 
 how does he speak of them ? As you might suppose you were listening to 
 Coruncanus, to Scsevola, our high-priests."] — " \ou would think," says he, 
 " to hear him, it was our high-priests descanting upon holiness and piety."
 
 ADVANTAGES OP STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 131 
 
 and showed his divine title to have his message believed 
 by performing miracles in om^ presence. No one can 
 by possibility imagine a stronger case ; for it excludes 
 all arguments upon the weight or the fallibility of 
 testimony ; it assumes all the ordinary difficulties in 
 the way of Revelation to be got over. Now, even this 
 strono- evidence would not at all establish the truth of 
 the doctrine promulgated by the messenger ; for it 
 would not show that the story he brought was worthy 
 of belief in any one particular except his supernatural 
 powers. These would be demonstrated by his working- 
 miracles. All the rest of his statement would rest on 
 his assertion. But a being capable of working miracles 
 might very well be capable of deceiving us. The 
 possession of power does not of necessity exclude either 
 fraud or malice. This messeno-er mio-ht come from an 
 e^il as well as from a good being ; he might come from 
 more beings than one ; or he might come from one 
 being of many existing in the universe. When Chris- 
 tianity was first promulgated, the miracles of Jesus 
 were not denied by the ancients ; but it was asserted 
 that they came from evil beings, and that he was a 
 magician. Such an explanation was consistent with 
 the kind of belief to which the votaries of polytheism 
 were accustomed. They were habitually credulous of 
 miracles and of divine interpositions. But their argu- 
 ment was not at all unphilosophical. There is nothing 
 whatever inconsistent in the power to work miracles 
 being conferred upon a man or a minister by a super- 
 natural being, who is either of limited power himself, 
 or of great malignity, or who is one of many such 
 beings. Yet it is certain that no means can be devised 
 for attesting the supernatural agency of any one, ex- 
 cept such a power of working miracles ; therefore, it is 
 ])lain that no sufficient evidence can ever be given by 
 direct Revelation alone in favour of the great truths 
 of religion. The messenger in question might have 
 power to work miracles without end, and yet it would
 
 132 A DISCOURSE OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 remain unproved, either that God was omnipotent, and 
 one, and benevolent, or that he destined his creatures 
 to a future state, or that he had made them such as 
 they are in their present state. All this might be 
 true, indeed; but its truth would rest only on the 
 messenger's assertion, and upon whatever internal evi- 
 dence the nature of his communication aiforded ; and it 
 might be false, without the least derogation to the truth 
 of the fact that he came from a superior being, and 
 possessed the power of suspenchng the laws of nature. 
 
 But the doctrines of the existence of a Deity and of 
 his attributes, which Natural Religion teaches, preclude 
 the possibility of such ambiguities and remove all those 
 chfficulties. We thus learn that the Creator of the 
 Avorld is one and the same ; and we come to know his 
 attributes, not merely of power, which alone the direct 
 communication by miracles could convey, but of wisdom 
 and goodness. Built upon this foundation, the message 
 of Revelation becomes at once unimpeachable, and 
 invaluable. It converts every inference of reason into 
 certainty, and, above all, it communicates the Divine 
 Being's intentions respecting our own lot with a de- 
 gree of precision wliich the inferences of Natural 
 Theology very imperfectly possess. This, in truth, is 
 the chief superiority of Revelation, and this is the 
 praise justly given to the Gospel in sacred writ — not 
 that it teaches the being and attributes of God, but 
 that it brings life and immortality to light. 
 
 It deserves, however, to be remarked, in perfect 
 consistency with the argument which has here been 
 maintained, that no mere Revelation, no direct mes- 
 sage, however avouched by miraculous gifts, could 
 prove the faithfulness of the promises held out by the 
 messenger, excepting by the slight inference which the 
 nature of the message might afford. The portion of 
 his credentials which consisted of his miraculous powers 
 could not prove it. For unless we had first ascertained 
 the unity and the benevolence of the being that sent
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 133 
 
 him, as those miracles only prove power, he might be 
 sent to deceive us ; and thus the hopes held out by 
 him might be delusions. The doctrines of Natural 
 Rehgion here come to our aid, and secure our belief 
 to the messenger of one Bemg, whose goodness they 
 have taught us to trust. 
 
 4. In other respects, the services of Natural Religion 
 are for from inconsiderable, as subsidiary to, and co- 
 operative with, the great help of revelation. Thus, 
 were our whole knowledge of the Deity drawn from 
 Revelation, its foundation must become weaker and 
 weaker as the distance in point of time increases from 
 the actual interposition. Tradition, or the evidence of 
 testimony, must of necessity be its only proof: for 
 perpetual miracles must be wrought to give us evi- 
 dence by our own senses. Now, a perpetual miracle 
 is a contradiction in terms ; for the exception to, or 
 suspension of, the laws of nature so often repeated 
 would destroy the laws themselves, and with the laws 
 the force of the exception or suspension. Upon tes- 
 timony, then, all Revelation must rest. Every age 
 but the one in which the miracles were wrought, and 
 every country but the one that witnessed them — in- 
 deed, all the people of that country itself save those 
 actually present — must receive the proofs which they 
 aiford of Divine interposition upon the testimony of 
 eye-witnesses, and of those to whom eye-witnesses told 
 it. Even if the miracles were exhibited before all the 
 nations of one age, the next must believe upon the 
 authority of tradition, and if we suppose the interposi- 
 tion to be repeated from time to time, each repetition 
 would incalculably weaken its force, because tlie laws 
 of nature, though not wholly destroyed, as they must 
 be by constant violation, would yet lose tlicir prevail- 
 ing force, and each exception would become a slighter 
 proof of supernatural agency. It is far otherwise 
 with the proofs of Natural Religion ; repetition only 
 strengthens and extends them. We are by no means
 
 134 A DISCOURSE OP NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 affirming that Revelation would lose its sanction by 
 lapse of time, as long as it had the perpetually new 
 and living evidence of Natural Religion to support it. 
 We are only showing the use of that evidence to Re- 
 velation, by examining the inevitable consequences of 
 its entire removal, and seeing how ill supported the 
 truths of Revelation would be, if the prop were with- 
 drawn which they borrow from Natural Theology ; for 
 then they would rest upon tradition alone.* 
 
 In truth, it is with Natural Religion as with many 
 of the greatest blessings of our sublunary lot : they are 
 so common, so habitually present to and enjoyed by us, 
 that we become insensible of their value, and only esti- 
 mate them aright when we lose them, or fancy them 
 lost. Accustomed to handle the truths of Revelation 
 in connexion with, and in addition to, those of Natural 
 Theology, and never having experienced any state of 
 mind in which we were without the latter, we forget 
 how essential they are to the former. As we are wont 
 to forget the existence of the air we constantly breathe 
 until put in mind of it by some violent change threat- 
 ening suffocation, so it requires a violent fit of abstrac- 
 tion to figure to ourselves the state of our belief in 
 Revelation were the lights of natural religion with- 
 drawn. The existence and attributes of a God are so 
 familiarly proved by everything around us, that we 
 can hardly picture to ourselves the state of our belief 
 in this great truth, if we only knew it by the testimony 
 borne to miracles, which, however authentic, were yet 
 wrought in a remote age and distant region.f 
 
 5. The use of Natural Theology to the believer in 
 Revelation is equally remarkable in keeping alive the 
 feelings of piety and devotion. As this topic has occurred 
 
 * Note V. 
 f Mr. Locke has said, upon a similar question, " He that takes away 
 Keason to make way for Revelation puts out the light of both ; and does 
 much about the same as if he would persuade a man to put out his eyes, 
 the better to receive the remote light of an invisible star by a telescope." — 
 Human Understanding, iv. 19, 4.
 
 ADVANTAGES OF STUDY OF NATURAL THEOLOGY. 135 
 
 under a former head, it is only to be presented here 
 in close connexion with Revealed Religion. It may be 
 observed, then, that even the inspired penmen have 
 constant recourse to the views which are derived from 
 the contemplation of nature when they would exalt the 
 Deity by a description of his attributes, or inculcate 
 sentiments of devotion towards him. " How excellent," 
 says the Psalmist, " is thy name in all the earth ; thou 
 hast set thy glory above the heavens. I will consider 
 the heavens, even the work of thy fingers ; the moon 
 and the stars which thou hast ordained." See also that 
 singularly beautiful poem the 139th Psalm ; and the 
 Book of Job, from the 38th to the 41st chapter. 
 
 It is remarkable how httle is to be found of particu- 
 larity and precision in anything that has been revealed 
 to us respecting the nature of the Godhead. For the 
 wisest purposes it has pleased Providence to veil in 
 awful mystery almost all the attributes of the Ancient 
 of Days beyond what natural reason teaches. By direct 
 interposition, through miraculous agency, we become 
 acquainted with his will, and are made more certain of 
 his existence ; but his peculiar attributes are nearly the 
 same in the volume of Nature and in that of his Re- 
 vealed word.* 
 
 * Archbishop Tillotson has pronounced an authoritative opinion in 
 favour of Natural Eehgion, as essential to the proof of Revealed. His 
 admirable Sermons abound in such statements — thus, in the 41st, " Un- 
 less we be first firmly persuaded of the providence of God, and of his 
 particular care of mankind, why should we suppose that he makes any 
 revelation of his will to us? Unless it be first naturally proved that God 
 Is a God of truth, what ground is there for believing his word ? So that 
 all religion is founded upon right notions of God and his perfections, in- 
 somuch that Divine Revelation itself does suppose these for its foundation, 
 and can signify (i.e. disclose or reveal) notliing to us unless they be first 
 known and believed." " So that the princi])les of Natural Religion are 
 the foundations of that which is revealed." This sermon was preached 
 before the King and Queen (William and INIary) on the Thanksgi\-ing for 
 the naval victory in 1G92. The sermon on Steadfastness in Religion, one 
 of the archbishop's great masterpieces, and in which he demonstrates against 
 Rome the right of private judgment, tallies with the 41st in the doctrine 
 on Natural Religion.
 
 137 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note I. — Page 9. 
 Of the Classification of the Sciences, 
 
 I AM abundantly sensible, not only, as is stated in the text, how imper- 
 r.ict all such classifications must be, but that grave objections may be 
 urged against the one I have adopted, and particularly against the three- 
 fold division of phj/sical, j)fychological, and ethical or moral. It may be 
 said that one part of the moral branch of Natural Theology belongs to 
 psychology — namely, the arguments drawn from the nature of the mind 
 in favour of a future state ; and that this part ought therefore to have 
 been classed with the second division of the ontological branch — namely, 
 the psychological. But it must be borne in mind that the two lirst 
 divisions, comprising the ontological branch, are confined to the doctrine of 
 existences — the investigation of the Deity's existence and attributes; 
 while the whole of the third di\'ision, or second branch, relates to the 
 prospects of man with respect to his soul , and consequently, although 
 the arguments respecting these prospects are partly of a psychological 
 nature, yet they relate to the future, and not at all to the past or present 
 —not at all to the doctrine of existence or attributes. This is therefore a 
 sufficiently distinct ground for the separation. In all such classifications 
 we should be guided by views of convenience, rather than by any desire 
 to attain perfect sj'mmetry; and that arrangement may be best suited 
 to a particular purpose which plants the same things in one order, and 
 separates them and unites them in one way, Avhen an arrangement which 
 should dispose those things differently might be preferable, if we had 
 another purpose to serve. Thus the three divisions of physics, psycho- 
 logy, and morals may be convenient for the purposes of Natural Theo- 
 logy, and 3'et it may not so well suit the purposes of general science ; al- 
 though I own my opinion to be in favour of that classification for such 
 general purposes also, keeping always in mind that whatever portion of 
 moral science (using the term in its more ordinary sense) belongs to onto- 
 logy comes within the second, and not the third, subdivision, and that 
 the third deals with deontology alone. 
 
 The various classifications wliich, in ancient as well as modern times, 
 have been made of the sciences, are well calculated to illustrate the dilli- 
 culty of a perfect arrangement. The Greei< philosophers distinguislicd 
 them into physics, ethics, and logic. Under the first head was compre-
 
 138 NOTES. 
 
 hended both the nature of mind and of the Deity; consequently, under physics 
 were classed what we now term psychology and theology, as well as na- 
 tural philosophy. Mr. Locke mainly adopted the same order when he 
 ranged the objects of science into phi/sical, practical, and logical (^(pv/nxn, 
 ■Tr^aKTixn, cryiix,iiuTix.n, or Xay/x-/?); or, 1. Things in themselves knowable, 
 whether God himself, angels, spirits, bodies ; or their affections, as num- 
 ber, figure, &c. 2. Actions, as they depend upon us in order to happi- 
 ness ; and 3. The use of signs, in order to knowledge. Thus, like the 
 Greek pliilosophers, he classed natural philosophy, psychology, and theo- 
 logy under one head ; but as he only stated ethics to be " the most con- 
 siderable of the second head," it may be doubtful whether or not he in- 
 cluded under it any practical application of the natural branches of the 
 first head. One thing, too, is quite clear in this arrangement, — that pure 
 mathematics becomes part of the science of ontology, tliat is, of existences, 
 natural and mental; and yet it bears a more close relation to the third, 
 or logical division. It certainly appears somewhat violent to class flux- 
 ions with anatomy, metallurgy with psychology, and entomology with 
 theology ; while we make separate heads of ethics and logic. But yet 
 more violent is M. Turgot's classification, by which he ranges, under the 
 liead of physical sciences, not only natural philosophy and metaphysics 
 by name, but also logic and history. To thus classing history there is, 
 indeed, a double objection. Not only is it doing unnecessary violence to 
 common language, to make that which bears no exclusive relation to na- 
 tural objects a part of physics, but to make history a science at all is per- 
 haps yet more objectionable, unless in the sense in which inductive science 
 is deemed historical by Lord Bacon — being considered by him as the his- 
 tory of facts. But this, too, is incorrect ; for the history or record of 
 facts is only the foundation of inductive science, which consists in the 
 comparison, or reasoning from the comparison, of these facts, and marking 
 their differences and resemblances; whereas history is applicable to all 
 events and all sciences, being merely the record of things that have hap- 
 pened, of whatever kind, and implies no reasoning or comparing at all. 
 Why is poetry, music, painting, omitted in such an arrangement as that 
 of Turgot ? The}' are as much sciences as history. 
 
 Lord Bacon's own scientific classification is certainly not distinguislied 
 by peculiar felicity. He divides science into three parts, according as its 
 object is the Deity, Man, or External Nature, naming these branches — 
 Natural Theology, Human Philosophy, and Natural Philosophy. Hence, 
 while intellectual and moral philosophy are separated from theology, they 
 are both classed with anatomy and medicine ; while optics and acoustics, 
 merely from their relation to the human eye and the human ear, are 
 ranged under the same head with ethics, and separated from natural philo- 
 sophy. Hence, too, the chemical nature of the blood and bones of man 
 is made one part of one division — Human Philosophy: while the chemi- 
 cal nature of the blood and bones of all other animals is ranged under 
 another head — Natural Philosophy. As for logic and the mathematics, 
 they are treated as a kind of appendix to physics, rather than as deserving 
 the name of sciences.
 
 NOTES. 139 
 
 Note II.— PacxE 37. 
 
 Of the Psychological Argumeiit from Final Causes. 
 
 Dr. Clarke maintains that the evidences of design are much more to 
 be traced in the natural than in the moral world ; but he plainly means 
 by this proposition, not so much to compare the proofs of Divine wisdom 
 exhibited in the phenomena of the material with those exhibited in the 
 phenomena of the intellectual world, as to show that the designs or in- 
 tentions of the Deity are more easily perceived in the aiTangements of tlie 
 world with which we are most conversant, than his plans for our happi- 
 ness, and his general intentions respecting our fate, are to be inferred from 
 moral considerations. It is, however, to be remarked that, like all other 
 reasoners upon Natural Theology, Dr. Clarke conlines his attention en- 
 tirely to physical, and never adverts to psychological, proofs. 
 
 Mr. Smith, in his ' Theorj' of Moral Sentiments,' has interspersed with 
 his reasonings upon the constitution of the afl'ections and feelings, reflec- 
 tions upon the purposes to which they are subservient ; and Mr. Stewart's 
 writings afford frequent instances of his attention having been alive to 
 the soundness of the same speculation. Indeed, no one who had the accu- 
 rate and just views of the nature of the sentient principle, and the steady 
 conviction of its separate and immaterial nature, which prevail through 
 all his writings, could fail to perceive the application of the argument a 
 posteriori to our mental constitution. But these indications of this admir- 
 able writer's attention to the subject are accidental, and scattered through 
 his works ; and it is exceedingly to be regretted, nor, indeed, very easily 
 to be explained, that he should have entirely omitted all reference to the 
 constitution of our mental faculties in the otherwise full and able treatise 
 upon Natural Religion which forms so large a part — above one-third — of 
 his ' Philosophy of the Active Powers.' With the exception of a single 
 remark (vol. ii. p. 48), and that onlj' upon the adaptation of our facul- 
 ties to our external circumstances, and a quotation from Locke, which 
 relates more to the bodily than to the mental powers, there occurs nothing 
 whatever upon this im[iortant part of the subject in that excellent work, 
 where it would have been so peculiarly appropriate. 
 
 This silence of modem writers upon Natural Theology is easily accounted 
 for by the same consideration to which Dr. Reid has referred in explaining 
 how the modern sceptics have admitted the existence of appearances of 
 design in the universe, and denied what he terms the major proposition 
 — that design may be traced by its effects ; while the ancient sceptics, 
 admitting the latter proposition denied the former. He considers this as 
 owing to the great discoveries in physics made in modern times ; and to 
 the same cause may be ascribed the disposition of Natural Theologians to 
 confine their attentions to the evidences afforded b}' the material world. 
 The ancients, on the other hand, whose progress in Natural Philoso])hy 
 wiLS extremely limited, bestow more attention, and with considerably 
 greater success, upon Intellectual Philosophy; and accordingly we And 
 that they drew tlieir arguments a posteriori for the existence of design in 
 the universe as much from moral as from physical considerations. 
 
 The discussion held by Socrates with Aristodemus, as recorded by
 
 140 iTOTES, 
 
 Xenophon, is well known. After enumerating the various convenient ar- 
 rangements of the bodily organs, he adds — Ou toiwd f^otov n^xnn tm hZ rev 
 ruu-aros I'^iuiXn^tivxi' aXX' (orsj //.lyiffTov iirri) KUi t>)v ^pu^ni/ xettTiirTTii 
 Tui av6^!t)Tu iviifivri' Tiva; yot^ aXXov l^uov ^J/U^fi 'TTPura fiiv 6iu)v, rcav 
 TO, /jt,iyi(rTa, unci KaWtUTOt. iTVtTa,\a\Twv, nffSnTai on itcri; T/ oi (puXov aXXe 
 >? a^i^^ttiToi, hovs h^amvoviri i f^ta o; %}/u^fi tus a,vCpwprt\in; iKctvuTiga 
 w^o(pvXXtt.rriff6a.i, ti Xif/.ev, » ?/i^ay, « '4'VX^> 1 SotX-rn, n voirois ifTix.iiv^n(rai, 
 n puft.'/iv ecffKtiirai, ri t^os j/.a.Syiinv iKVovnaat, vj offas. av olkcvct), n ion, jj f^affri, 
 iKocMUTi^a iffTi %iocfe.iiJt.vri<r(ai ; — " Nor has the Deity been satisfied with taking 
 care of the body alone; he has implanted in man ivhal is a far greater work 
 to have made — a most excellent soul; for vjhat other animal possesses a 
 mind that can 2')erceive the existence of the Gods by ivhom all these vast arid 
 fair works have been formed ? What other creature than man worships 
 those Gods? What other intelligence is superior to man s in providing 
 against hunger, and thirst, and cold, and heat f or in curing diseases, or in 
 exercising strength, or in cultivating learning, or in storing tip the recollec- 
 tion of things heard, and seen, and learnt V* — It may be observed here, 
 in passing, that Mr. Stewart, who refers to this passage, has adopted the 
 pharaphrastic translation by Mrs. Fielding, and it is extremely unlike the 
 original. Mr. Stewart justly praises the "almost divine simplicity" of 
 the whole conversation, which is a just eulogy; but the translation, 
 although well written, little resembles the Greek in that particular. The 
 one I have here given is at least faithful. 
 
 In like manner, the discussion with Euthydemus, after showing the 
 goodness of the Gods in adapting all things to man's use, closes with 
 mentioning the senses given us to enjo}' those gifts of external nature, and, 
 lastly, the use of reason. To 1% Kai Xoyi(ffiov hfjt.iv if^ipiiirxi, &c., &c. — 
 " They have implanted reason in our nature, whereby we inquire touching 
 extei'nal tilings; and arguing and remembering, we learn the zise of' each, 
 and hit upon many contrivances for attaining good and avoiding evil. Have 
 they not also given us the gift of speech, by tnhich we can communicate 
 mutually all we have learnt, and thus instruct each other, and make laws, and 
 regulate civil polity ?" f 
 
 Plato pursues the same course of reasoning. We may refer particularly 
 to the tenth and twelfth books of the treatise ' De Legg.' Thus, towards 
 the end of the latter book, he states the argument for the Deity's existence 
 as twofold — the nature of the mind, and the order of the worldly system. 
 The first of his reasons is drawn from considering the qualities of the mind ; 
 its greater antiquitj' than that of the body, and its immortality ; for the 
 Platonists certainly considered immortality to be so much of the essence 
 of mind as to deduce from thence, as the less clear proposition, the exist- 
 ence of a Deity. 
 
 The Stoics reasoned in like manner, with an equal regard to mental and 
 to natural phenomena. Epictetus, after deducing the inference of design 
 from the adaptations of sensible objects, as of the eye to light, adds, cor- 
 rectly and philosophically, that " the constitution of the understanding, 
 whereby it not only receives impressions through the senses, but also deals 
 with the ideas thus received, and combines or composes something out of 
 them, proceedmg from things that are near to things quite remote, proves 
 
 * Xen, Memor. L iv, 13. t Xen. Memor. IV. iii. 11.
 
 NOTES. 141 
 
 the existence of an Artificer ; since things carrying such marks of con- 
 trivance could not," he contends, "exi<t spontaneously, and without 
 design."* 
 
 The same train of reasoning is followed by Cicero in all those parts of 
 his writings in which he treats of the existence of a Deity. Thus the 
 famous passage so often quoted from the treatise ' De Natura Deorum,' 
 ends with a reference to our mental constitution, although this part of it 
 is not so frequently attended to. " An vero si domum magnam pulchram- 
 que videris, non possis adduci ut, etiamsi dominum non videas, niuribus 
 iUam et mustelis a!difieatam putes ; tantum vero ornatum mundi, tantam 
 varietatem pulchritudinemque rerum coelestium, tantam vim et magnitu- 
 dinem maris atque terrarum, si tuum ac non deorum immortalium domi- 
 cilium putes, nonne plane desipere videare ? " — " If you should see a large 
 and handsome house, you could not be induced, though you saw no 
 master, to suppose that it was built for mice and weasels ; but such is the 
 embellishment of the world, such the variety and beauty of the heavens, 
 such the force of the ocean and magnitude of the earth, that if you sup- 
 posed them formed for the habitation of man rather than the immortal 
 gods, you would obviously seem to be insane." Thus far as to sensible 
 objects. But he proceeds, " Aliud a terra sumsimus, aliud ab humure, 
 aliud ab igne, aliud ab aere, eo quem spiritii ducimus : illud autem quod 
 \nncit haec omnia, rationem dico, et si placet, pluribus verbis, mentem, 
 consilium, cogitationem, prudentiam, ubi invenimus? unde sustulimus?"t 
 — " Whatever we take from earth, from water, from fire, from air, ditfers 
 from what we obtain from the spirit ; but that wliich surpasses all things, 
 reason I mean, or if you please, in other words, mind, judgment, thought, 
 prudence, where do we find it? whence can we obtain it?" 
 
 And again, in the same book, after speaking at large on the structure 
 of the body, and the uses to which its various parts are adapted, he adds, 
 "Jam vero animum ipsum mentemque hominis, rationem, consilium, pru- 
 dentiam, qui non divina cura, perfecta esse perspicit, is his ipsis rebus mihi 
 videtur carere." — " He who does not perceive that the soul and mind of 
 man, reason, judgment, prudence, have been made perfect by divine care, 
 seems to me to be deficient in these very things." He proceeds to show 
 how great a gift reason is from its productions : " Ex quo scientia intel- 
 ligitur quam vim habeat, qualis sit, qua ne in deo quidem est res ulla 
 prajstantior." — "From which knowledge we may understand its power, 
 which is, indeed, such that there is nothing more excellent even in God 
 himself" And he closes with the well-known passage in praise of 
 
 eloquence. J 
 
 In the I'usculan Questions he alludes to mind in a different manner. 
 After going through the various provisions made for human enjoyment in 
 the economy of nature, he adds, "Sic mentem hominis, quamvis earn nou 
 videas, ut deum non vides; tamen, ut deum agnoscis ex opcribus ejus, sic 
 ex memoria rerum et inventione et celeritate motus onmique pulchritudiiie 
 virtutis, vim divinam mentis agnoscito."§ — " Thus, thougli you cannot 
 see the mind of man, as you cannot see God, yet as you acknowledge 
 God from his works, so, from memory and invention, from the celerity of 
 
 * Epict. EncViir. L C. t De Nat. Deer. ii. 6. 
 
 X Ibid. 1 . 00, i Tusc. Qu. L 28.
 
 142 NOTES. 
 
 its movements and the excellence of its qualities, you acknowledge the 
 divine power of the mind." 
 
 The course of the argument in which he is engaged in this first part of 
 his work, the immortality of the soul, leads him to use the phenomena of 
 its faculties for the purpose of illustrating its separate existence; and, 
 therefore, he only enumerates the arrangements of the natural world as 
 proofs of Divine agency, and gives those proofs not as the main object of 
 the argument, but as introductory to his statement of the soul's inde- 
 pendent nature. 
 
 In these speculations of the ancient philosophers, we cannot find any 
 process of strict inductive reasoning ; and, accordingly, the facts are not 
 turned to the best account for the purposes of the argument. But this 
 defect appears, at the least, as much in the physical as in the psychological 
 portion of the reasoning. Indeed, the latter comes more near to our own 
 philosophy ; and certainly we must admit that those old writers upon 
 Natural Theology, in the place which they assign to intellectual pheno- 
 mena, pursued a more sound and consistent method of philosophizing, than 
 the moderns have done when speculating upon the same subject. 
 
 !N^OTE III. — Page 54. 
 Of the Doctrine of Cause and Effect. 
 
 The argument deduced by sceptical writers from Mr. Hume's doctrine 
 
 raspecting causation has tended to bring some discredit upon the doctrine 
 itself, by raising a prejudice against it. The bad use, however, which is 
 made of a sound principle is not fairly a matter of charge against that 
 principle. The only question is whether or not the principle be just in 
 itself; and it cannot be just if legitimate reasoning can deduce from it an 
 absurd consequence. A dangerous consequence, how rigorously soever 
 following from it, would of course form no reason against its reception, 
 though it might justly be made the ground of examining very narrowly 
 the foundations upon which the doctrine itself rested. 
 
 jNIr. Stewart, in a valuable and learned note to the ' Philosophy of the 
 Human Mind' (vol. i., note d), has brought together the authorities, 
 which have all more or less not only countenanced, but even forestalled 
 IMr. Hume in his position — that we know nothing of causation except bv 
 observing a constant junction between two events or two facts. This is un- 
 questionably true. We expect that heat being applied to combustible bodies, 
 they will take fire ; and that air being excluded they will cease to bum. 
 We expect this, because between the application of heat and the ignition 
 of the heated body, between the exclusion of air and the extinction of the 
 fire, we have constantly observed the relation of sequence — the one event 
 being always followed closely by the other. The inference which forms 
 the ground of this expectation, forms the ground of our belief that the one 
 event occasions the other — that there is between the two a connexion 
 beyond the mere relation of junction and sequence — and that the one, the
 
 NOTES. 143 
 
 preceding event, exerts an influence, a force, a power, over the other, and 
 produces the other. 
 
 Tliis constant conjunction, therefore, in point of fact, is the ground of 
 our belief, and is the origin of our ideas of causality or causation. So far 
 we must admit the doctrine in question. That it is the only ground of the 
 belief, and the only origin of the idea, may admit of some doubt. This is 
 the point on which turns the connexion "between the science of Natural 
 Theology and the controversy we are now referring to ; and therefore it 
 deserves some consideration in the present note. 
 
 1. The mere constant and unvarying succession of two events would 
 not of itself be sutBcient to make us, even in popular language, denominate 
 the one a cause of the other. Light uniformly succeeds dark — one o'clock 
 always follows twelve ; but no man ever thought of calling or of deeming 
 night to be the cause of day, or noon of afternoon.* Another and a very 
 important experiment or obser\'ation is required before we pronounce the 
 successive or conjoined events to be related one to the other as cause and 
 effect. Not only must the second event always have been found to follow 
 the first, but the second must never have been observed without the first 
 preceding it, or at least without some other event preceding it — in which 
 case the causation is predicated alike of both those preceding events. 
 Thus, the clock pointing to one is not reckoned the effect of its having 
 previously pointed to twelve ; but it is reckoned the effect of a certain 
 mechanism, namely, a spring unfolding itself, because if the spring is pre- 
 vented from relaxing, the hand no longer points ; and so it is also reckoned 
 the effect of a ^veight pulling a cord, because, when that weight is stopped 
 in its descent, the whole machinery stops. 
 
 2. But we derive not our notion of causality, from even this double 
 proof— the positive and negative combined — the two observations that one 
 event always follows the other, and that it ceases when the other ceases. 
 This of itself would only tell us the fact, that when one event exists the 
 other exists immediately afterwards and not otherwise. Our minds form, 
 whether we will or no, another idea — not merely that of constant connex- 
 ion or succession, but of the one exerting a power over the other by an 
 inherent force ; and this is the idea of causation. "Whence do we derive 
 it? I apprehend only from our consciousness. We feel that we have a will 
 and a power — that we can move a limb, and affect by our own powers, excited 
 after our own volition, a change upon external objects. Now fromthis con- 
 sciousness we derive the idea of power, and we transfer this idea and the rela- 
 tion on which it is founded between our own will and the change produced, 
 to the relations between events v.holly external to ourselves — assuming 
 them to be connected, as we feel our volition and our movements are mu- 
 tually connected. 
 
 If it be said that this idea bj- no means involves that of necessary con- 
 nexion, nothing can be more certain. The whole is a question of fact — 
 of contingent truth. Just as the world might be so constituted that heat 
 aitplied should not ignite, nor air excluded extinguish — so might our voli- 
 tion cease to make our limbs move, as it does cease in paralysis. As it is, 
 
 • Mr Stewart's observation, that day follows night as much as night follows day, 
 makes no difference in this illustration: for we nmy su])];(ise the case of a jn^rson 
 Bc-eiiig day for the first time, or twelve o'clock for the first time, and the conclusion 
 in the text would still hold good.
 
 144 NOTES. 
 
 and because our will has hitherto had the power to move our limbs, we 
 have acquired the idea of power and of causation. But if it had always 
 been otherwise, and that no connexion of succession had ever existed be- 
 tween our volition and our movements, I do not see how the idea of power 
 or causality could ever have been obtained by us from any observation of 
 the sequence of events. The idea of design or contrivance, in like manner, 
 must have been wanting to us ; and hence, I cannot understand how, but 
 for the consciousness of power, we could ever have been led to the belief in 
 the existence of a First Cause. This is another, and to my mind, a very 
 strong, additional reason for resting the evidences of Natural Theology 
 upon the argument a posteriori alone. 
 
 That they are greatly in error who confound, as has been too common, 
 causation with necessarj' connexion, and who deny the existence of the re- 
 lation of causality merely because the relation is contingent and not neces- 
 sary, is sufficiently manifest. Our ideas of power and of causation are solid 
 and well founded, although they only refer to a power or a causation 
 which may or may not exist. That one event causes another, may be a 
 proposition quite true, to which we affix a precise and definite meaning, 
 and which we have learnt from observation and from consciousness, al- 
 though the order of nature might easily have been so constituted as that 
 the two events should never have been found in sequence. At present 
 the order of nature connects them, and we affirm that there exists the 
 relation of cause and effect — a relation contingent, however, and not 
 necessary. Of necessary causation, we can by no possibility know any- 
 thing ; but causation may be real enough though contingent. 
 
 Note IV.— Page 40, 53. 
 
 Ofllie * Systeme de la Nature,'' and the Hypothesis of Materialism. 
 
 There is no book of an atheistical description which has ever made a 
 greater impression than the famous 'Systeme de la Nature.' It bears the 
 impression of London, 1780, but was manifestly printed in France; also, 
 it purports to be written by Slirabaud, secretary of the Academic Fran- 
 9aise ; and in a prefatory advertisement by the supposed editor, who 
 pronounces a great panegyric upon the work, enough appears to engender 
 doubts of Mirabaud having been its author. He died in 1760; audit 
 was twenty years before the work appeared — found, says the writer, among 
 a collection of manuscripts made bj' a "savant curieux de rassembler des 
 productions de ce genre." Robinet, the author of another work of similar 
 tendency, called ' De la Nature,' has been at different times said to be its 
 author, without any proof, or indeed probability ; but the general opinion 
 now ascribes it to the Baron d'Holbach, aided, in all probabihty, by 
 Diderot, Helvetius, and other members of the freethiuking society, who 
 frequented the Baron's house, and who used to complain of Voltaire's excess 
 of religious principle, not luifrequently ridiculing him for his fanaticism. 
 Mirabaud, upon whom this pubUcation most luijustifiably charges the
 
 NOTES. 145 
 
 book, by placing his name in the title-page without any doubt expressed, 
 and reserving the doubts far the preface, was a man of unimpeachable in- 
 tegrity and amiable disposition. He had been educated in the College of 
 the Jesuits, and afterwards was preceptor to some branches of the roval 
 family ;_ he died at the age of eighty-five, universally esteemed for his 
 unblemished character, his strict probity, and his attractive manners. 
 The Diderots and Grimms, though not perhaps persons of abandoned life, 
 were ver>- far from attaining such praise : indeed, the licentious works that 
 proceeded from Diderot's pen attest his deficiency, at least in one branch 
 of morals. 
 
 It is impossible to deny the merits of the ' Systeme de la Nature.' The 
 work of a great writer it unquestionably is ; but its merit lies in the ex- 
 traordinary eloquence of the composition, and the sldll with which words 
 substituted for ideas, and assumptions for proois, are made to pass current 
 not onlv for arguments against existmg beliefs, but for a new system 
 planted in their stead. As a piece of reasoning, it never rises above' a set 
 of plausible sophisms — plausible only as long as the ear of the reader being 
 filled with sounds, his attention is directed away from the sense. The 
 chief resource of the writer is to take for granted the thing to be proved, 
 and then to refer back to his assumption as a step in the demonstration, while 
 he builds various conclusions upon it, as if it were complete. Then he 
 declaims against a doctrine seen from one point of view only, and erects 
 another for our assent, which, besides being liable to the very same objec- 
 tions, has also no foundation whatever to rest upon. The grand secret, 
 indeed, of the author goes even farther in 2)etitione principii than this ; for 
 we oftentimes find, that in the very substitute which he has provided for 
 the notions of belief he would destroy, there lurks the very idea which he 
 is combating, and that his idol is our own faith in a new form, but masked 
 under different words and phrases. 
 
 The truth of these statements we are now to examine;, but first it may 
 be fitting to state why so much attention is bestowed upon tliis work. The 
 reason is, that its bold character has imposed on multitudes of readers, 
 seducing some by its tone of confidence, but intimidating others by its 
 extreme audacity. It is the only* work of any consideration wherein 
 atheism is openly avowed and preached — avowed, indeed, and preached in 
 terms. (See, particularly. Part ii., chap, ii.) This efiect of its hardihood 
 was certainly anticipated by its author; for the supposed editor, in his 
 advertisement, describes it somewhat comi)lacently, if not boastingly, as 
 " I'ouvrage le plus hardi et le plus extraordinaire que Tesprit humain ait^ 
 ose produire jusqu'a present." — ["The most audacious and extraordinary 
 work which the human ijiind has hitherto dared to produce."] 
 
 The grand object of the book being to show that there is no God, the 
 author begins by endeavouring to establish the most rigorous materialism, 
 by trying to show that there is no such thing as mind — nothing beyond 
 or different from tlie material worid. His whole fabric is built on' this 
 foundation ; and it would be dillicult to find in tlie history of metaphysical 
 controversies sucii inconclusive reasoning, and such undisguised assump- 
 tions of the matter in dispute as this fundamental part of his sj-stem is 
 composed of. He begins with asserting that man has no means of carry- 
 
 • The treatise of Robinet, De la Nature, which, thouRh far less tloquent and dex- 
 terous, is superior in real merit, has never attracted anything Ultu tlie same notice. 
 
 VOL. VI. L
 
 146 NOTES. 
 
 ing his mind beyond the visible world ; that he is necessarily confined 
 within its limits; and that there exists nothinc:, and there can exist 
 nothing, beyond the boundary which encloses all beings — that is, the 
 material world. Nature, we are told, acts according to laws, simple, 
 iniiform, invariable, which we discover by experience. We are related to 
 Universal Nature by our senses, which alone enable us to discover her 
 secrets ; and the instant we abandon the lessons which those senses teach 
 us, we plunge into an abyss where we become the prey of imagination. 
 
 Thus the very first chapter — the opening of the work — has already 
 made the gratuitous assumption of a being whom the author calls Nature, 
 without either defining what that is, or how we arrive at a knowledge of 
 its existence. He has also assumed another existence, that of matter, or 
 the material world ; and then he asserts — what is absolutelj' contrary to 
 every da3''s experience, and to the first rudiments of science — that we 
 know, and can know, nothing but what our senses tell us. It is a suf- 
 ficient answer to ask, how we know anj'thing of mathematical truth ? 
 And in case a cavil should arise upon geometrical science (though it 
 would be but a cavil) we shall speak only of anal3'tical ; and then it is 
 certain that the whole science of numbers, from the rules of elementary 
 arithmetic up to the highest branches of the modern calculus, could by 
 possibility have been discovered by a person who had never in his life 
 been out of a dark room — who had never touched any body but 'ys own — 
 nay, whose limbs had all his life been so fixed, that he had never exercised 
 even upon his own body the sense of touch : indeed, we might even go so 
 far as to sa}', who had never heard a sound uttered ; for the primitive 
 ideas of number might by possibility have suggested themselves to his 
 mind, and been made the grounds of all further calculations. What 
 becomes now of all our knowledge depending on the senses? But we 
 need not go to so extreme a case as the one just put : there would be an 
 end of the position we are dealing with, if a person so circumstanced 
 could have discovered any one analytical or common arithmetical truth. 
 Enough, indeed, is known to every one, how moderately soever imbued 
 witli mathematical learning, to satisf\' him how little the intimations 
 received from the senses have, or can have, to do with the whole science 
 of number and quantity. That those intimations of the senses are them- 
 selves not at all of a material nature, we shall presently see. 
 
 After many discussions and much eloquence, in the course of wliicli 
 various agents are introduced besides Nature, as Necessity, Relation, and 
 so forth, without definition of their qualities or proof of their existence, — 
 we come to the great demonstration that no soid, no mind, nothing separate 
 from the body and from matter, exists, or indeed can exist : for this book 
 is not content with scepticism ; it rests not even satisfied with disproof; 
 it affects to show the impossibility of the doctrines which it combats ; and 
 while perpetually complaining of dogmas, it is perhaps the most dogmatical 
 work tliat was ever written. The sixth and seventh chapters, but the 
 seventh especially, treat of this fundamental doctrine — the corner-stone of 
 the whole building. The argument is, in fact, a mere vague and unin- 
 telligible combination of words, as when the author concludes by saying. 
 The result of the whole is, that " the soul, far from being anything distin- 
 guishable from the bodj', is only the body itself regarded relatively to 
 some of its functions, or to some of the manners of acting or of being,
 
 NOTES. 147 
 
 whereof it is capable as long as it enjoys life" — ("n'est que ce corps lui- 
 meme envisage relativenient a quelqu'unes de ses fonctions ou a quelques 
 fa9ons d'etre et d'agir dout il est susceptible tant qu'il joiiit de la vie"). 
 Or when he describes those faculties which are vulgarly ealled intellectual, 
 as modes or manners of being and of acting, which result from the organiza- 
 tion of the body — (" les faculte's que Ton nomme mtellectuelles ne sent que 
 de5 modes ou des famous d'etre et d'agir resultant de 1' organisation de 
 notre corps.") — Part i., chap. viii. 
 
 But there is still more to be remarked throughout the Treatise, an in- 
 conceivable forgetfulness of the evidence on which each • party in the 
 controversy most relies, a constant assumption of the thing in question, 
 and even an involuntary assumption of that very separate and spiritual 
 existence which it is the author's object to disprove. 
 
 Like all materialists, but far more grossly and dogmatically than almost 
 any otlier, the author begins by assuming that Matter exists, that we can 
 have no doubt whatever of this, and that any other existence is a thing to 
 be proved. Now, what is this matter? Whence do we derive any 
 knowledge of it ? How do we assure ourselves of its existence ? What 
 evidence at all have we respecting either its being or its qualities ? We 
 feel, or taste, or smell something — that is, we have certain sensations 
 which make us conclude that something exists beyond ourselves. It will 
 not do to say bej-ond our bodies ; for our bodies themselves give us the 
 same sensations. What we feel is something beyond, or out of, or 
 external to, or other than and apart from, ourselves — that is, from our 
 minds. Our sensations give us the intimation of such existences. But 
 what are our sensations ? The feelings or thoughts of our minds. Then 
 what we do is this : From certain ideas in our minds, produced no doubt 
 by, and connected with, our bodily senses, but independent of, and separate 
 from them, we draw certain conclusions by reasoning, and those conclusions 
 are in favour of the existence of something other than our sensations and 
 our reasonings, and other than that which experiences the sensations and 
 makes the reasonings — passive in the one case — active in the other. That 
 something is what we call jNIind. But plainly, whatever it is, we owe to 
 it the knowledge that Matter exists : for that knowledge is gained by 
 means of a sensation or feeling, followed by a process of reasoning; it is 
 gained by the mind having first suffered something, and then done some- 
 thing, and, therefore, to say there is no such thing as Matter would be a 
 much less absurd inference than to say there is no such thing as Mind. 
 The verj' act of inferring, as we do by reasoning, that the object which 
 affects our senses exists apart from ourselves, is wholly incapable of giving 
 us any knowledge of the object's existence without, at the same time, 
 giving us a knowledge of our own — that is, of the INIind's existence. An 
 external implies necessarily an internal ; that there may be anything 
 beyond or without, there must needs be some other thing beyond or 
 without which it is said to exist ; that there may be a body which we 
 feel abiding separate from us, namely, our own bodj', one part of which 
 gives us sensations tlirough another part — there must be a we, an its — that 
 is, a mind. If, as the ' Systeme de la Nature' often contends, we have a 
 right to call spirit, or soul, or Mind, a mere negation of the qualities of 
 Matter, surely this might just as well be retorted by saying, that Matter 
 is only a negation of the qualities of Mind. But, in truth, the mate-
 
 ] 48 NOTES. 
 
 rialists cannot stir one step without the aid of that Mind whose existence 
 tliey deny. 
 
 Then what are those qualities of Matter they are always speaking 
 about? What but the effects, or the power of causing those effects pro- 
 duced by Matter upon the Mind through the senses'? A remarkable 
 instance, and a very instructive one, of the impossibility of a materialist 
 arguing legitimately, strictly, or consistently, is to be found in the passage 
 of this book, where the argument is as it were summed up against the 
 existence of mind : " La matiere seule pent agir sur nos sens, sans lesquels 
 il nous est impossible que rien se fasse connoi/re de nous." — " Matter 
 alone can act upon our senses, without which it is impossible that any- 
 thing can become known to us." Here the author, in order to deny the 
 possibility of Mind, or an_vthing else than Matter having an existence, 
 uses, in two lines, expressions, six times over, all drawn from the 
 assumption of a sometliing existing separate from and independent of 
 Matter. Our — senses — lohich — us — known — hy us — all these are words 
 absolutely without meaning if there is nothing but matter in existence ; 
 and yiese are expressions conveying the ideas of which this fundamental 
 proposition wholly consists. But that the author refers to Bishop 
 Berkeley, as well as Mr. Locke, it miglit have been supposed that 
 he had never been made aware of the controversy upon the existence 
 of matter. Indeed the manner in which he mentions the speculations of 
 Berkeley is quite sufficient to show his ignorance of the nature of the 
 question, and reminds us forcibly of the remark made by D'Alembert, 
 that whoever liad not at times doubted the existence of matter, might be 
 assured he had not any genius for metaphysical inquiries. Would any 
 one believe it possible, that an author who could dogmatically deny the 
 possibility of Mind existing in any form apart from Matter, should be so 
 little competent to discuss questions like tliis, as to speak in these terms 
 of Berkeley? "Que disons nous d'un Berkeley qui s'efforce de nous 
 prouver que tout dans ce monde n'est qu'une illusion chime'rique ; que 
 I'univers entier n'existe que dans nous-memes, et dans notre imagination," 
 
 &c. "Pour justifier des opinions si monstrueuses," &c "What shall 
 
 we say of a Berkeley who endeavours to prove to us that everything in 
 the world is a chimerical illusion; that the whole universe only exists in 
 ourselves and in om* imagination? To justify opinions so monstrous," &c. 
 
 The truth is, that we believe in tlie existence of Matter, because we 
 cannot help it. The inferences of our reason from our sensations impel us 
 to this conclusion, and the steps are few and short by which we reach it. 
 But the steps are fewer and shorter, and of the self-same nature, which 
 lead us to believe in the existence of Mind ; for of that we have the evi- 
 dence within ourselves, and whoUy independent of our senses. Nor can 
 we ever draw the inference in any one instance of the existence of matter 
 without at the same time exhibiting a proof of the existence of mind ; for 
 we are, by the supposition, reasoning, inferring, drawing a conclusion, 
 forming a belief ; therefore there exists somebody, or something, to reason, 
 to infer, to conclude, to believe ; that is, we — not any fraction of matter, 
 but a reasoning, inferring, believing being — in other words, a Mind. In 
 this sense the celebrated argument of Descartes — cogito, ergo sum — had a 
 correct and a profound meaning. If, then, scepticism can have any place 
 in our system, assui'edly it relates to the existence of Matter far more
 
 NOTES. 149 
 
 than of ]Mincl ; j-et the ' Systeme de la Nature ' is entirely founded upon 
 the existence of Matter being a self-evident truth, admitting of no proof, 
 and standing in need of none. 
 
 We have combated the main body of the argument which runs through 
 the whole book, and passed over some of the gross errors, apparently pro- 
 ceeding from ignorance of physical science, in which it abounds. Of these 
 the most notable, no doubt, is that which Voltaire, in his ' Essai sur le 
 Systeme de la Nature,' considers (chap, i.) as the foundation of the whole 
 theory — the absurd passage respecting the formation of eels. Certain it is, 
 that in the Second chapter of Part I., the experiment of moistening flour, 
 and thereby producing live microscopic insects, is i-eferred to as a proof 
 that " inanimate matter can pass into life," " which," adds the book, " if 
 itself but the union of notions." No one indeed can accuse Voltaire os 
 taking an unfair advantage when he relies on this piece of extraordinary 
 ignorance; but it is not altogether just to represent the whole book as 
 resting on this blunder. 
 
 As for the kind of comparisons or analogies by which, like all material- 
 ists, this i\Titer tries to illustrate his hypothesis, and by which many 
 materialists really are deceived — the mechanism of a watch, for example, 
 consisting of parts each separately incapable of producing any result, but 
 altogether forming a moving instrument that measures the efflux of time 
 — nothing, surely, can be more puerile than the attempt to draw from 
 thence an argument in favour of the confused, and, when examined closely, 
 unintelligible position that Mind is a modification of Matter, or the result 
 of a collocation of material particles. For the watch is material, doubt- 
 less, both in its whole and in each part separately ; the combination never 
 produces any effect that is not strictly of a material kind ; the motions 
 and the registration of time resulting from them are all as purely mechani- 
 cal as the form of each part, and each part has in it every quality and 
 incident in kind which the whole possesses. The difference in the case of 
 Mind is, that we have something wholly of a new and peculiar kind, and 
 in no respect resembling or belonging to the same class with any of the 
 exertions or operations of the material parts, the combination of which is 
 alleged bj' the materialist to have given it birth. 
 
 The First Part having laid the foundation by disproving the existence of 
 Mind, the second ])art of the ' Systeme' proceeds to raise upon it the con- 
 clusion that the Deity's existence is impossible. This part is much more 
 declamatory than the former, though often displaying great powers of 
 eloquence, and reminding us of the more striking parts of Rousseau's early 
 writings, especially his paradoxes against knowledge, perhaps in a more 
 choice style, and with colouring more subdued. But reasoning it contains 
 absolutely none, with the exception of tlie Fourth chaiitcr, where Dr. S. 
 Clarke's argument a priori is dissected and refuted — a task, unfortunately, 
 not very difficult to accomplish, though it is here done in an illegitimate 
 manner. We cannot, however, fail to observe, that while the author pro- 
 poses to go tlirough the arguments of the various philosophers who have 
 maintained the existence of a Deity; and while ho does remark on Des- 
 cartes, Malebranche, Newton, and Clarke (in a chapter which forms by far 
 the most argumentative part of his book), he never ajiproaches those wlio 
 have treated the question by the argument a posteriori. In one place 
 (chap, vii.) he refers to Final Causes, but this passage only relates to
 
 ] 50 NOTES. 
 
 the subject of man's superiority and the arguments of the optimists, and 
 does not at all touch upon the evidences of design derived from the struc- 
 ture of the universe — tlie great fouTidation of Natural Theologj^ It is 
 impossible to suppose the author ignorant of the argument a posteriori, for 
 he in one place refers to Derham by name. The omission of all reference 
 to tlie most important branch of the subject is one of the things that most 
 bring the good faith of this writer into question. 
 
 The purpose of tliis note having been to show how the atheistical argu- 
 ment grounded on materialism fails when examined in its connexion with 
 the evidences of the IMind's independent existence, to pursue farther the 
 Second Part of the work is unnecessary. But a few remarks are added 
 to show how exactly the same assumption of the things to be proved 
 prevails liere which we observed in the First Part. 
 
 The first proposition, and supported at gi-eat length, is that all the 
 ideas which man has forni/8d of a First Cause have resulted from the 
 evils of his lot, and that but for human suffering a Deity would never have 
 been thought of " Inquiry and speculation," says the author, " is itself 
 an evil ; and no creature living easy and happj-, without pain and with»- 
 out wants, woidd ever give himself the trouble and annoj'ance of arguing 
 on a First Cause. But fear and evil, especially pain and death — the ter- 
 rors of earthquake, eclipse, tempest — the horrors of death — drove the 
 mind to seek out the source of all these dangers, and to appease or 
 disarm its supposed wrath ; and thus the sky was peopled with gods and 
 spirits." 
 
 Now, that the fears and the ignorance of men have been the fruitful 
 source of polytheism, no one doubts ; but it is wholly false to assert that 
 genuine and philosophical religion could have had no other origin. -To 
 affirm that, but for their sufferings and fears, men never would liave en- 
 countered the pain or the trouble of speculating on a First Cause, is quite 
 contrary to the most obvious facts. Those speculations, far from being 
 pamful or troublesome, are gratif)'ing in the highest degi'ee. As well 
 might it be said that all the pleasures of scientific discovery and stixdy 
 would have been foregone by all men, but for some physical inconvenience 
 tliat drove them into those paths of investigation. Of all writers, the 
 authors of the great improvements in physical science are they who have 
 been the least under the pressure of want, and have gained the least by their 
 labours. But such speculations are productive of the greatest gratification, 
 both to the guide who originally points out the way, and to those who 
 more humbly follow in his footsteps. So the sublime contemplations 
 of Natural Theology have engaged men's attention and exercised their 
 faculties, wholly independent of any sufferings they were exposed to, 
 or any fears they entertained ; and far from being a source of pain, 
 this study has ever been found to reward its votaries witli the purest 
 enjo^'ment. 
 
 That the study and the knowledge of a Deity would have existed 
 without any relation to evil is therefore clear. Man's curiosity — his 
 natural desire of tracing the origin of what he saw around him- — his anxiety 
 to know whence he came, and whitlier he was going, and how the frame 
 of the universe was contrived and sustained — would have led to the 
 study and knowledge of a Creator without any such motives as this book 
 sui)poses.
 
 NOTES. 151 
 
 It is remarkable, that in the latter, as in the former portion of the work, 
 blind assumptions are not only always made, but an entire disregard is 
 shown to the evidence which often arises out of those very assum])tions, 
 and proves the truths its author is endeavouring to subvert. Thus, in the 
 Second chapter, he says: "Whether the human race has always existed 
 on this earth, or that it is a recent and transitory production of nature. 
 
 " Now, if it be a recent production of nature, surely this 
 
 admits the creative power — the very divinity the book is contending 
 against ; for what can be the meaning of a state of things, in which, up 
 to a certain time — i.e. six or seven thousand years ago — the human species 
 had no existence, and then the species coming into existence, or, as the 
 book says, being produced by nature ? What but that a superintending 
 power, which had not before acted in this way, now for the first time 
 began thus to act? To call this Nature is only changing the name — a 
 Deity is the plain and the true meaning, and the only thing which can 
 be meant. 
 
 Indeed, nothing can be more absurd and unreflecting than the play 
 made throughout the book with mere words. Thus, in the same chapter, 
 it is asked — whether a Theologian " can really be sincere in believing 
 himself to have made a step by substituting the vague words, spirit, in- 
 corporeal substances, divinity, &c., for those intelligible words" — what? 
 what words so much less vague and more intelligible* than spirit ? — 
 " those intelligible words, matter, nature, mobility, necessity !" Now, we 
 ma}' safely ask, if all language furnishes two words more vague and less 
 intelligible than two out of those four — viz. nature and necessity? But 
 we have, in truth, alread}' shown, that Matter, as far as the present con- 
 troversy is concerned, otTers no more precise idea to our contemplation than 
 Mind or spirit, and that its existence and qualities rest on less conclusive 
 evidence than do those of Mind. Possibly the reader of this passage, and 
 especially if he casts his eye back upon the former parts of the argument, 
 may be inclined to adopt the writer's description of Theology, and apply 
 it to the dogmatical Atheism of the ' Systeme de la Nature.' 
 
 • There occurs everywhere in this hook a vague and mysterious idea of a force 
 or livinsr power belonging to Matter, and almost a deification ot this power, utterly 
 nniiittlli;_'ible; but in a liater of Deity— a deridcr of all gods — quite marvellous. 
 The passage in which this idea is most strikingly announced is the 11th chapter 
 of part ii., where he is answering the position that tliere is no such a thing as an 
 Atlieist in the world. — " Si par Atlie'e Ton d^signe un homme qui nieniit I'existence 
 d'une force inherente a la nature et sans laquelle Ton ne pent concevoir la Nature^ 
 et si c'est a cette force motive qu'on donnelenom ileDieu, il n'existe point d'Athi-rs, 
 et le mot sous lequel on los dc.signc, n'annonceroit que des fous." — "If by Atheist 
 Is meant a man who would deny the existence of a force inherent in Nature, and 
 without which Nature cannot be conceived, and if it is to that moving furce that 
 the name God is given, then there are no Atheists, and the word by which they are 
 designated is applicable only to fools." — Can anyone doubt, tliat after rejectinsf 
 all reasonable and consistent notions of a Deity, this writer had really made unto 
 himself other gods, and bowed down before them, and worshipped them? — For 
 what is "the force inherent in matter?" and what is "nature," and the essence 
 of nature, or that thing "without which nature cannot be conceived?"
 
 152 NOTES. 
 
 Note V.— Page 134. 
 
 0/ Mr. Hume's Sceptical Writinfis^ and tie Argument respecting 
 
 Providence. 
 
 The two most celebrated and most dangerous treatises of this great author, 
 upon religious subjects, are those in which he has attacked the foundations 
 of Natural and of Eevealed Religion — the ' Essay on Pro\adence and a Future 
 State,' and the ' Essay on Miracles.' Others of his writings have a similar 
 tendency, and more covertly though as surely sap the principles of religion. 
 But the two essays to which we have refen-ed are the most important 
 writings of this eminent philosopher, because they bring his sceptical 
 opinions more directly to bear upon the systems of actual belief. 
 
 I. The argument of Tillotson against the doctrine of the Real Presence 
 is stated to have suggested that against the truth or rather the possibility 
 of Jliracles ; but there is this most material difference between the two 
 questions — that they who assert the Real Presence drive us to admit a 
 proposition contrary to the evidence of our senses, upon a subject respect- 
 ing which the senses can alone decide, and to admit it by the force of 
 reasonings ultimately' drawn from the senses — reasonings far more likely 
 to deceive than the}', because applicable to matter not so well fitted for 
 argument as for perception, but reasonings at any rate incapable of ex- 
 ceeding the evidence the senses give. Nothmg, therefore, can be more 
 conclusive than Tillotson's argument — that against the Real Presence we 
 have of necessity every argument, and of the selfsame kind with those 
 which it piu-ports to rest ujjon, and a good deal more besides ; for if we 
 must not believe our senses when they tell us that a piece of bread is 
 merely bread, what right have we to believe those same senses, when they 
 convey to us the words in which the arguments of the Fathers are couched, 
 or the quotations from Scripture itself, to make us suppose the bread is 
 not bread, but flesh ? And as ultimately even the testimony of a witness 
 ■who should tell us that he had heard an apostle or the Deity himself 
 affirm the Real Presence, must resolve itself into the evidence of that 
 wtness's senses, what possible ground can we have for believing that he 
 heard the divine affinnation, stronger than the evidence which our own 
 senses plainly give us to the contrary ? 
 
 This is verj' far from being the case with the argument on Miracles. 
 There, the evidence for and the evidence against do not coincide in kind, 
 but take opposite dn-ections. There, we have not to disbelieve indications 
 of the same nature with those upon which our belief is challenged. Tlie 
 testimony of witnesses is adduced to prove a Miracle, or deviation from 
 the ordinary laws of nature ; but, says ]\Ir. Hume, it is more likel}' that 
 the witnesses should be deceived or should deceive, than that the la-\vs of 
 nature should be broken ; and at all events we believe testimony only be- 
 cause it is a law of nature that men should tell the truth. This may very 
 possibly be true ; doubtless it is, generally speaking, so likely to be true, 
 that the belief of a miracle is, and ought to be, most ditBcult to bring 
 about ; but at least, it is not like the belief in the Real Presence : it does 
 not at one and the same time assume the accuracy of the iudications given
 
 NOTES. 153 
 
 by our senses, and set that accuracy at nought; — it docs not at once 
 desire us implicitly to trust and entirely to disregard the evidence of tes- 
 timony, as the doctrine of Transubstantiation calls upon us at once to trust 
 and disregard the evidence of our senses. 
 
 There are two answers, however, to which the doctrine proposed by 
 Mr. Hume is exposed, and either appears sufKcient to shake it. 
 
 Firgt. — Our belief in the uniformity of the laws of nature rests not alto- 
 gether upon our own experience. We believe no man ever was raised 
 from the dead — not merely because we ourselves never saw it, for indeed 
 thit would be a verj- limited ground of deduction; and our belief was fixed 
 on the subject long before we had any considerable experience — fixed 
 chiefly by authority — that is, by deference to other men's experience. We 
 found our confident belief in this negative position partly, perhaps chiefly, 
 upon the testimony of others ; and at all events, our belief that in times 
 before our own the same jiosition held good, must of necessity be drawn 
 from our trusting the relations of other men — that is, it depends upon the 
 evidence of testimony. If, then, the existence of the law of nature is 
 proved, in great part at least, by such evidence, can we wholly reject the 
 like e\-idence when it comes to prove an exception to the rule — a deviation 
 from the law ? The more numerous are the cases of the law being kept 
 — the more rare those of its being broken — the more scrupulous certainly 
 ought we to be in admitting the proofs of the breach. But that testimony 
 is capable of making good the proof there seems no doubt. In truth, the 
 degree of excellence and of strength to which testimony may rise seems 
 almost indefinite. There is hardly any cogency which it is not capable 
 by possible supposition of attaining. The endless multiplication of wit- 
 nesses — the unbounded variety of their habits of thinking, tlieir prejudices, 
 their interests — ati'ord the means of conceiving the force of their testimony 
 augmented ad infinitum, because tliese circumstances aflord the means of 
 diminishing indefinitely the chances of their being all mistaken, all misled, 
 or all combining to deceive us. Let any man try to calculate the chances 
 of a thousand persons who come from different quarters, and never saw 
 each other before, and who all vary in their habits, stations, opinions, 
 interests — being mistaken or combining to deceive us, when they give the 
 same account of an event as having happened before their eyes — these 
 chances are many hundreds of thousands to one. And yet we can con- 
 ceive them multiplied indefinitely; for one hundred thousand such wit- 
 nesses may all in like manner bear the same testimony ; and they may all 
 tell us their story within twenty-four hours after the transaction, and in 
 the next parish. And yet, according to Mr. Hume's argument, we are 
 bound to disbelieve them all, because they speak to a thing contrary to 
 our own experience, and to the accounts which other witnesses had for- 
 merly given us of the laws of nature, and which our forefathers had lianded 
 down to us as derived from witnesses who lived in the old time before 
 them. It is unnecessary to add that no testimony of the witnesses whom 
 we are supposing to concur in their relation contradicts any testimony of 
 our own senses. If it did, the argument would resemble Archbishop 
 Tillotson's upon the real presence, and our disbelief would be at once 
 warranted."'' 
 
 • Prophecy is classed by Jlr. Hume under the sau..; head with Miracle— evtM-y 
 prophecy being, he says, a Uiiradt. Tins is not, liowever. iiaito correct. A pro-
 
 154 NOTES. 
 
 Secondly — This leads us to the next objection to which Mr. Hume's 
 artcitment is liable, and which we have in part anticipated while illustrat- 
 ing the first. He requires us to witlihold our belief in circumstances 
 which would force every man of common understanding to lend his assent, 
 and to act upon the supposition of the story told being true. For suppose 
 either such numbers of various witnesses as we have spoken of; or, what 
 is perhaps stronger, suppose a miracle reported to us, first by a number of 
 relators, and then by three or four of the very soundest judges and most 
 incorniptibly honest men we know — men noted for their difficult belief of 
 wonders, and, above all, stead}' unbelievers in Miracles, without any bias 
 in favour of religion, but rather accustomed to doubt, if not disbelieve — 
 most people would lend an easy belief to any Miracle thus vouched. But 
 let us add this circumstance, that a friend on his death-bed had been 
 attended by us, and that we had told him a fact known only to ourselves 
 — something that we had secretly done the very moment before we told it 
 to the dying man, and which to no other being we had ever revealed — 
 and that the credible witnesses we are supposing inform us that the de- 
 ceased appeared to them, conversed with them, remained with them a day 
 or two, accompanying them, and to avouch the fact of his reappearance 
 on this earth, communicated to them the secret of which we had made 
 him the sole depositary the moment before his death. According to Mr. 
 Hume, we are bound rather to believe, not only that those credible wit- 
 nesses deceive us, or that those sound and unprejudiced men were them- 
 selves deceived, and fancied things without real existence, but further, 
 that they all hit by chance upon the discovery of a real secret, known only 
 to ourselves and the dead man. Mr. Hume's argument requires us to be- 
 lieve this as the lesser improbability of the two — as less unlikely than the 
 rising of one from the dead ; and yet every one must feel convinced, that 
 were he placed in the situation we have been figuring, he would not onh' 
 lend his belief to the relation, but, if the relators accompanied it with a 
 special warning from the deceased person to avoid a certain contemplated 
 act, he would, acting upon the belief of their story, take the warning, and 
 avoid doing the forbidden deed. Mr. Hume's argument makes no excep- 
 tion. This is its scope ; and whether he chooses to push it thus far or no, 
 all Miracles are of necessity denied by it, without the least regard to the 
 kind or the quantity of the proof on which they are rested ; and the testi- 
 mony which we have supposed, accompanied by the test or check we have 
 supposed, would fall within the grasp of the argument just as much and 
 as clearly as any other Miracle avouched by more ordinary combinations 
 of evidence. 
 
 phecy— that is, the happening of an event which was foretold— may be proved even 
 
 t)y the evidence of the senses of the whole world Suiipnse it h.id one thousand 
 years ago been foretold, that, on a certain day this year, one person of every family 
 in the world should be seized witli a particuh^r distemper, it is evident that every 
 family would be at once certain that the event had happened, and that it had been 
 foretold. To future generations the fulfilment would no doulat come within the 
 description of a miracle in all respects. The truth is, that the event happening 
 which was foretold may be compared to the miracle; and Mr. Hume's argument 
 will then be, not that there is anything mh-aculnus in the event itself, but ou'y in 
 its liappening after it had been forctnlil. Bishop Sherlock wrote discourses on this 
 subject, which Dr. Middleton answered: tlie former denying that prophecy was 
 more exempt from the scope of the sceptical argument than miracles. On the 
 whole, however, it does seem more exempt
 
 NOTES. 155 
 
 The use of Mr. Hume's argument is this, and it is an important and a 
 valuable one. It teaches us to sil't closely and rigorously the evidence for 
 miraculous events. It bids us remember that the probabilities are always, 
 and must always be, incomparably greater against than for the truth of 
 these relations, because it is always far more likely that the testimony 
 should be mistaken or folse, than that the general laws of nature should 
 be suspended. Farther than this the doctrine cannot in soundness of reason 
 be carried. It does not go the length of proving that those general laws 
 cannot, by the force of human testimony, be shown to have been, in a 
 particular instance, and with a particidar purpose, suspended. 
 
 It is unnecessary to add, that the argument here has only been con- 
 ducted to one point, and upon one ground, namely, to refute the doctrine 
 that a Jliracle cannot be proved by any evidence of testimony. It is for 
 those who maintain the truth of any revelation to show in what manner 
 the evidence sufiices to prove the Miracles on which that revelation rests. 
 This treatise is not directed to that object; but in commenting uponvMr. 
 Hume's celebrated argument, we have dealt with a fimdamental objection 
 to all Revelation, and one which, untU removed, precludes the possibility 
 of any such system being established. 
 
 II. The 'Essay on Miracles' being supposed by its author sufficient t" 
 dispose of Revelation, the ' Essay on Providence and a Future State' appears 
 to have been aimed as a blow equally fatal to Natural Religion. Its merits 
 are, however, of a very superior order. There is nothing of the sarcasm 
 so unbecoming on subjects of this most serious kind, which disfigures the 
 concluding portion of the former treatise. The tone is more philosophic, 
 and the sceptical character is better sustained There cannot, indeed, be 
 Said to prevail through it anytliing of a dogmatical spirit, and certainly 
 we here meet with none of that propensity to assume the thing in question, 
 to insist upon propositions as proved which have only been enunciated, to 
 sup])ly by sounds the place of ideas, which we remark in the ' Systeme de 
 la Nature.' On the contrary, the argument, whether sound or not, is of 
 a substantial nature ; it is rested on verj' plausible grounds ; and we may 
 the rather conclude that it is not very easily answered, because, in fact, it 
 has rarely, if ever, been encountered by writers on theological subjects. 
 Nevertheless, it strikes at the root of all Natural Religion, and requires a 
 careful consideration. 
 
 Mr. Hume does not deny that the reasoning from the appearances and 
 operations of nature to the existence of an intelligent cause is logical and 
 sound ; at least he admits this for argument's sake. But he takes this 
 nice and subtle distinction. We are here, he observes, dealing with an 
 agent, an intelligence, a being wholly unlike all we elsewhere see or 
 hitherto have known : our inferences, therefore, must be confined strictly 
 to the facts from whence they are drawn. When we see a foot-mark im- 
 printed on the sand, we conclude that a man has walked there, and that 
 his other foot had likewise left its print, which the waves have efiaced. 
 But this inference is not drawn from the inspection of the foot alone; it 
 comes from a previous knowledge of the human body, of which the foot 
 makes a part. Had we never seen that body, or any other that walked 
 on feet, the observation of the mark in the sand ccmld have led to no otlier 
 conclusion than that some body or thing had bL'cn tliure with a form like 
 the mark. So, when we are to reason from the works of nature to their
 
 156 NOTES. 
 
 cause, we are entitled to conclude that a Being exists whose power and 
 .sUill created them such as we behold them, and consecpeiitly that this 
 Deiiig is possessed of skill and power sufficient to contrive and to execute 
 those works — that is, those precise works, and no more. We have no 
 right to infer that this Being has the skill or the power to contrive and 
 create one single blade of grass or grain of sand beyond what we see. It 
 follows, then, that the argument a posteriori only leads to the conclusion 
 that a finite and not an infinitely or an indefiniteh' wise and powerful 
 Being exists : and it further follows that we are left without anj' evidence 
 of his power (much less of his intention) to perpetuate our existence after 
 death, as well as without any proof of the capacity of the soul to receive 
 such a continuation of being after its separation from the body. This is 
 the sum of the very ingenious, subtle, and original argument of Mr. Hume, 
 aflxirding a mighty contrast to the flimsy sophisms, the declamatory asser- 
 tions, of the French ^\Titers, and giving the Natural Theologian, it must 
 be allowed, a good deal to answer. We have stated it as strongly as we 
 could, in order to meet it fully ; and it appears capable of a satisfactory 
 answer. 
 
 The whole argument a posteriori rests upon the assumption, that if we 
 perceive arrangements made, by means of which certain effects are produced, 
 and if seeing such arrangements among the woi'ks of men, we should at 
 once conclude that they were designed to produce those efl:ects, we are en- 
 titled to say that the arrangements which we see and which we know not 
 to be the work of man, are the work of an intelligent cause, contriving 
 them for the puqjose of producing the effects observed. In truth, such 
 must needs be the assumption on which the argument rests, because we 
 have no other knowledge of what design and contrivance are. They 
 necessarily bear reference to our own nature and the knowledge we have 
 of our own minds, derived from our own consciousness and experience ; and 
 of this we have treated in the text. Sec. iii. and iv. of Part i. 
 
 If we found anywhere a mechanism of any kind, a watch, for instance, 
 as Paley puts the case, we should at once conclude that some skilful and 
 intelligent being had been there, and had left his works on the spot. We 
 should conclude (indeed this is involved in the former inference) that he 
 was capable of doing what we saw he had done, and that he had intended 
 to produce a particular eft'ect by the exercise of his skill ; but we should 
 also conclude that he who could do this could repeat the operation if he 
 chose, and the probability would be that his skill had not been confined to 
 the single exertion of it which we had observed. There is nothing peculiar 
 in the nature of human workmanship or of the human character to make 
 us draw this conclusion. We arrive at it just as we arrive at the inference 
 of design and contrivance ; we believe in them because we are wholly un- 
 able to conceive such an adaptation without such an intention ; and we 
 are equally unable to conceive that any being, or any intelligence, or any 
 power, which had sufficed to perform the operation we see, should be con- 
 fined to that single exertion. We can conceive no reason whatever why 
 the same power should not be capable of repeating the operation. There 
 is nothing peculiar — no limit — no sufficient reason, of an exclusive nature, 
 why the same power should not be again exercised, and with the same 
 result. All induction proceeds upon similar grounds : it is the generaliza- 
 tion of particulars ; it is the concluding from a certain limited number of
 
 NOTES. 157 
 
 instances to an indefinite number — to any number unless circumstances 
 aj'ise to restrict the generality — to any number where nothing arises to 
 vary or limit the conclusion. "We mix an acid and alkali, and form a 
 neutral salt having peculiar properties. "\\'e pass a sun-beam or the light 
 of a candle through a prism, and observe the rays separated into liglits 
 making certain colours. AVhy do we conclude from hence that all the 
 acid made by burning sulphur, in what way soever the sulphur was pro- 
 duced or the combustion eft'ected, will be neutralized by soda wheresoever 
 produced and howsoever obtained, and that their union will always make 
 Glauber's salts? Or, that all light, of all kinds, even that obtained by 
 burning newly-discovered bodies, as the metal of potassium, unseen, 
 unknown before the year 1807, will be found resolvable into the seven 
 primary colours? According to 51 r. Hume's argument, •\ve have no right 
 to infer that any one portion of acid or alkali, save the one we have sub- 
 jected to our experiments, or any light save that of the formerh'-known 
 combustible bodies, or rather of those classes of them on which we had 
 experimented ; nay, of the individuals of those classes which we have 
 burnt, will produce the eifects we have experienced in our laboratory, or 
 in our darkened chamber. In other words, according to this argument, all 
 experimental knowledge must stand still, generalizing be at an end, and 
 philosophers be content never to make a single step, or draw one conclusirin 
 beyond the mere facts observed by them : in a word. Inductive Science 
 must be turned from a process of general reasoning upon particular facts, 
 into a bare dry record of those particular facts themselves. 
 
 If, indeed, it be said that we never can be so certain of the things we 
 infer as we are of those we have observed, and on which our inference is 
 grounded, we may admit this to be true. But no one therefore denies the 
 value of the science which is composed of the inferences. So we cannot 
 be so well assured of the Deity's power to repeat and to vary and to ex- 
 tend his operations, as we are of his having created what we actually 
 observe; and yet our assurance may be quite sufficient to merit entire 
 confidence. Nor will any student of Natural Theolog}' complain if the 
 only result of the argument we are combating be to place the higher truths 
 of the science but a very little lower in point of proof than the inferences 
 of design in the works actually examined. The selfsame difference is to 
 be found in the inferences composing the other branches of inductive 
 science, and it in no perceptible degree lessens our confidence in the induc- 
 tive mctiiod. 
 
 It has (jftentimes been asked, why we believe that the same result will 
 ha[)pen from the same cause acting in the like circumstances — the found- 
 ation of all induction ; and no answer has ever been given except that we 
 cannot help so believing — that the condition of our being, the nature of 
 our minds — compels as so to believe; and we take this as an ultimate 
 fact incafjable of being resolved into any fact more general. Can we help 
 believing tliat a Being capable of creating what we see and examine, is 
 also capable of exercising other acts of skill and power ? Can we avoid 
 believing that the same power which made all the animals and vegetables 
 on our globe sufiices to peoj)le and provide other worlds in lik(! manner ? 
 Again, can we by any efl'ort bring our minds to suppose that this liciiig's 
 v/]\t)](i skill and power were exhausted by one effort, and that having suf- 
 ficed to create the universe, it ceases to be etlective for any other purpose
 
 158 NOTES. 
 
 whatever ? The answer is, that we cannot ; that we can as soon believe 
 in the sun not rising to-moiTow, or in his light ceasing to be diflerently 
 refrangible. 
 
 Much is said in the course of arguments like the present of the word 
 ^Hnfinite." Whether or not we are able to form any precise idea of that 
 wliich has no bounds in power or in duration may be another question. 
 But when we see such stupendous exertions of power, upon a scale so vast 
 as far to pass all our faculties of comprehension, and with a minuteness at 
 the same time so absolute, that, as we can on the one hand perceive no- 
 thing beyond its grasp, so we are on the other hand unable to find anything 
 too minute to escape its notice, we are u-resistibly led to conclude that 
 there is nothing above or below such an agent, and that nothing which we 
 can conceive is impossible for such an intelligence. The argument of Mr. 
 Hume supposes or admits that the whole universe is its work, and that 
 animal life is its creation. We can no more avoid believing that the same 
 power which created the universe can sustain it — that the same power 
 which created our souls can prolong their existence after death — than we 
 can avoid believing that the power which sustained the universe up to the 
 instant we are speaking, is able to continue it in being for a thousand years 
 to come. But indeed Mr. Hume's argument would go the length of making 
 us disbelieve that the Deity has the power of continuing the existence of the 
 creation for a day. We are only entitled, according to this argument, to 
 conclude that the Deity had the power of working the works we have seen 
 and no more. Last spring and autumn we observed the powers of nature in 
 vegetation, tliat is, we noted the operations of the Deity in that portion of 
 his works, and were entitled, jNIr. Hume admits, to infer that he had the skill 
 and the power to produce that harvest from that seed time, but no more. 
 We had, says the argument, no right whatever to infer that the Deity's 
 power extended to another revolution of the seasons. The argument is 
 this, or it is nothing. Confining its scope, as INIr. Hume would confine it, 
 to the universe as a whole, and excluding all inferences as to a future state 
 or other worlds, is ^vholly gratuitous. The argument applies to all that 
 we have seen of the already past and the actually executed in this universe, 
 and excludes all respecting this same universe which is j-et to come ; con- 
 sequently, if it be good for anything, it is sufficient to prove that, although 
 our experience may authorize us to conclude that the Deity has skill and 
 power sufficient to maintain the world in its present state up to this hour, 
 yet that experience is wholly insufficient to prove that he has either skill 
 or power to continue its existence a moment longer. Every one of the 
 topics applied by him to a Future State applies to this. If we have no 
 right to believe that one exertion of skill pro% es the author of nature ade- 
 quate to another exertion of a kind no more difficult and only a little 
 varied, we can have no right to believe that one exertion of skill proves 
 him adequate to a repetition of the same identical operation. Now no*' 
 man living carries or can carry his disbelief so far as this. Indeed such 
 doubts would not only shake all inductive science to pieces, but would put 
 a stop to the whole business of life. And assuredly we may be well con- 
 tented to rest the truths of Natural Theology on the same fomidation upon 
 which those of all the other sciences, as well as the practical conduct of all 
 human affairs, must for ever repose.
 
 NOTES. 159 
 
 Note VI.— Page 63. 
 
 Of the Ancient Doctrines respecting Mind. 
 
 The opinions of the ancient philosopliers upon the nature of the Soul were 
 not ver}' consistent with themselves ; and in some respects were difficult 
 to reconcile with the doctrine of its immateriality, which most of them 
 maintained. It may suffice to mention a few of those theories. 
 
 Plato and his pupil Aristotle may certainly be said to have held the 
 Soul's immateriality; at least, the}' maintained that it was of a nature 
 wholly ditferent from the body ; and they appear often to hold that it was 
 unlike all matter whatever, and a substance or existence of a nature quite 
 peculiar to itself. Their language is nearlj' the same upon this subject. 
 Plato speaks of the ovffia. a.ffufj.a.roi xon vonm—a bodiless or incorporeal 
 and intelligent being; and of such existence he says, in one place, to. 
 
 aiTCi)iJ,iiTa xaXXKTTa ovtoc xat fiiyttTTO. Xoyifi fiovov, aXXii) OS ouoivi (rietpM; 
 iiiKvuTai — " Thirif/s incorporeal being the most excellent and the greatest 
 of all. are made manifest by reason (done, and no nthenvise." — (' Politicus.') 
 So again in the 'Cratylus,' he derives o-a^a from cru^nr^ai, and represents 
 the body as a prison of the soul, ukovo. ^■tr/A.edrn^iou nvai ow t>j; ■^vx''^; 
 avTo lu; «v ra eipuXouivct to ircofiec, following herein the doctrine said to 
 have been delivered by Orpheus. Aristotle, too, speaks of a being sepa- 
 rable and separated from things perceivable by the senses — ouaix ;^;»j;7t»i 
 »o:i x'-x'^i"^/^^'^ "^^^ xiitC'/ituv. Nevertheless, these philosophei's frequently 
 speak of the soul as being always, and as it were necessarily, connecteil 
 with matter of some kind or other — an •4'vxv i'riTiTay/u.ivri aufj.a.ri, tots 
 fiit aXXu, TOTi Sj aXXu. " The soul is always annexed to a body, sometimes 
 to one and sometimes to another:" — 'De Legg.' x. Thus Aristotle ('De 
 Gener. Anim.' ii. 4), h yaj "^t^x^ oiiria (xufi.a.Toi nvos icrn — " the soul is 
 ike substance of some kind of body." And in the treatise ' De Anima,' ii. 2, 
 he says — xai S/a rovro xaXu( v-7roXeciji.p.a,yoviTtt, ols iox-i fi'/iTi aviu ffiofiaro; 
 iivai fjLnTi irci)f/.u, Ti •4'UX'n' iruifjLa. fjt,iv ya^ oux itrrt, crufiaro; oi ti 1 nose 
 iherejore rightly hold who think that the soul cannot exist ivithout the body, 
 and yet that it is not body; it is not the body, but somewhat of the body." 
 
 This corporeal connexion is stated by Plutarch, in the 'Qusest Platon.,' 
 still more plaiidy to have been the Platonic doctrine — -^^vx*!^ «£' T^£«'/Sy- 
 Tipav rou iTM/j-aros, aiTiav ri t»; ikiivou yivtmas xai a^x"" "''* *" 
 y.'iiaS'j.i ■v/-ii;^;j)v u-viu acay-aTo;, ovhi vow aviv •^'UX'^i' oiXXa. ■^ux'"^ i"'* ^^ 
 auij.ain, vow S; iv t-a ^ux^t- " The soul is older than the body, and the 
 cause and origin of its existence : not that the soul exists without the body, 
 or the understanding without the soul; but that the soul is in the body, and 
 the understanding in the .sold." 
 
 According to these representations and quotations taken together, Plato 
 held the soul to be an immaterial substance, separable from any given 
 body, but incapable of existing without some body or other, and the mind 
 or understandit;g to be a part of the soul. The residue of the soul was. 
 as we shall afterwards see, its sensitive or mortal portion. 
 
 The idea of motion seems to have been intimately connected in their 
 views with mind or spirit, and in so far tlieir doctrines approach those, if
 
 160 NOTES. 
 
 we can call them doctrines, of tlie modern atheists (See Note IV.) — t» 
 iocuTo xiviiv (says Flato), (fri; Xoyav £;^s/» t»v auTJjv oufficiv ^nr=j Touiofia, 
 In Tccvri; -ipv^i' Tpmra-'yofi-tjo/xiv ; ((vj/ji.t yi — " You say that the suhstaiice 
 (or being') to which we all give the name of soul, has for its definition ' that 
 which moves itself?' I certainly do say so." — ' De Legg.' x. 
 
 But the same philosophers also held the soul to be an emanation from 
 the Deitj-, and that each individual soul was a portion of the Divine 
 Essence, or Spirit : consequently they could not mean to assert that the divine 
 essence was inseparable from matter of some kind, but only those portions 
 of that essence which they represented to be severed, and as it were torn 
 off, from the divine mind — a-vvaipti; tZ ^la, an aurov fj-o^iot, eu<ria xai 
 avoa-Tra.iTf^a.ra,. — (' Epict.') 
 
 Plutarch, in the work already cited, says — 'a 1i i^f;^»j ouk i^yov la-n 
 
 Tou Sicu fiovov aXXa, xai fiipo;- ovo' ut' avTou aXX' CCT aurov, xai i^ aurov, 
 
 yiyoiiv " The soul is not only his work, but a part of himself ; it was not 
 
 created by him, but from him and out of him." 
 
 Note VII.— Page 63. 
 
 Of the Ancient Doctrines respecting the Deity and Matter. 
 
 The notions of the Supreme Being entertained by the ancient philosophers 
 were more simple and consistent than their theory of the soul ; and but 
 for the belief, which they never shook off, in the eternity of matter, would 
 very nearly have coincided with our own. They give him the very 
 same names, and clothe him apparently in the like attributes. He is not 
 only a6oLva,To;, af^a^ros, avaXs^jo; — immortal, incorruptible, indestructible 
 — but ayi^rtro;, auroyiv/js, auro(Pvrti, au^vroizra.'ro; — uncreated, self- 
 made, self-originating, self- existing. Zw.v •^a.aot.t t^ov fiaxa^iornTa, /nr 
 aifSaptrias, says Epicurus — " A Being having all happiness, with an incor- 
 ruptible na'ure." Again, he is vrocvroxoaroj^, -v'-iyx-oarrts — omnipntent, all- 
 powerful; "omarai ya^ a-zavra, says Homer (' Odyss.' |) — " Ue has the 
 power over all things." The creative power is also, in words at least, 
 ascribed to him — xoff/^ovor/iryi;, ^■/i/u.iov^yo; — the maker of the world, the 
 great artificer. Aristotle, too, in a very rem'arkable passage of the 
 ' Metaphysics,' says that God seems to be the cause of all thmgs, and, as it 
 were, a beginning, or principle — Oe^s ^oxu to aiTiov rrafftv nvoci xai a^^ti 
 Ti; : and, indeed, by inii>lication, this is ascribed in the terms uncreated, 
 self-created, and self-existing; for in soundness of reason the being who 
 had no creator, and much more the being who created himself (if we can 
 conceive such an idea), must have created all things else. Nevertheless, 
 such was certainly not so plain an inference of reasoning with the ancients ; 
 for whether it be that by avropuns and auroyivns, they only meant to 
 conve}' the idea of ayivnros — of a being uncreated and existing from aU 
 eternity — or that they took some nice distinction, to us incomprehensible, 
 between self-creation and the creation of other beings or things — certain 
 it is, that the same philosophers who so described the Deity clung to the
 
 NOTES. 161 
 
 notion of matter being also eternal, and co-existent with the snpreme 
 power, and that by creator and artiticer they rather seem to have meant 
 the arranger of atoms — the power giving fonn to chaotic matter, tlian the 
 power calling things into existence. Tliej' appear to ha> e been all pressed 
 by the difficulty (and who shall deny it ?) of conceiving the act of creation 
 — the act of calling existences out of nothing. Accordingly, the maxim 
 which generally prevailed among most of the Greek sects, and which led 
 to very serious and even practical consequences in their systems, was 
 suSev ix fifi ovTos (or £| oi/S-vo;) yiviff^ai — tilut nothing is made of lohat has 
 no existence, or of nothing. Aristotle represents this as the common 
 opinion of all natural philosophers before him — koiv/iv So^av tuv <pvinx.cov. 
 He saj'S, in another passage (' De Coelo,' iii. 1), ol fist avruii, {pr^oTi^o', 
 
 ^t'Koao^ViiTa.^iTlt) atiuXov oXus ytticriit Kai if^o^aV ouSiv yec^ ovTt yiytiaSai 
 (feKTiv ovn (p^iioic-$--/t tui oituv — " Some of those (older philosophers') took 
 away (or abolished^ all generation and destruction, for they hold that none 
 of the things which exist are either created or destroyed." Nevertheless, it 
 cannot be doubted that the Platonic doctrine was of the same kind, and 
 that Aristotle, in truth, ascribed only a qualified creative power to the 
 Deity. Plutarch's statement of the Platonic doctrine is precise to this 
 pomt — (itkrio ovv YlXctTuvi rr:ifo//.i-Ji>v; <Tot ^=v x.oir//,'j)> uto 6-au yiyovivai 
 Xiy-iv xai aitiv o fisv yi^Q xxXXirro; Tut yiyaioTuiv, oo; a^t-iTOi tuv 
 aiTiiu-'' Triv S- oiKTia.)! xai vXfiv, t^ yi; yiyoviv, BU y.vofisvuv, aXXa iiroX:ifiiv>!V 
 ail tZ 'hni/.iou^ya), ill "Siahiriv xai Tahv avrn? xa,i «^oi avrov i^of/.oieaffi'j, ojj 
 iuvarav jjv Ta^enr^^nv' ou ya^ ix. tou i^n ovro; yiviiris, aXX' ix tov f/.n 
 KaXu;, /KoS' ixccvu; i^ovto;, m; oixim;, xai if/.a.'riov, xai av^pi-ivro; — 
 " Better then be convinced by Plato, and say and sing that the world u-as 
 made by God; for the world is the most excellent of all created things, and 
 he the best of all causes. But the substance or matter (literally timber) of 
 which he made it, was not created, hut ahvays lay ready for the artificer, to 
 he arranged and ordered by him; for the creation 7vas not out of nothing, 
 but out of what had been without form and unfit, as a house, or a garment, 
 or a statue are made." And thus it seems that when Maker or Creator is 
 used by the Academics, we are rather to regard them as meaning Maker 
 in the sense in which an artificer is said to make or fabricate the object of 
 
 his art. 'ETeititrtv av (says Timseus) tovSs tov xavfjiat i\ acrao-aj Tai i/Xa; 
 
 — lie made the the world of all hinds of matter ' De An. Mund.' Indeed, 
 
 1 can in no other way understand that very obscure, and but for some 
 such gloss, contradictory passage of Aristotle, in the first book of the 
 ' Physics,' where he is giving his own doctrine in opposition to tlie tenets of 
 tlie elder philosophers on this point — 'Ufiti; Ss xai avrai ip«^-v yiyvurfai 
 //.iv cuaiv d-rXeos tx (An avro;, ofAco; fiivToi yiyviitCai ix fin otTo;, o'lov xaTO, 
 rufi(ii(i>]xo;' ix ya^ Tn; (rm^yiir-a; o utti xaS' auTo fJi «v, ovx ivuTaa-^^ovTo; 
 yiynTai ti. favfjtaZiTai Oi touto xai aouyarov ovra ooxii yiyv-ir^ai ri ix ft9i 
 otTii — " We ourselras hojcever say that nothing is absolutely (or merely) 
 produced from what has no existence, yet that something is produced f-om 
 that which has no existence as far us regards accidents (or accessory 
 qualities) ; for something is produced f7-07n privation, which has no existence 
 in itself, and not from anything inherent. But this is wonderful, and seems 
 impossible, that something should be produced out of that v:hich has no 
 existence.'" — (' Phys.' i. 8.) Indeed he had said in the same treatise, just 
 VOL. VI. M
 
 162 NOTES. 
 
 before, that all confessed it impossible and inconceivable that ant/ being 
 could either be created out of twthing, or be utter!// destroyed— -ix. /j.yi otra; 
 yivifffai TOTi 01 t^aXXuiT^ai av/itviXTov xoci app'/ixrov- (lb. 1. 5.) 
 
 Upon the uncreated nature of things— for the doctrine extended to 
 mind as well as to matter— the ancient philosophers founded another tenet 
 of great importance. Matter and soul were reckoned not only uncreated, 
 but indestructible ; their existence was eternal in every sense of the word, 
 without end as without beginning : ^-/jSsv ik rov fin ovto; yivur^cti, //.rilt n; 
 TO f/.n ov (fiiwia-^ai — " Nothing can be produced, out of that which has no 
 existence, nor can anything be reduced to nonentity." Such is Diogenes 
 Laertius's account of Democritus' doctrine, or the Atomic principle. 
 
 " Principium hinc ciijus nobis exordia sumet, 
 
 Nullam rem e niliilo gigni divinitus unquara." * 
 " Hue accedit uti quidque in sua corpoj'a rursiun 
 
 Dissolvat natura, neque ad nihilum intereunt res"t — 
 " Haud igitur redit ad niliilum res ulla sed omnes 
 
 Discidio redeunt in corpora materiai " % — 
 
 are the expressions of Lucretius, in giving an account of the Epicurean 
 Philosophy (i. 151, 217, 249), or, as Persius more shortly expresses it, 
 
 "De nihilo niliil, in niliilum nil posse reverti." §— ;Sa<. lii. 84. 
 
 And it must be admitted that they reasoned with great consistency in this 
 respect ; for if the difficulty of comprehending the act of creation out of 
 nothing was a sufficient ground for holding all things to be eternal a parte 
 ante — the equal difficulty of comprehending the act of annihilation was as 
 good a ground for believing in their eternity a parte post — there being 
 manifestly just as much difficulty, and of the same kind, in comprehending 
 how a being can cease to exist, as how it can come into existence. 
 
 From this doctrine mainly it is that the Greek philosophers derive the 
 immortality of the soul, as far as the metaphysical and more subtle argu- 
 ments for their belief go ; and accordingly its pre-existence is a part of 
 their fiiith as much as its future life, the eternity ab ante being as much 
 considered as the eternitj' jjost. Thus Plato says that " our soul was 
 somewhere before it existed in the human form, so that also it seems to be 
 immortal afterwards" — sjv ■ttou rif/,uv w "^^vxi ""f" " '''V^'- "^^ av^guTivu 
 tio'.i yiviir^ai, iiirri koli tocutti aiavccrot Ti ioitciv n '4'^^^ iivxi. — (' Phsed.') 
 Nevertheless, it must be admitted that their doctrine of future existence is 
 most unsatisfactory as far as it is thus derived, that is, their psychological 
 argimient : and for two reasons— /?r a;', because it is coupled with the tenet 
 of pre-existence, and having no kind of evidence of that from reasoning, 
 we not only are prone to reject it, but are driven to suppose that our 
 future existence will in like manner be severed by want of recollection 
 from all consideration of personal identity ; secondly, because, according to ■ 
 the doctrine of the soul being an emanation from the Deity, its future 
 state implies a return to the divine essence, and a confusion with or 
 
 * " Hence we assume this principle in the commencement, that there has never 
 been anything divinely formed out of nothing." 
 
 t " We, come to this conclusion, that Nature resolves everything again into its 
 parts, nor is anything ever reduced to notliiug." 
 
 % "Therefore there is never anything wliich returns to nothing; hut all snt)- 
 stauces by dissolution return into their parts." 
 
 § "J^othing can come from nothing, nothing retm'n to nothing."
 
 NOTES. 163 
 
 absorption in that supreme intelligence, and consequently an extinction of 
 individual existence: a doctrine which was accordingly held by some of 
 the metaphysical philosophers -nho maintained a Future State. 
 
 In one important particular there was an entire difference of opinion 
 among the ancient philosophers; in truth, so important a difference, that 
 those were held not to be theists, but atlieists, who maintained one side of 
 the argument— I mean as to Providence. The Atomists and Epicureans 
 held that there were Gods, and upon the subject of creative power thev 
 did not materially differ from those generally called theists; but they 
 denied that these Gods ever interfered in the affairs of the universe. 
 The language of Plato and the other theists upon this subject is very 
 strong; they regard such a doctrine as one of the three kinds of blasphemy 
 or sacrilege ; and in the Republic of that pliilosopher, all the three crimes 
 are made equally punishable with death. The first species is denying the 
 existence of a Deity, or of Gods— to S- hvn^ov, «vTa5 (hou;') ou ^^»X,Zuv 
 avP^a-rov. " The second, admitting their existence, but denying that they 
 care for man.'" The third kind of blasphemy was that of men attempting 
 to propitiate the Gods towards criminal conduct, as (p^ovoi and aS/y.^/tara. 
 slaughters and outrages upon justice, " hj prageis, thanlcsgivings, and 
 sacrifices— thus maUng those pure beings the accomplices of their crimes, 
 by sharing with them a small portion of the spoil, as the wolves do with the 
 dogs." — 'De Legg.' x.* 
 
 Note VHT.— Page 85. 
 
 Of the Ancient Doctrine of the Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 That the ancient philosophers for the most part believed in the l'"uturt> 
 Existence of the Soul after death is undeniable. It is equally certain 
 that their opinions upon this important subject varied exceedingly, and 
 that the kind of immortality admitted by one class can hardly be allowed 
 to deserve the name. Thus they who considered it as a portion of the 
 Divine essence severed for a time, in order to be united with a perishable 
 body, believed in a future existence without memory or consciousness of 
 personal identity, and merely as a reuniting of it with the Divine mind. 
 Such, however, was not the belief of the more pure and enlightened theists, 
 and to their opinion, as approaching nearest our own, it is proposed to 
 confine the present notice. 
 
 • Who can read these, and such passages as these, without wishinc that some 
 who call tlicnis(;lvc-s Christians, sume Cliristian Pnnciiialities and Powers, liad 
 taken a lesson from the heathen sape, and (if their nature forbade tliem to abstain 
 from massjicres and injustice) at least had not conuiiitted the scandalous iiiiiiicty, 
 as he calls it, of singing in places of Christian worsliij), and for the accomplishment 
 of their enormous crimes, ']'e Deums, which in Pluto's licpublic would have been 
 punished as blasphemy? Who, indeed, can rcfiain from lamenting another )icr- 
 nicious kind of sacrileKC (an anthropomonihism) yet more frequent — that of 
 niakin(,' Christian teinjiles resound with prayers for victory over our enemies, and 
 thaiiks(,'ivinc for their (lefeatV Assuredly such a ritual as this is not taken from 
 tlie New Testament
 
 164 ^'OTES. 
 
 In one respect, even the most philosopliical of those theories difTered 
 ■widely from the Christian faith, and indeed departed ahnost as widely 
 from the intimations of sound reason. They all believed in the soul's pre- 
 existence. This is expressly given as proved by facts, and as one argu- 
 ment for immortality or future existence, by Plato in the most elaborate 
 treatise which remains upon the subject, the ' Phtedo.' He considers that 
 all learning is only recollection, t»j« f/.a^nm't ava/ivn^iv uvai, and seems to 
 think it inconceivable that any idea could ever come into the mind, of 
 which the rudiments had not formerly been implanted there. In the 
 ' TimaBus' and other writings the same doctrine is further expomided. Hv 
 
 a.6y.va,Tov ti ioiKiv h •4'U^n Sivai. " Our soul existed somewhere before it was 
 produced in the human form (or hodif) so that it seems to be immortal also." 
 The arguments indeed, generally speaking, on which both Plato and other 
 philosophers ground their positions, derive their chief interest from the 
 importance of the subject, and from the exquisite language in which they 
 are clothed. As reasonings they are of little force or value. Thus it is 
 elaborately shown or rather asserted in the 'Phicdo' that contraries always 
 come from contraries, as life from death, and death from life, in the works 
 of Natui-e. Another argument is that the nature or essence of the soul 
 is immortality, and hence it is easily inferred that it exists after death, a 
 kind of reasoning hardly deserving the name — "Otots In ro aff^varov x,n 
 adiizip^'o^ov iiTTiv, aXXo t) •■pu^ti, « £; a^aviuro; Tvy^a.V:S oura, x.ai avuXiSpo; 
 a\i iin — " Since that which is immortal is also indestructible, what else can we 
 conclude but that the soul being (or happening to be) immortal, must also 
 he imperishable f" — 'Phoed.' A more cogent topic is that of its simplicity, 
 from whence the inference is drawn that it must be indestructible, because 
 ■what we mean by the destruction of matter is its resolution into the 
 elements that compose it. In one passage Plato comes very near the 
 argument relied on in the text respecting the changes which the body 
 undergoes ; but it appears from the rest of the passage that he had 
 another topic or illustration in view — aXXa ya^ a.\i (painv Ixaa-rjjv ro», 
 ■4'V^a)t •TfiXXa. atiifiaTa, xarar^ilinv. aXXa; t- xiv •xoKXa, stj) ^m. Ei yito 
 fioi TO (TUfca xti ccTiXXvoiTO. iTt ^avTo; Tov xiSpaiTov, aXX' '/i '4'VV7t an 
 TO K7.Ta.r^iliof/,-vov avv^uivei, avccyKaiov ij.itT ay <;>), hieiTi atroXXvoira n 
 t^u-^71, TO TiXiuriiiov \jf>a.(Tu.u. Tuy^iiv avTiiv i^ovo-av, xai toutov /j,oiiou 
 
 •r^oTt^xv axoXXv<r(at — " But 1 should rather say that each of our souls 
 wears out many bodies, though these should live many years; for if the body 
 7-uns out and is destroyed, the man still living, but the soul always repairs 
 that which is worn out, it would foil oio of necessity that the soul when it 
 perished would happen to have its last covering, and to perish only just 
 before that covering." — -Phasd.' A singular instance of the incapacity of 
 the ancients to observe facts, or at least the habitual carelessness with 
 which they admitted relations of them, is afforded in another of these 
 arguments. Socrates is made to refer, in the ♦ Phasdo,' to the appearance 
 of ghosts near places of burial as a well-known and admitted fact, and as 
 proving that a portion of the soul for a while survived the body, but par- 
 took of its nature and likeness, and was not altogether immortal. This 
 distinction between the mortal or sensitive and the immortal or intellectual 
 part of the soul pervades the Platonic theism. "We have observed already
 
 NOTES. 105 
 
 in the statement of Plutarch, that the Tlatonists held the ,ovs or iiitdkct 
 to be contained in the ^^y;^;;-/J or soul, and the same doctrine occurs in other 
 passages. Aristotle regards the soul in like manner as composed of two 
 parts — the active, or vov;, and the passive: the formar he represents as 
 alone immortal and eternal ; the latter as destructible, Tovrofiovov a^avarov 
 
 xn aiomt, i §= ■rafy:Ti»cs <p^K^70? ' Nic. Eth.' 
 
 It must, however, be admitted, that the belief of the ancients was more 
 firm and more sound than their reasonings were cogent. The whole tenor 
 of the doctrine in the ' Pha?do' refers to a renewal or continuation of the 
 soul as a separate and individual existence, after the dissolution of the 
 body, and with a complete consciousness of personal identity — in short, 
 to a continuance of the same rational being's existence after death. The 
 liberation from the body is treated as the beginning of a new and more 
 Jierfect life — tote yp aurn xa.f uurtiv i] t^v^fi KTrcci ^apt; tov (ru//,aTo:- 
 T^oTt^-.v 3' ov (^TiXivTtKrcciri). Xenophon thus makes Cyrus deliver himself 
 to his children on his death-bed — Ovrm lyuyi, u -rail'.;, ovbt Tov-a 
 TUTOTi iTii(jfr,t ui; n •4'V;^n, iso; fill av iv ^vnnu trufiari »;,, ?»)v, oTav Si 
 TouTou arraXkccyy;, t'.pv/;kiv — ovos yi o'U'eo; a(pp-av iffrai ») '^'^X^^j B^siiav 
 Tov a^ooioi tTufji,a,TOi oi^cc ysv/iTai, cvoi tovto 'pr-vriKr/^ai- aXX' otocv aipr^TOi 
 x.a.1 KaSy^oi vov; ixxeii^r,, tot; xai (t^o\if/,U)TaTOV uxos auTov iivai.* Cicero 
 
 has translated the wliole passage upon this subject beautifully, though 
 somewhat paraphrastically ; but this portion he has given more literally 
 — " ]\Iihi quidem nunquam persuaderi potuit, animos dum in corporibus 
 cssent mortalibus, vivere; quum exissent ex iis, emori : nee vero tum 
 animum esse insipientem, quum ex insipienti corpore evasisset ; sed quum 
 omni admixtione corporis liberatus purus et integer esse coepisset, euni 
 esse sapientem."f — "For I, my sons, never could persuade myself that the 
 soul was living while it continued in a mortal body, and died when dis- 
 missed from it ; nor could I ever persuade myself that it became unin- 
 tellectual on its separation from an unintellectual body; but that when 
 the mind acted without restraint and was purified (was freed from admix- 
 ture with the body), then it became most intellectual." 
 
 None of the ancients, indeed, has expressed himself more clearly or 
 more beautifully upon the subject than this great philosopher and rhoto- 
 lician. His reasoning, too, respecting it, greatly exceeds in soundness 
 and in sagacity that of the Grecian sages. Witness the admirable argu- 
 ment in the Tusculan Questi(5ns. They who deny the doctrine, says he, 
 can only allege as the ground of their disbelief the diiriculty of compre- 
 hending the state of the soul severed from the bod}', as if they could 
 comprehend its state in tlie body. " Quasi vero intelligant, qualis sit in 
 ipso corpore, quse conformatio, quae magnitudo, qui locus." — "As if they 
 could ajmprehend what it was even when in the bcxly, its form, size, and 
 situation." " Ilac reputent isti (he adds) qui negant aninuun sine corpore 
 Be intelligere posse; videbuiit quern in i]iso corpore intelligant. Milii 
 quidfim naturam animi intuciili, nudtodiificilior occurrit cogitatio, niull(](|ue 
 obscurior, qualis auinius in corpure sit, tanquam alicnin donii, quam (pialis, 
 cum exierit, et in liberum calum quasi domuni suam venerit."|: — "Such 
 
 • Oyrop. li. 
 
 1 I )(• Scncct. 80.— Here the words "omni admixtione," i^r, ai ( u'llcd. 
 
 ; J Ubc. (^ua'tt. 1. 22.
 
 1G6 NOTES. 
 
 are the opinions of those ivlio say thnt they cannot comprehend how the 
 mind can exist distinct from the" body, wlio yet comprehended it when it 
 was in the body. To me, when I contemplate the nature of the soul, the 
 subject is more obscure, and it is much more difficult to conceive what tlie 
 soul is in the body, as in a house not belonging to it, than what it may 
 be when it has left the body, and has come into the open heaven as into 
 its own house." That he derived the most refined gratification from such 
 contemplations, many passages of his writings attest ; none more than 
 those towards the close of the ' Cato Major,' which must often have cheered 
 the honest labourers for their country and their kind in the midst of an 
 ungrateful and unworthy generation. " An censes (ut de me ipso aliquid 
 more senum glorier) me tantos labores diurnos nocturnosque, domi mili- 
 tiicque suscepturum fuisse, si iisdem finibus gloriam meam, quibus vitam 
 essem terminaturus ? Nonne melius multo fuisset otiosam setatem et 
 quietam sine ullo labore aut contentione traducere" — "Think you — to 
 speak somewhat of myself after the manner of old men — think you that I 
 should ever have undergone such toils, by day and bj' night, at home and 
 abroad, had I believed that the term of my life was to be the period of 
 my renown ? How much better would it have been to wile away a list- 
 less being and a tranquil, void of all strife, and free from any labour ?" * 
 And, again, that famous passage: "'0 prreclarum diem quum ad illud 
 divinum animoram concilium ca^tumque proficiscar ; quumque ex hac turba 
 et colluvionediscedam!" — "Delightful hour! when 1 shall journey towards 
 that divine assemblage of spirits, and depart from this crowd of polluted 
 things!"! 
 
 The Platonic ideas of a future state, as well as those adopted by the 
 Roman sage, distinctly referred to an account rendered, and rewards or 
 punishments awarded for the things done in the body — ;^^^fi ■^avrcc vromv, 
 says Plato, ojtti a^trn; Kai (p^ovna-'.u; iv tm jiia /u.-Ta/rpf^iDi' %xXov ya^ 
 va.6Xov Ka.1 h iXTi; fj.iya.k-/i—'''' We ought to act in all things so us (o pursue 
 virtue and wisdom in this life, for the labour is excellent and the hope 
 qreat." — (' De Legg.' x.) Tov S; tuTO, }if/.uv 'maa-oi ottia; aSxvarov utai, 
 •^l/O^nv I'Troyoi^a.^of^Diov, •TTtfot, 6iots aXXm; a.^rnvat, iuirovToi. Xoyoy, xaSctT-^ 
 vi)fjt,B; -raTocoo; Xiyn, tm (ji.ii aya^cu SappaXiov, tZ di xatiZ //.aXa 
 (pop,ipo)i — "/m truth each of tis — that is to say each sold — is immortal, and 
 departs to other Gods (or Gods in another tvorld) to render an account as 
 the laws of the state declare. This to the good is matter of confidence, hut 
 to the wicked of terror." — ('De Legg.' xii.) So in the beginning of the 
 'Epinomis,' he says that a glorious prospect {xnXn iX-rt{) is held out to 
 us of attaining, when we die, the happiness not to be enjoyed on earth, and 
 to gain which after death we had exerted all our efforts. In the ' Phajdo,' 
 where he is giving a somewhat fanciful picture of the next world, he tells 
 us that souls which have committed lesser crimes come m mv Xi/^vriM xat 
 
 ix.1 oixO:,<ri Tl xai na^aipounoi tmv Oi a.oi»yif/,aTit)V oioovTi; oixa; aToXvavrai 
 u Ti; ri yi^ixYKTi — '■Hhey remain in that space, and being cleansed (or purged) 
 of their offences, are released ;" (from whence the idea and the name of 
 purgatory has been taken). But such as have been incurably wicked, 
 murderers and others, are driven, he says, into Tartarus, h^iv ovroTi 
 
 • De Seiiect. 82. t Itid. 85.
 
 NOTES. 1G7 
 
 iKfia.ivov(riv, ^'■whence tliey never more escape."* It is remarkable, tliat in 
 the same work, Plato, if some words have not been interpolated in the 
 text, looks forward to some direct divine communications of light upon 
 this subject ; but recommends abiding by the light of reason till that shall 
 be granted. Let us, he says, choose the best human reason, and, sitting 
 on it like a raft, pass through the dangers of life, unless (or until) .-< /unris 
 
 fuov rivos tiecTropiiif^vai — '■^unless some one can pass us over more easilij 
 and safehj upon some stronger veMcle or divine icord."j 
 
 The passage in the ' Somnium Scipionis,' where celestial enjoyments are 
 held out as the rewards of public virtue, is well known. The precision 
 indeed of the language touching a future state, which marks this treatise, 
 is singular, approaching to that of the New Testament — " beati xvo sem- 
 pitenio fruuntur" — "the blessed enjoy eternal life;" — "ea vita via est in 
 coelum et in hvmc coetum eorum qui jam vixerunt et corpore laxati ilium 
 incolunt locum" — " this life is the road to heaven and to the society of 
 those who, liberated from the body, inhabit that place;" — "immo vero ii 
 vivunt, qui ex corporum vinculis, tanquam e carcere, evolaverunt ; vestra 
 vero, qufe dicitur vita, mors est " — " they live indeed who, freed from the 
 chains of the body, have flown away as from a prison ; but your life, as it 
 is called, is death;'' — "sic habeto, non esse te mortalem, sed corpus hoc; 
 nee enim tu is es, quern forma ista declarat, sed mens cuj usque, is est 
 quisque " — " consider thus, that thou art not mortal, but thy body only ; 
 for thou art not that which thy form exhibits, but the mind of every man 
 is the man ; " — " animus in domum suam pervolabit, idque ocius faciet, si 
 jam tum, quum erit inclusus in corpore, eminebit foras, et ea quaj extra 
 erunt contemplans, quam maxime se a corpore abstrahet " — " the soul will 
 fly away to its home, and that the more readily, if, while included in the 
 body, it elevates itself above the body by the contemplation of those things 
 which especially' abstract it from the body." These things have given rise 
 to doubts of the authenticity of the treatise — doubts easily removed by 
 looking to the many absurdities respecting the celestial bodies and the 
 other accompaniments of heaven with which the work abounds ; to the 
 Platonic doctrine respecting motion as the essence of mind, which it adopts ; 
 and also to the doctrine distinctly stated of the pre-existent state. 
 
 Note IX.— Page 85. 
 
 0/ Bishop Warhurtoii's Theory concerning the ancient Doctrine 
 
 of a Future State. 
 
 To any one who had read the extracts in the last Note, but still more to 
 one who was familiar with the ancient writers from whose works they are 
 taken, it might appear quite imj)ossiijle that a question should ever be 
 raised upon tlie general bi^lief of antiquity in a Future State, and tlie be- 
 lief of some of the most eminent of tlie philosophers, at least, in a state of 
 
 ♦Ihoel. tl'j'J-
 
 168 NOTES. 
 
 rewards and punishments. Nevertheless as there is nothing so plain to 
 which the influence of a preconceived opinion and the desire of furthering 
 a favourite hypothesis will not blind men, and as their blindness in such 
 cases bears even a proportion to tlieir learning and ingenuity, it has thus 
 fared with the point in question, and Bishop Warburton has denied that 
 any of the ancients except Socrates really believed in a future state of the 
 soul individually, and subject to reward or punishment. He took up this 
 argument because it seemed to strengthen his extraordinary reasoning 
 upon the Legation of Moses. It is therefore necessary tirst to state how 
 his doctrine bears upon that reasoning. 
 
 His reasoning is this. The inculcating of a future state of retribution 
 is necessary to the well-being of society. All men, and especially all the 
 wisest nations of antiquity, have agreed in holding such a doctrine neces- 
 sary to be inculcated. But there is nothing of the kind to be found in the 
 Mosaic dispensation. And here he pauses to observe that these proposi- 
 tions seem too clear to require any proof. Nevertheless his whole work 
 is consumed in proving them ; and the conclusion from the whole, that 
 therefore the Mosaic law is of Divine original, is left for a further work, 
 which never appeared ; and yet this is the very position which all, or 
 almost all who may read the book, and even yield their assent to it, are 
 the most inclined to reject. Indeed it may well be doubted if this work, 
 learned and acute as it is, and showing the author to be both well read 
 and well fitted for controversy, ever satisfied any one except perhaps 
 Bishop Hurd, or ever can demonstrate anything so well as it proves tiie 
 preposterous and perverted ingenuity of an able and industrious man. 
 
 That such was very far from being the author's opinion we have ample 
 proof. He terms his work ' A Demonstration.' He describes his reason- 
 ing "as very little short of mathematical certainty," and "to which no- 
 thing but a mere physical possibility of the contrary can be opposed ;" 
 and he declares his only difficulty to be in "telling whether the pleasure 
 of the discovery or the wonder that it is now to make be the greater." 
 Accordingl}' in the correspondence between him and his friend Bishop 
 Hurd, the complete success of the 'Demonstration' is always assumed, 
 and the glor}' of it is made the topic of endless and even nuitual gratula- 
 tion, not without pity and even vituperation of all who can remain dis- 
 satisfied, and who are habitually and complacently classed by name with 
 the subjects of Pope's well-known satire. 
 
 The two things which the author always overlooked were the possibility 
 of a human lawgiver making an imperfect system, and of sceptics 
 holding the want of the sanction in question to be no argument for the divine 
 origin of the Mosaic law, but rather a proof of its flowing from a human 
 and fallible source. As these "mere possibilities" are wholly independent 
 of the admission that every word in the book is correct, and all the posi- 
 tions are demonstrated, and as nothing whatever is said to exclude such 
 suppositions, it is manifest that a more useless and absurd argument never 
 was maintained upon any grave and important subject. The merit of the 
 book lies in its learning and its collateral argument ; indeed nearlj' the 
 whole is collateral, and unconnected with the purpose of the reasoning. But 
 nuich even of that collateral matter is fanciful and unsound. The fancy 
 tiiat the descent of iEneas to hell in the sixth book of the 'iEneid' is a veiled 
 account of the Eleusinian Mysteries, has probably made as few proselytes
 
 NOTES, 169 
 
 as the maki body of the ' Demonstration ;' and if any one has lent Irs ear 
 to tb« tbeon- finat tlie ancients had no belief in a future state of retribution, 
 it can onh' be from being led away by conlideut assertion from the ex- 
 aminstion of the facts. 
 
 This position of Bishop "Warburton is manifestly wholly unnecessary to 
 the proof of his general theory. But he thought it would show more 
 strongly the opinion entertained of the uses to be derived from inculcating 
 the doctrine of a Future State, if he could jirove that the}- who held it in 
 public, and with political views, did not themselves believe it. 
 
 The way in wliich he tries to prove this is by observing that there pre- 
 vailed among the old philosophers, as well as lawgivers, a principle of 
 propagating what they knew to be false opinions for the public benefit, and 
 of thus holding one kind of doctrine in secret, the esoteric, and another, 
 the exoteric, in public. Of this fact there is no doubt, but its origin is 
 hardly to be thus traced to design always prevailing. The most ancient 
 notions of religion were the birth of fear and ignorance in the earliest ages, 
 and the fancy of the poets mingled with these, multiplying and improving 
 and polishing the rude imaginations of popular terror and simplicity. 
 The rulers of the community, aiding themselves by the sanctions which 
 they drew from thence, favoured the continuance and propagation of the 
 delusions: and philosophers who afterwards arose among the people were 
 neither disposed themselves nor permitted by the magistrate openly to 
 expose the errors of the popular faith. Hence they taught one doctrine 
 in private, while in public they conformed to the prevailing creed, and 
 the observances which it enjoined. 
 
 But whatever be the origin of the double doctrine, Bishop Warburton 
 cannot expect that its mere existence, and the use made of it by ancient 
 writers and teachers will prove his position, unless he can show that the 
 future state of retribution is only mentioned by them upon occasions of an 
 exoierical kind, and never when esotericalhj occupied. Now this he most 
 signally fails to do ; indeed he can hardly be said fairly to make the 
 attempt, for his rule is to make the tenor of the doctrine the criterion 
 of esoteric or exoteric, instead of showing the occasion to be one or the 
 other from extrinsic circumstances, which is manifestly begging the ques- 
 tion most unscrupulously. It seems hardly credible that so acute and 
 practised a controversialist should so conduct an argument, but it is quite 
 true. As often as anything occurs in favour of a Future State, he says 
 it was said exoterically ; and whenever he can find anything on the 
 opposite side, or leaning towards it (which is really hardly at all in the 
 Platonic or Ciceronian writings), he sets this down for the esoteric senti- 
 ments of the writer. But surely if there be any meaning at all in the 
 double doctrine, whatever may have been its origin, the occasion is every- 
 thing, and there can be no diiiicult}' in telling whether any given opinion 
 was maintained csoterical/// or not, by the circumstances in w hich, and the 
 jiurposes for which, it was propounded. 
 
 The argument on which he dwells most is drawn from the allusion 
 made by Ciesar in the discussion upon the punishment of the conspirators 
 as related by Sailust, " Ultra (mortem) ncque cunt neque gaudio locum 
 esse ;" and from the way in whicii Cato and Cicero evade, he says, rather 
 than answer him, appealing to the traditions of antiipiity and the authority 
 of their ancestors instead of arguing the point. (* l>iv. Leg.' III. 2. 5.)
 
 170 NOTES. 
 
 Can anything be more inconclusive than this? Granting that Sallust 
 in making speeches for Ciesar and Cato (whom by the way he makes 
 speak in the self-same style, that is, in his own Sallustian style), adhered 
 to the sentiments each delivered ; and further, that Ciesar uses this strange 
 topic not as a mere rhetorical figure, but as a serious reason against capital 
 punishment, and as showing that there is mercy and not severity in such 
 inflictions (a verv strong su]ipusition to make respecting so practised and 
 so practical a reasoner as Caius Cassar) ; surely so bold a position as prac- 
 tical atheism brought forward in the Roman senate was far more likely to 
 be met, whether b}- the decorum of Cato or the skill of Cicero, with a 
 general appeal to the prevalence of the contrary belief, and its resting on 
 ancient tradition, than with a metaphysical or theological discourse singu- 
 larly out of season in such a debate. To make the case our own : let us 
 suj)])ose some member of Parliament, or of the Chamber of Deputies, so ill 
 judged as to denounce in short but plain terms the religion of the country, 
 — would any person advert further to so extravagant a speech than to 
 blame it, and in general expressions signify the indignation it had excited? 
 Would not an answer out of Lardner, or Paley, or Pascal be deemed 
 almost as ill-timed as the attack? To be sure neither Cato nor Cicero 
 are represented as testifying any great disgust at the language of Ciesar, 
 but this, as well indeed as the topic being introduced at all by the latter, 
 only shows that the doctrine of a Future State was not one of the tenets 
 much ditt'used among the people, or held peculiarly sacred b}' them. Had 
 the orator vindicated Catiline by showing how much less flagitious his 
 bad life was than that of some of the gods to whom altars were erected 
 and worship rendered, a very different burst of invective would have been 
 called down upon the blasphemous otiender. 
 
 In truth, the passage thus relied upon only shows, like all the rest of 
 the facts, that the doctrine of retribution was rather more esoteric than 
 exoteric among the ancients. The elaborate dissertation of Bishop War- 
 burton's upon the Mysteries, proves this effectually, and clearly refutes 
 his whole argument. For to prove that the doctrine of future retribution 
 was \i=ed at all as an engine of state, he is forced to allege that it was the 
 secret disclosed to the initiated in the Sacred Mj'steries ; which, according 
 to Cicero, were not to be viewed by the imprudent eye. (Ne impruden- 
 tiam quidem oculorum adjici fas est, ' De Legg.' II. 14). Surely this would 
 rather indicate that such doctrines were not inculcated indiscriminately, 
 and that at all events, when a philosopher gives them a place in his works, 
 it cannot be in pursuance of a plan for deceiving the multitude into a 
 belief different from his own. It is indeed plain enough that the bulk of 
 the people were restrained, if by any sanctions higher than those of the 
 penal laws, rather by the belief of constant interposition from the gods. 
 An expectation of help from their favour or of punishment from their 
 anger in this life and without any delay, formed the creed of the Greeks 
 and the Romans ; and nothing else is to be found in either the preamble 
 to Zaleucus the Locrian's laws quoted by Bishop Warburton, or in the 
 passages of Cicero's treatise, to which he also refers. ' Div. Leg.' II. 3. 
 
 Among the many notable inadvertencies of his argument, concealed 
 from himself by an exuberant learning and a dogmatism hardh' to be 
 paralleled, is the neglecting to observe how difficultly the appearance of 
 the doctrine in the places where we find it is reconciled with his notion of
 
 NOTE?. 171 
 
 its having formed the subject of the ^Mysteries. What part in those 
 Mysteries did Cicero's and Plato's and Seneca's and Xenoplion's -wriliniTs 
 bear "? There we have the doctrine plainly stated ; possibly to the world 
 at large — possibly, far more probably, to the learned reader only — but 
 assuredly not by the Hierophant or the Mystagogue, to the initiated. 
 This is wholly inconsistent with the notion of its being reserved for these 
 alone. It is equally inconsistent with the theory that it was promulgated 
 for the purposes of deception; for such purposes would have been far better 
 served by decidedly making it a part neither of the instruction given to 
 the select and initiated few, nor of the doctrine confined to the students of 
 philosophy, but of the common, vulgar, popular belief and ritual, which it 
 is admitted not to have been. The truth undeniably is, that as, on the 
 one hand, it was not universally preached and inculcated, so neither was 
 it any mystery forbidden to be divulged — that it was no part of the vulgar 
 creed, nor yet so repugnant to the religion of the country as to be con- 
 cealed from prudential considerations, like tlie imity of the Deity, the 
 fabulousness of the ordinary polvtheistic superstitions, as to the gods and 
 godde.<ses, the demigods, and the Furies. These opinions were indeed 
 esoteric, and only promulgated among the learned. A few allusions, and 
 but a few, are found to them in any of the classical authors \vhose writ- 
 ings were intended for general perusal, and chiefly to the parts which had 
 in process of time become too gross even for the vulgar, such as the 
 Furies, Cerberus, &c., which Cicero describes as uutit for the belief of even 
 an ignorant or doting old woman (Qme anus tam excors, &c. ' De Nat. 
 Deor.,' and 'Tusc. Qua;st.'), and which are treated as fables both by De« 
 mosthenes in that noble passage where he exclaims that the Furies, who 
 are represented in the scene as driving men with burning torches (=>.«!>- 
 ftiv ^airiv /ififiivai;), are our bad passions, and by Cicero in words (Hi 
 faces, ha; flammie, &c.) almost translated from the Greek. 
 
 After all, can anything be more violent than the supposition that those 
 philosophers, for the purpose of deceiving the multitude, delivered opinions 
 not held by themselves, and delivered them in profoimd philosoj)hical 
 treatises? It is in the 'Pha?do'and the 'Timaeus' (hardly intelligible to the 
 learned), and the 'Tusculan Questions,' and the 'Somniuni Scipionis,' in an 
 age when there were hardly any readers beyond the disciples of the several 
 sects, that those exoteric matters are supposed to be conveyed for accom- 
 plishing the purposes of popular delusion — not in poems and speeches, 
 read in the Portico or pronounced in the Forum. If then the records of 
 their opinions on tlie most recondite subjects were chosen for the deposi- 
 tories of exoteric faith, wliere are we to look for their esoteric doctrines ■i' 
 Bishop Warburton must needs answer, in the very same records ; for to 
 this he is driven, because he has none other ; and he cannot choose but 
 admit that the whole argument is utterly defective, if it stops short at 
 only showing those opinions to have been delivered, even if proved to be 
 exoterical, unless he can also show opposite doctrines to have been esoteri- 
 calhj entertained — ina.smuch as a person might grant the former to have 
 been delivered for popular use (which, however, Bisho)) Warburlon does 
 not prove), and yet deny that they were assumed for the purpose of de- 
 ception. Accordingly he is driven to find, if he can, pniofs of those oppo- 
 site doctrines in the self-same writings where he says the exoteric ones are 
 conveyed. However, nothing surely can bo more absurd tiian this ; for
 
 172 NOTES. 
 
 it is to maintain tliat Plato and Cicero pretended to believe a future state 
 of retribution in ca-der to deceive the multitude, by stating it in the same 
 writings in which thej' betrayed their real sentiments to be the very re- 
 verse. And this absurdit}- is the same, and this argument is as cogent, if 
 we take the double doctrine to apply, not — as we are, in favour of the 
 Bishop's argument, generally supposing — to a difference between what 
 was taught in the face of the peojile and what was reser\ed for the 
 scholars, but to a division of the scholars into two classes, one only of 
 whom was supposed to see the whole truth — for the same writings on this 
 subject are said to contain both the statements of it. Nevertheless let us 
 shorth' see how he finds any such contrary statements, or any means of 
 explaining away the positive and precise dicta, and even reasonings, cited 
 in the former note (Note VIII.). 
 
 1. There can be no doubt that both the Greek and Roman philosophers 
 disbelieved part of the popular doctrine as to future retribution, those 
 punishments to wit, which are of a gross and corporeal nature ; and, ac- 
 cordingly, what Timaius the Locrian and others have said of the tikuqiui 
 ^ivai proves nothing, for it applies to those only. Strabo plainlj' speaks 
 of these only in the passage where he observes that women and the vulgar 
 are not to be kept pious and virtuous b}' the lessons of philosophy, but by 
 superstition, which cannot be maintained without mythology (fable-mak- 
 ing) and prodigies (^iz ^UTi^uifiovixi' tovto V ov» avv fz-vSovoiia; Kai 
 T^arucci), for he gives as examples of these, Jupiter's Thunder, the 
 Snakes of the Furies, &c. 
 
 2. Nothing can be more vague than the inference drawn from such 
 passages as those in Cicero and Seneca, where a doubt is expressed on the 
 subject of a Future State, and a wish of more cogent proofs seems betrayed 
 — as where Cicero makes one of his prolocutors, in the Tusculan Questions, 
 say, that when he lays down the ' Phfedo,' which had persuaded him, 
 "assensio omnis ilia elabitur" (i. 11), — "All that conviction glides away," 
 and when Seneca speaks of the philosophers as " rem gratissimam pro- 
 mittentes magis quam probentes," — " Promising a pleasing thing rather 
 than proving it," and calls it " bellum somnium." — ('Epist.' 102.) — " A 
 beautiful dream." No one pretends that the ancients had a firm and 
 abiding opinion, founded on very cogent reasons, respecting a Future State; 
 and with far sounder theologians than they were, the anxiety naturally 
 incident to so momentous an inquiry may well excite occasional doubts, 
 and even apprehensions. Who questions Dr. Johnso/i's general belief in 
 Kevelation, because in moments of depression, when desiderating some 
 stronger evidence, he was kindlj' told by a religious friend that he surely 
 had enough, and answered, ''■Sir, I u-oitld have more?''' 
 
 3. When Strabo speaks of the Brahmins having invented fables, like 
 Plato, upon future judgment, it is plain that he alludes to those specula- 
 tions in the 'Pha?do,' which are avowedly and purposely given as imaginary 
 respecting the details of another world. To no other part of the Platonic 
 doctrine can the Brahminical mythology i)e likened : nor would there be 
 any accuracy of speech at all in comparing those fables to the more abstract 
 doctrines of the immortality of the soul, as the words literally do — (uirwi^ 
 
 4. The quotation from Aristotle may refer to this world merely, but it 
 is certainly made a good deal stronger in Bishop Warburton's translation
 
 NOTES. 173 
 
 — ipo^-^iiTarov Ss 63.vxr;i' Tr ^x; yap, xai ouo-v m tZ Ti^vteori S' ovK u, 
 euTi aya.6',t. oun kolkov u at. " Death (as our author renders it) is of all 
 things the most terrible ; lor it is the final period of existence, and beyond 
 that, it appears there is neither good nor evil for the dead man to dread 
 or hope."' This is, at the best, a mere paraphrase. Aristotle says — 
 " Death is most terrible, for it is an end (of us), and there appears to be 
 nothing further, good or bad, for the dead." Even were we to take this as 
 an avowal of the StagA-rite's opinion in the sense given it by Bishop 
 Warburton, it proves nothing as to Plato. 
 
 4. Some of the Stoics seem certainly to have held that the dissolution 
 of the body closed the scene, and that the body ceased to exist by the 
 resolving of its mortal frame into the kindred elements. Nevertheless, 
 many of their observations may be conceived to regard the vulgar super- 
 stitions, and many of their sayings to flow from the habit of grandiloquent 
 contempt for all bodily suftering. However, no one maintains that all tlie 
 ancient sects of Theists, and each disciple of every sect, tirnily believed in 
 a future state ; and it must be remarked that the question raised b}' Bishop 
 Warburton being as to the belief in a state of retribution, his citations 
 from Seneca and Epictetus go to deny the future continuance of the soul 
 altogether. Now he does not deny that at least some of the ancients did 
 believe in this. 
 
 5. But the authority of Cicero presses our author the most closely, and 
 accordingly he makes great efforts to escape from it After showing some 
 circumstances, rather of expression than anything else, in his philosophical 
 treatises, he cites the oration ' Pro Cluentio,' where, speaking of the vulgar 
 superstition, he says it is generally disbelieved ; and then asks, "Quid 
 aliud mors eripuit prater sensum dolorisV" — "What has death t;iken 
 away besides the sense of pain?" But this at best is a rhetorical 
 flourish; and being delivered in public (though before the judges), never 
 could be seriously meant as an esoteric attack on the doctrine. The 
 doctrines in the ' De Ofticiis' relate only to the Deity's being incapable of 
 anger or malevolence, on which account he praises Eegulus the more for 
 keeping his oath when all philosophers knew nee irasci Deum nee nocere; 
 which shows, according to our author, that Cicero could not believe in 
 future retribution. But this is said by Cicero only in reference to imme- 
 diate punishments, or judgments, as the vulgar term them. At any rate, 
 the passage is quite capable of this sense, and even.' rule of sound con- 
 struction binds us to prefer it as consistent with the other passages on a 
 future state, while those passages will bear no meaning but one. We may 
 here obser\-e, in passing, the gratuitous manner in which works are held 
 esoteric and exoteric, just as suits the pur|ju.-es of the argument. The 
 'Offices' contain the almve passage, and therefore. Bishop Warburton says 
 it ia the work which "bids the fairest of any to be spoken from the heart.'' 
 The passage in the ' Somnium Scipionis,' " Omnibus qui patriam conserva- 
 rint, adjuverint, auxerint, certum esse in coelo, ad delinitum locum ubi 
 beati aevo sem|)itenio fruantur," (' Som. Sci[).' o7) — "All who protect, 
 assist, and extend their country, are sure to go to heaven, to the appointed 
 spot where they are to enjoy eternal blessedness," is got rid of, by saying 
 that the ancients believed souls to be either liuinan, or heroic and denmnic, 
 and that the two last went to heaven to enjoy eternal hapi)iness, but that 
 '.he former, comprehending the bulk of mankind, did not. This is begging
 
 174 NOTES. 
 
 the question to no purpose, for it is also giving up the point, and at tlie 
 utmost only reduces the autlior's position to a denial that the ancients 
 believed in the immortality of all souls. It must, however, be observed, 
 that unless he is allowed to assume also something lilie election and pre- 
 destination, he gains hardly even this in his argument ; for if a man by 
 patriotic conduct can become one of the heroic souls, and so gain eternal 
 life, what more distinct admission can be desired of a future state of retri- 
 bution? That t!ie doctrine of immortalit}' was, by many at least, con- 
 fined in some sucli way, may be true. Tliat beautiful passage in Tacitus 
 seems to point that way, " Si non cum corpore extinguuntur magrue 
 animjB." — (' Vit. Ag. sub fin.') — " If great souls are not annihilated with 
 the body." The main proof, however, against Cicero's belief is drawn 
 from the Epistles, where alone, says our author, we can be sure of his 
 speaking his real sentiments. Yet never did proof more completely fail. 
 Writing to Torquatus, he says, " Nee enim dum ero, angar ulla re, cum 
 omni vacem culpa — et si non ero, sensu omnino carebo," (Lib. vi. Ep. 3.); 
 — "For, if I exist, I shall feel no anguish from anything, being free from 
 all guilt ; and if I do not exist, I shall be devoid of all sensation ;" and 
 to Toranius, " Ima ratio videtur, ferre moderate, prajsertim cum omnium 
 rerum mors sit extrenium,'' (Lib. vi. Ep. 21.) — "The deepest reason 
 seems to be, to endure patiently, especially as death is the end of all 
 things." And this, which really means nothing more than a common 
 remark on death ending all our pains and troubles, the learned author 
 calls " professing his disbelief in a future state of retribution in the 
 frankest manner." — ' Div. Leg.' iii. 3. 
 
 It seems, therefore, not too much to say that the ' Divine Legation' does 
 not more completely fail in proving the grand paradox which forms the 
 main object of the argument, and which has been parodied bj' Soame 
 Jenyns, in his most injudicious defence of Christianity', than it does in 
 supporting the minor paradox which is taken up incidentally as to the 
 real opinions of the ancients, and whicli, it must be admitted, is indeed 
 quite unnecessary to the general argmnent, and as little damages it by its 
 entire failure, as it could help it by the most entire success. 
 
 Note X. — Section VI., p. 89. 
 
 A LEARNED and valuable work upon the life of Lord Bacon has been 
 published by Mr. B. Montagu. Some very important facts are proved 
 satisfactorily by the ingenious author, and show how much the criminality 
 of this great man is exaggerated in tiie common accounts of his fall. 
 But it is clearly shown, that he was prevailed upon by the intrigues of 
 James I. and liis profligate minister to abandon his own defence, and 
 sacrifice himself to their base and crooked policy — a statement which dis- 
 graces them more than it vindicates him. One thing, however, is unde- 
 niable — that they who so loudly blame Bacon overlook the meanness of 
 almost all the great statesmen of those courtly times.
 
 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT.
 
 Place — Brougham, in Westmoreland. 
 Time — September, 1837. 
 Persons — A. Lord Spencer (Althorp). 
 B. Lord B rough A:\r. 
 
 i
 
 OF INSTINCT. 
 
 BOOK OR DIALOGUE I. 
 
 INSTIXCT — Introduction ; (Facts). 
 
 When the General Election of 1837 "was near its close, 
 and every day brought the accounts of those mighty 
 boasts of our expected successes under the new reign, 
 so idly made, being overthrown by the activity and 
 resources of our adversaries and the listlessness of the 
 people on our behalf, Lord A. came to me on his way 
 to the North, where he was minded to diversify with 
 field-sports his habitual life of farming. Those pur- 
 suits had never interfered with the duty he owed his 
 country as long as he deemed that the sacrifice of all 
 his domestic comforts could prove serviceable to his 
 public principles ; nor had they ever at any time pre- 
 vented him from cultivating a sound philosophy, in the 
 study of which much of his leisure is ahvays consumed. 
 When I passed a few days with him at AViseton, the 
 summer before, we had discussed together some of the 
 more interesting topics which form the subject of these 
 speculations, connected with Natural Theology, though 
 of a substantive interest independent of the relation in 
 which they stand to that sublime inquiry ; and, while I 
 remained at Harrington, we had corresponded con- 
 stantly on the subject of Instinct, one of the most 
 curious in its minute details and of the most interest- 
 ing in its bearings upon the philosophy of mind, inde- 
 pendent of its immediate connexion with theological 
 
 VUL. VI. N
 
 178 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 speculations, but, it must at the same time be admitted, 
 one of the most difficult, and upon which the labours 
 of philosophers have cast a very imperfect light. It 
 was natural then that we should renew these discus- 
 sions when we afterwards met in Westmoreland. The 
 weather being fine, we ranged somewhat among the 
 lake scenery, and by the rivers and through the woods 
 which variegate our northern country. There was not 
 much to tempt us in the aspect of pubhc aifairs, which, 
 if not gloomy for the country at large, was yet not 
 very flattering for the liberal party, among whom the 
 single object seemed now to be the retention of office, 
 and who might say with the Roman patriot in the de- 
 cline of liberty, — " Nostris enim vitiis, non casii aliquo, 
 rempublicam verbo retinemus, reapse vero jampridtm 
 amisimus."* Nor, indeed, on these matters was there 
 a perfect agreement between us two ; for while we 
 augured as little favourably the one as the other of 
 our prospects, we ascribed to different causes the con- 
 dition of affairs which gave rise to those forebodings : 
 he, tracing it to the great natural weight and influence 
 of the Tories throughout the country, both in church 
 and state ; I, relying more on the energies of an im- 
 proved and active people, provided the government 
 had acted so as to merit their support ; but lamenting 
 that no pains had been taken by them to show any 
 superiority of popular principles, or make the country 
 feel itself better off under their rule than they would 
 have been under the adverse faction, while I perceived 
 sufficiently plain indications that the accession of the 
 Court favour in this new reio-n would have the effect 
 of lessening rather than promoting any popular tend- 
 encies which might still exist. Altogether, therefore, 
 the state of the commonwealth was a subject less suited 
 to engage our conversation; and we naturally dwelt 
 
 * "By our own misconduct, not by any calamity, though we may 
 still have the name of a free government, we yet have lost the reality." — 
 Cic. Frag, de Rep. lib. v.
 
 I\STIXCT FACTS. 179 
 
 little upon passing and unpleasing topics, as unsatis- 
 tactorv, transitory, and fleeting — " ista quae nee per- 
 cunctari nee andire sine molestia possumus."* But 
 upon those matters of permanent interest and universal 
 importance, and wliieli the follies or faults of men 
 could not despoil of their dignity or deprive of their 
 relish, we loved to expatiate ; and coming to the island 
 in the neighbouring river, found a convenient seat 
 where tlie discussion might be carried on under the 
 cool shade which the wood afforded against an autumnal 
 sun: "Here," said I, "we may resume our Wisetoa 
 conversation." — " Ventum in insulam est. Hac vero 
 nihil est amoenius ; utenim hoc quasi rostro finditur 
 Fibrenus, et divisus equaliter in duas partes latera 
 ha?c alluit, rapideque dilapsns cito in unum confluit, et 
 tantum complectitur quod satis sit modica? palffisti'se 
 loci ; quo effecto tanquam id habuerit operis ac muneris 
 ut banc nobis efficeret sedem ad disputandum, statim 
 pra?cipitat in Lirem,"t — " Here," said I, " we may re- 
 sume our Wiseton conversation :" " si videtur consida- 
 mus hie in umbra, atque ad eam partem sermonis ex 
 qua egressi sumus revertamur."| 
 
 A. Have you reconsidered my opinion, or rather the 
 inclination of opinion, which 1 had last year, that it 
 will be advisable, if not necessary, to begin with de- 
 fining Instinct, in order that we may the more clearly 
 understand what we are discussing ? 
 
 B. I have indeed ; and I remain of my own, as often 
 
 • " Things which we can neither inquire about nor hear without vexa- 
 tion." — Cic. Acad. Quvest. lib. ii. 
 
 t " We came to the island. But than this spot nothing can be more 
 agreeable; for here the Fibrenus is split as by tlie prow of a vessel, and 
 being divided into two equal branches, washes the sides ; then, after 
 rapidly .separating, it qnickly unites in one stream, embracing s|)ace 
 enough of ground for a nuiderate-sized place of exercise : after which, as 
 if it only had the work and office of providing us with a seat for our dis- 
 cussion, it straightway falls into the Liris." — Cic. de Leg. lib. ii. 
 
 % " If you please we may here sit down under this shade, and revert to 
 that part of our con\'ersation from which we had departed." — Cic. de Li<j. 
 lib. IL
 
 180 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 happens through obstinacy and unwillingness to give 
 up a preconceived notion ; but here it is, I believe, 
 from much reflection upon the subject, that I still re- 
 gard the definition as rather the end of our inquiry 
 than its commencement. Indeed, this may generally 
 be observed of metaphysical, or rather psychological 
 inquiries : they are not like those of the mathematician, 
 who must begin by defining ; but that is because his 
 definition is, in fact, a statement of part of the hypo- 
 thesis in each proposition. Thus, whoever enunciates 
 any proposition respecting a property of the circle, pre- 
 dicates that property of a figure whose radii are all 
 equal ; and it is as if he began by saying, " Let there 
 be a curve line, such that all the straight lines drawn 
 from its points to another point within it are equal, 
 then I say that the rectangles are equal, which, &c." 
 The general definition only saves the trouble of repeat- 
 ing this assumption, as part of the hypothesis in each 
 proposition. But the nature of instinct, or of any other 
 thing of which we discourse in psychology, is not the 
 hypothesis we start from ; it is the goal or conclusion 
 we are seeking to arrive at. Indeed, so it is in physical 
 science also ; we do not begin, but end, by defining the 
 qualities of bodies, or their action on one another. 
 
 A. I grant this. But if there be more things than 
 one which men call by the same name, for example, of 
 Instinct, must we not begin by ascertaining what we 
 mean by the word, in order to avoid confusion ? And 
 this seems to bring on the necessity at least of some 
 definition. 
 
 B. I agree that there must in this case be a defini- 
 tion ; but it is only a definition of terms, and does not 
 imply our stating the nature of the thing defined : it 
 only implies that we must understand what the thing- 
 is to which the given word applies, and, if two things 
 go under the same name, that we should be agreed in 
 the outset which of the two things we mean when we 
 use the word; perhaps, that we invest some second
 
 INSTINCT PACTS. 181 
 
 name, or give some qualifying addition to the given 
 one, to express one of the two things, and keep the 
 diflferent meanino-s distinct. 
 
 A. The best way will be that we should come to 
 particulars — give an example or two : perhaps it may 
 suffice to mention the different kinds of Instinct, if, 
 which I take for granted you do not doubt, there be 
 more thino-s than one o-oing; under that name. 
 
 B. Certainly ; and there can here be no difficulty at 
 all in our way ; and, to show you how little alarmed I 
 am at defining, when it is clear that I am only called 
 upon to define a word, and thereby make a distinct re- 
 ference to a thino; known or unknown in its own nature 
 — not to pretend giving an account of that nature — I 
 will at once bes'in bv both inventino- names and defin- 
 ino- their meanino-. There are some Instincts which 
 may be called physical, and others mental, in the 
 animal system; by physical I mean those actions or 
 motions or states of body which are involuntary ; as 
 the action of the heart, and the peristaltic motion of 
 the bowels, over which, generally speaking, we have 
 no direct control by the operation of the will — for I 
 put out of view such rare instances, almost monstrous, 
 as Darwin has recorded of a person who could suspend 
 the pulsations of his heart at pleasure, and another, 
 still more rare, of one who could, at will, move his 
 l)Owels by accelerating the peristaltic action.* Even if 
 all men could ac(]uire such control over those motions, 
 they would still be involuntary ; because they could 
 still be carried on wholly without our will interfering, 
 and without our minds necessarily having any know- 
 ledge whatever of them. So the secretions are all 
 performed involuntarily, and may go on wholly with- 
 out our knowledge ; we can affect them as we can the 
 involuntary motions of the heart and fiuids, indirectly, 
 because the passions and feelings of the mind have 
 
 * Zoonomia.
 
 182 DIALOGUES OX IXSTIXCT. 
 
 always an effect upon them ; but still they exist and 
 ]iroceed, the parts perform their functions, and those 
 functions serve the ends of their appointment, wholly 
 independent of our will, or of any effort whatever on 
 our part. We can affect them also immediately through 
 the influence of physical agents, voluntarily applied as 
 stimulants or sedatives, or the operation of voluntary 
 motion, as well as mediately by the power which the 
 mind derives from its union with the body ; but they 
 can go on of themselves, and, in all cases of healthy 
 condition, go on better without any the least interrup- 
 tion on our part than with it. 
 
 A. This is certain : my only doubt is whether these 
 can be justly or correctly termed instinctive operations 
 at all. When I speak of Instinct, I mean something 
 very different ; namely, those voluntary movements, or 
 that voluntary action of the mental faculties which is 
 contradistinguished from reason. However, there is no 
 harm, but much convenience, in beginning by defining 
 and classifying, so as to leave on one side the physical 
 and involuntary instincts — those things which may pro- 
 perly enough be called incidents of animal life, because 
 there seems great diflSculty in drawing a line between 
 such motions and actions and those which subsist in 
 vegetables. 
 
 B. There does certainly appear to be this difiiculty. 
 I hardly see how any line can be drawn between the 
 motions of the lowest species of animal, the mollusca 
 for instance, and those found in plants. There is in 
 both organized form, a system of vessels, growth by 
 extension not by apposition, a circulation of fluids and 
 secretion of solids from those fluids, or of one fluid from 
 another. There is also production of seed, and from 
 the seed continuation of the species. But it is not only 
 convenient that we should define in order to leave on 
 one side what we are not to discuss, that it may not 
 confound our inquiry ; the definition and classification 
 may also carry us on, some little way, in our argument
 
 IXSTIKCT FACTS. 183 
 
 with respect to the other class of Instincts, Instinct 
 properly so called, the Mental Instincts; at least, it 
 seems to furnish us at the very outset with an analogy, 
 
 A. I have a dread, at least a suspicion, of all analo- 
 gies, and never more than when on the slippery heights 
 of an obscure subject ; when we are as it were inter 
 apices of a metaphysical argument, and feeling, per- 
 haps groping, our way in the dark or among the clouds. 
 I then regard analogy as a dangerous light, a treach- 
 erous ignis fatuus. 
 
 B. It is even so, if we follow it beyond where we 
 can see quite clear and find a firm footing. But all 
 light is good, and the best way is not to despair, still 
 less put out any glimmering we have, but rather to 
 increase it by adding others, or make it available by 
 using apt instruments. However, we are getting too 
 metaphorical : only it is my comfort that you began, 
 and that I am led astray by one who (as you said in 
 your inimitable letter to your Lancashire antagonist) 
 is not one of " the eloquent people." But to return 
 from where your poetical imagery led us — analogy 
 may sometimes illustrate, and it may often lead to use- 
 ful and strict inquiry, by suggesting matters for com- 
 parison and investigation. 
 
 A. Then what comparison do you make between the 
 two kinds of Instinct? or rather, as the question is of 
 analogy, how do you state a relation of the mental 
 Instinct, which we shall call Instinct simply if you 
 please, similar to or identical with some relation of 
 physical Instinct? 
 
 B. As thus — the physical Instincts are independent 
 of will, or mind altogether, though they never arc found 
 except whore animal life and consequently mind exists; 
 but yet mind may influence them. Just so the mental 
 Instincts are independent of reason altogether, though 
 they are found in union with it and reason may influ- 
 ence them. It is a (piestion if they are ever found 
 without reason; for that depends on our solution of
 
 184 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 the vexata qiia'stio, " Whether the lower animals have 
 reason at all or no ? " Therefore, I will not say that 
 here the analogy is complete, and will not affirm that, 
 as physical Instinct is never found without animal life, 
 so mental Instinct is never found without reason ; but 
 we may safely say that in this other respect the ana- 
 logy is perfect, namely, that where mental Instinct is 
 found with reason it can act without reason, though 
 reason may also interfere with it ; and in this respect, 
 at least, reason seems to bear the same relation to 
 mental Instinct which animal life bears to physical 
 Instinct. We may go farther, and add, that as in 
 plants, where the motions are without animal life, those 
 motions are more perfect and more undisturbed, so if 
 tliere be any animal wholly without reason, the opera- 
 tions of mental Instinct are the more regular and 
 perfect ; and, in any animal whatever, they are so in 
 proportion as reason is dormant or inactive. 
 
 A. It may be as you say ; but this will not carry us, 
 as you seem to be aware, far on our road. However, 
 it is well enough to remark it ; for we thus gain per- 
 haps a clearer and more steady view of the relation 
 between Reason and Instinct, always supposing that 
 there is any warrant for treating the two as different : 
 because you are aware that some have considered them 
 as identical : I mean not merely by denying that there 
 is any specific difference, any difference in kind, between 
 our faculties and those of brutes — though this denial is 
 of course involved in their doctrine — but by going a step 
 farther, and holding that what we call our Reason, 
 and are so proud of, is merely a bundle of Instincts, as 
 some have termed it — a more acute and perfect degree 
 of Instinct. Smellie, in his entertaining work on the 
 Philosophy of Natural History, holds this opinion. — 
 That is a book, by the way, much less esteemed than 
 it deserves, even as a collection of facts and anecdotes ; 
 but I also think the honest printer (for such he was) 
 had a good deal of the philosopher in him. I suppose,
 
 INSTIXCT — FACTS. 185 
 
 as the well-educated printers in the foreign university 
 towns, and some of our oavu Oxford men, used to bo 
 critics and scholars, from the atmosphere of the place, 
 so your iMlinburgh printer, when well bred, is a 
 metaphysician. 
 
 B. You are right as to Smellie at least, and I agree 
 with you as to his book, though it is too long, and in 
 parts loosely reasoned, as well as not over-accurate in 
 his facts, accorchng to what I have heard from natural- 
 ists. But he was a man of considerable merit ; and 
 lived a good deal in the hterary and scientific circles 
 of Edinburgh. I knew him, but slightly. He would 
 have done much more had his habits been less convivial. 
 But I rather fancy the somoAvhat pretending title of his 
 book tended to make men disallow the merit which it 
 unquestionably has. 
 
 A. But what do you hold of the dogma in question, 
 and of which he is perhaps the most round asserter ? 
 
 B. I entirely deny it; nor do I conceive that any 
 part of the subject is more free from all doubt than 
 this, unless indeed we come to the question of liberty 
 and necessity, and resolve the whole into a mere dis- 
 pute about terms. 
 
 A. Liberty and necessity ! preserve us ! — I am taken 
 by surprise. Why I had no idea that we could ever 
 have got among those heights and clouds already — 
 " apart set on a hill retired," and reasoning on " free- 
 will," like the gentry more acute than amiable, who 
 held their metaphysical disputations there. 
 
 B. Don't be alarmed — but the subjects in one single 
 point do certainly touch. What I mean is this : if you 
 say that, when a man reasons, one idea suggests another, 
 and that he must follow the train, and can no more 
 avoid drawing his conclusion, when he compares two 
 ideas, than a bird can avoid building its nest in a par- 
 ticular fashion, or a bee can help making hexagonal 
 cells, then you seem doubtless to liken iieason with 
 Instinct. But this is true only on the supposition that
 
 18G DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 a man's mind is mechanical, and that his faculties are 
 placed beyond his control. Now, suppose it to be ad- 
 mitted that I cannot avoid drawing a certain conclusion 
 from premises in mathematical matters — as that the 
 three angles of a figure are equal to two right angles, 
 if that figure have those three angles only — I am under 
 no such necessity in any question of moral or probable 
 evidence ; and on a question like that different minds 
 will differ, or the same mind at different times. Again, 
 I am under no necessity — even if I admit that I have 
 no choice on moral evidence — I am under no necessity 
 of exercising my volition in one given way, unless 
 indeed you deny that I have ever any free-will at all. 
 If so, and if you contend that, the same motives being 
 presented to my volition in the same circumstances, I 
 must needs choose the same course, you may also con- 
 tend that, the same circumstances being presented to 
 my judgment in the same frame of the feelings, I must 
 needs draw the same conclusion ; and this may seem to 
 make out an identity of Reason with Instinct : but this 
 is the dispute of liberty and necessity which every man's 
 consciousness and hourly experience decides in favour 
 of liberty, except in so far as it is a mere dispute about 
 terms. But I really do think that, allowing the ques- 
 tion to be disposed of either way, there is a specific 
 difference between Reason and Instinct : for, even upon 
 the principle of necessity, suppose the man and the bee 
 to be equally under the entire control of the premises 
 in reasoning, and the circumstances or motives in 
 willing, whatever it is that each does, be it the necessary 
 consequence of the circumstances or not, is different in 
 the two cases. Suppose that if the bee reasoned she 
 would be under the necessity of drawing the same con- 
 clusion, and that if she exercised an election, she could 
 not avoid choosing one course, and that it is the same 
 with the man — it still is not only not proved that the 
 bee does reason or choose, while we know that the man 
 does, but the contrary seems proved.
 
 INSTINCT FACTS. 187 
 
 A. How so? Were I to maintain the contrary I 
 should deny that we have any such proof. How do 
 you prove the negative proposition, that the bee does 
 not reason and Avill ? 
 
 B. Observe, I do not say we have the proof of the 
 negative as clearly as we have of the affirmative, l^ut, 
 beo-inning with laying aside those actions of animals 
 which are either ambiguous or are referable properly 
 to reason, and which, almost all philosophers allow, 
 show a glimering of reason ; and confining ourselves to 
 what are purely instinctive, as the bee forming a 
 hexagon without knowing what it is, or why she forms 
 it : my proof of this not being reason, but something 
 else, and something not only differing from reason in 
 degree, but in kind, is from a comparison of the facts 
 — an examination of the phenomena in each case — in a 
 word, from induction. I perceive a certain thing done 
 by this insect, without any instruction, which we could 
 not do without much instruction. I see her working 
 most accurately without any experience, in that which 
 we could only be able to do by the expertness gathered 
 from much experience. I see her doing certain things 
 which are manifestly to produce an effect she can know 
 nothing about, for example, making a cell and furnish- 
 ino; it with carpets and Avith liquid, fit to hold and to 
 cherish safely a tender grub, she never having seen 
 any grub, and knowing nothing of course about grubs, 
 or'that any grub is ever to come, or that any such use, 
 ]icrhaps any use at all, is ever to be made of the work 
 she is about. Indeed, I see another insect, the solitary- 
 wasp, bring a given number of small grubs and deposit 
 them in a hole which she has made, over her egg, just 
 grubs enough to maintain the worm that egg will pro- 
 duce when hatched — and yet this wasp never saw an 
 egg produce a worm — nor ever saw a worm — nay, is 
 to be dead long l)(!forc the worm can be in existence — 
 and moreover she never has in any way tasted or used 
 these grubs, or used the hole she made, except for the
 
 i88 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 prospective benefit of the unknown worm she is never 
 to see. In all these cases, then, the animal works 
 positively without knowledge, and in the dark. She 
 also works without designing anything, and yet she 
 works to a certain defined and important purpose. 
 Lastly, she works to a perfection in her way, and yet 
 she works without any teaching or experience. Now, 
 in all this she differs entirely from man, who only works 
 well, perhaps at all, after being taught — who works 
 with knowledge of what he is about — and who works, 
 intending and meaning, and, in a word, designing to do 
 what he accomplishes. To all which may be added, 
 though it is rather perhaps the consequence of this 
 difference than a separate and substantive head of 
 diversity, the animal woi-ks always uniformly and alike, 
 and all his kind work alike — wdiereas no two men work 
 alike, nor any man always, nay any two times alike. 
 Of all this I cannot indeed be quite certain as I am of 
 what passes within my own mind, because it is barely 
 possible that the insect may have some plan or notion 
 in her head implanted as the intelligent faculties are : 
 all I know is the extreme improbability of it being so ; 
 and that I see facts, as her necessary ignorance of the 
 existence and nature of her Avorra, and her working 
 without experience, and I know that if I did the same 
 things I should be acting without having learnt mathe- 
 matics, and should be planning in ignorance of unborn 
 issue ; and I therefore draw my inference accordingly 
 as to her proceedings. 
 
 A. Come, come. Master B., I begin to surround you 
 and drive you from your original position, maintained 
 both now and last summer, about the impossibihty of 
 defining. Have you not as nearly as possible been 
 furnishing a definition ? At least, are not the materials 
 of definition brought together which you deprecated, 
 and would have us reserve to the last ? 
 
 B. Patience, good man — patience ! What is this to 
 what you have gone through ? Fancy yourself once
 
 DsSTIXCT — FACTS. 189 
 
 more in the House of Commons, on the Treasury 
 bench, listenhig to 
 
 A. God forbid ! 
 
 B. Or suppose yourself again in Downing Street, 
 with Drummond announcino; a succession of seven 
 deputations or of seventeen suitors. 
 
 A. The bare possibihty of it drives me wild Why, 
 to convert you to the most absurd doctrine I could 
 fancy — ^to make you swallow all the Zoonomia whole, 
 and believe that men derive their love of waving lines 
 and admiration of finely-mould forms from the ha])it of 
 the infant in handling his mother's bosom, or even to 
 drive you into a belief that the world was made by 
 chance — would be an easy task compared to the per- 
 suading any one suitor at any one of the offices that 
 you had any difficulty in giving him all he asks, or 
 convincing any one of those seven deputations that 
 there exists in the world another body but itself. 
 
 B. Or to convince any one man, who ever asked any 
 one job to be done for him, that he had any one motive 
 in his mind but the public good, to which he was sacri- 
 ficing his private interest. I remember M. [Melbourne] 
 once droUy observing, when I said no man could tell 
 how base men are till he came into office, " On the 
 contrary, I never before had such an opinion of human 
 virtue ; for I now find that no man ever drops the least 
 hint of any motive but disinterestedness and self-denial 
 — and all idea of gain, or advantage, is the only thing 
 that none seem ever to dream of." But now compose 
 yourself to patience and discussion — take an extra 
 pinch of snuff — walk about for five minutes, a distance 
 of five yards and back, with your hands in your 
 breeches' pockets, and then return to the question with 
 the same calmness with which you would have listened 
 to a man abusing you by the hour in parliament, or 
 with which you k)okod an hour ao-n, in the Castle farm, 
 at the beast you had bred, and which by your compla- 
 cent aspect I saw you had sold pretty well.
 
 190 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 A. But, indeed, I sometimes can't help fancying that 
 it may be as well to take our observations upon Instinct 
 from the operations and habits of such large animals as 
 him you speak of — at least, not from insects ; because 
 it is possible that if we could see as accurately all the 
 detail of the latter as we do of the former, much of the 
 marvellous might disappear, and we might be as well 
 able to account for their proceedings, wliich now seem 
 to us so unintelligible, as we are to account for those 
 of the greater animals, which are clumsy and cumbrous 
 enough, and rather appear to proceed from an obscure 
 glimmering of reason than from an inexplicable power 
 guiding them unconsciously to work with the perfection 
 which we ascribe to the bee. In a word, might not 
 the cells be found to have as many imperfections, as 
 great deviations from the true form, as any of the ox's 
 operations have from perfect exactness, if either the 
 bee were as large as the ox, or our senses as acute as 
 the bee's ? Has she not as great aberrations from the 
 exact pattern in proportion to her own size and to the 
 instruments, her feet and feelers, which she works with ? 
 I throw this out as a matter very fit to be settled in 
 the outset, in order that our own reasoning may not 
 proceed upon gratuitous assumption. 
 
 B. For the sake of ascertainino- how far the workincr 
 IS as perfect as it appears, I admit the importance of 
 your observation ; but for nothing more. I deny that 
 it aifects the body of the argument at all ; because that 
 depends in no degree upon the perfection of the work. 
 Thus the proceedings of the solitary wasp are just as 
 good for my purpose as those of the bee. i^ay, the 
 instinctive operations of the greater animals furnish 
 exactly the same materials for reasoning, though they 
 may not be so striking. However, to the point of your 
 comparison — you must keep in mind that we have ap- 
 plied the powers of the microscope to the operations of 
 the bee. Now, without going to an instrument of the 
 power of Torre's, which magnified the linear dimensions
 
 INSTINCT FACTS. 101 
 
 bet-ween 2000 rdid 3000 times, and consequently tho 
 surface above 6,000,000 of times, take tbe mucli more 
 ordinary power of 400, which magnities the surtace 
 160,000-fokl — nay, if you take a microscope of only a 
 90-times magnifying power, you will see the work of 
 the bee in a straight line, exactly as you do that of a 
 man with the naked eye. But, I need hardly add that, 
 if you only saw it a quarter as well, or with a glass that 
 magnified 20 times, it would be enough : for then you 
 would examine it as you do the beaver's with your 
 naked eye. But, further, all the ditficulty you suggest 
 proceeds upon a fallacy. The hues may not be exactly 
 even which the bee forms ; the surfaces may have in- 
 equalities to the bee's eye though to our sight they 
 seem plane ; and the angles, instead of being pointed, 
 may be blunt or roundish : but the proportions are the 
 same ; the equality of the sides is maintained, and the 
 angles are of the same size ; that is, the inclination of 
 the planes is just — in other words, all the inequahties 
 don't affect the proportions of the parts ; for they are 
 common to each thing compared with another ; the axis 
 running through the inequalities (to speak more rigor- 
 ously) is in the true direction, and the junction of the 
 two axes forms the angle of 60 degrees as accurately 
 as if there were no inequalities. Now, then, the bee 
 places a plane in such a position, whatever be the 
 roughness of its surface, that its incUnation to another 
 plane is the true one required. 
 
 A. I suppose it is so ; but, at any rate, the solitary 
 wasp carrying the grubs in proper number and placing 
 them in tlio hole over the egg, or the bee placing her 
 egg in tlic liquor at the bottom of the cell, and making 
 that cell of the length to which the worm when hatched 
 will grow — she liaving never seen either the worm or 
 the chrysalis — is sufficient for our pur|)oso. 
 
 B. Not to mention the operations of tho worm itself 
 iu spinning the cocoon, and making it precisely the size 
 required to hne or carpet the cell when expanded and
 
 192 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 applied to it — nay, the motions of the chick in the eg^, 
 which always begins at the same place, and moves itself 
 on in the same direction, chipping away till it effects its 
 own liberation — all of which must be prior to experience, 
 and without the possibility of teaching. 
 
 A. You desired me last summer to examine, with a 
 view to the same point, the ducklings hatched under a 
 hen, and then taking the water, without the possibility 
 of her teaching. They have the form, web-feet, &c., 
 which enables them to swim, and which a chicken has 
 not. Their manner of getting into the water I cannot 
 say I well ascertained ; but it is certain enough that 
 the hen's proper brood would not have got in, and pro- 
 bably she would have succeeded in preventing them, 
 though she might not be able to keep the ducklings out. 
 
 B. However, a more decisive case occurred to me 
 afterwards : that of chickens hatched in the Egyptian 
 ovens. I have lately seen an intelligent Bey and his 
 aide-de-camp, who gave me the whole process ; and, as 
 was to be expected, there is not the slightest difference 
 between the conduct and motions, and habits gener- 
 ally, of these chickens, and of such as are hatched and 
 brought up by hens. This fact, as well as the working 
 of the chrysalis in spinning the cocoon, and of the chick 
 in chipping with its bill-scale, renders it quite unneces- 
 sary to inquire whether or not the honey-bee or social 
 wasp work by instruction from other bees or wasps. 
 That, however, appears to be impossible, when we con- 
 sider that as many as 30,000 young insects come from 
 one nest, to teach whom there are not old ones anything 
 like enough ; and to teach whom in a few hours, or even 
 days, to work as exactly as themselves seems wholly 
 impossible. The observation of cases where such teach- 
 ing is impossible, as in the chrysalis and unhatched 
 chicken, at once removes all doubt, and precludes the 
 possibility of supposing that the wasp's and the bee's 
 architecture can be traditional, or handed down by 
 teaching, from the first insects of the species that were
 
 INSTINCT FACTS. 193 
 
 created. Henceforward, therefore, we must assume as 
 part of the fact that the cells of the bee are made 
 without any instruction or any experience, and are as 
 perfect at iirst as they ever are ; which, by the way, 
 explains another peculiarity of instinct — that it never 
 improves in the progress of time. The bee, 6000 years 
 ago, made its cells as accurately, and the wasp its paper 
 as perfectly, as they now do. 
 
 A. Let us advert to one thino; more, and, havinnr 
 settled it, the way may at least be said to be cleared 
 for the argument, perhaps somewhat of progress even 
 to be made in the inquiry. You have been speaking 
 of Instincts in the plural ; of course you do not mean 
 to be taken literally, as admitting more kinds of mental 
 Instinct than one. 
 
 B. Certainly not ; any more than when speaking of 
 the mental faculties I admit of more minds than one, 
 or more parts than one of a single mind. This last 
 form of speech has been so used, or rather abused, 
 especially by the philosophers of the Scottish school, 
 accurate and strict as they for the most part are, that 
 they seem to treat the mind as divided into compart- 
 ments, and to represent its faculties as so many mem- 
 bers, like the parts of the body. But it is one thing 
 or being perceiving, comparing, recollecting — not a 
 being of parts, whereof perception is one, reasoning 
 another, and recollection a third ; so Instinct is one 
 and indivisible, whatever we may hold it to be in its 
 nature, or from whatever origin we may derive it. 
 This thing, or being, is variously applied, and operates 
 variously. There are not different Instincts, as of 
 building, of collecting food for future worms, of emi- 
 grating to better chmates — but one Instinct, which is 
 variously employed or directed. I agree with you, 
 however, tliat we have now done something more than 
 merely clearing away the ground. We have taken a 
 first step, or, if you will, laid a foundation. We have 
 ascertained the peculiar or distinctive quality of Instinct, 
 
 VOL. VI. O
 
 194 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT 
 
 and that which distinfruishes it from Reason, It acts 
 without teaching, either from others, that is, instruction, 
 or from the animal itself, that is, experience. This is 
 generally given as the definition or description of In- 
 stinct. But we have added another peculiarity, whicli 
 seems also a necessary part of the description — it acts 
 without knowledge of consequences — it acts blindly, 
 and accomplishes a piu'pose of which the animal is 
 ignorant. 
 
 A. I pause here and doubt of this addition. I per- 
 fectly admit the fact that it produces an eifect, mani- 
 festly the object of its operation, and yet without know- 
 ing it, consequently without intending it or designing 
 it. But there seems reason to think that it always 
 intends to produce some one effect, and does produce 
 it — that it has some one purpose, and accomplishes it, 
 and so designs something which it does. Thus animals 
 are impelled by hunger to eat ; their eating produces 
 chyle, blood, and all that is secreted from the blood ; 
 yet they had no design to promote their own growth 
 and preserve their own life. At least they ate long- 
 before they had any such design or any knowledge 
 that such would be the consequence of gratifying hun- 
 ger. So of continuing their species. May not tho 
 solitary wasp, for instance, have its organs and its 
 senses so constructed as to receive an immediate grati- 
 fication from collecting and burying grubs ? If so, her 
 knowledge extended to one, the first, event, and she 
 had the design in view of producing this event ; though 
 wholly ignorant of any subsequent event. The desire 
 of the first event, the fact of that event being a gratifi- 
 cation to the insect, was the means taken by the Creator 
 of the insect for making her do that which was to pro- 
 duce the important consequence, forming the real object 
 in view, though concealed from the animal. Thus we 
 may conceive that the insect is endowed with an appe- 
 tite for carrying grubs, and that this is so adjusted in 
 point of intensity as to be satiated when just so many
 
 ixsTiNrr — FACTS. 1 95 
 
 grubs are transported as will feed the \iext season's 
 worm, which is endowed with the desire to eat these 
 grubs, rejected as food by the parent insect. So the 
 wasp's senses may make the flavour, or the smell (for 
 that seems all she enjoys), of a living caterpillar more 
 o-rateful than of a dead one ; and hence she takes those 
 that will keep sweet till her own grub is hatched. 
 
 B. I do not deny the possibility of all this ; althouoh 
 there seems something gratuitous in it, and we possibly 
 never can know the truth by any observations or expe- 
 riments. I shall presently show why I do not think it 
 would entitle us to erase this ignorance of what you 
 would call the second event, or the object of the se- 
 condary design, from our list of the characteristics of 
 Instinct. But in the meantime 1 will mention what 
 occurs to me on your objection in point of fact. The 
 instant that a solitary wasp is hatched, or a bee can 
 fly, away they go to the spot where the caterpillars or 
 the wax-yielding substances are to be found. What 
 guides them through the air to things they cannot 
 descry or do not know the use of? 
 
 A. It costs me no more to suppose that there is some 
 smell or other sensation to guide them — some odour, 
 for example, which penetrates the air, and being grate- 
 ful to them makes them desire to approach the odori- 
 ferous body. Thus the bee smells the nectary of 
 flowers; she flies to them, she sips, and the wax is 
 secreted in her stomach. I grant you that I have 
 more difficulty with her operation in using it. 
 
 B. You clearly have ; for what should be the special 
 gratification of that ? We are admitting that she has 
 no kind of knowledge that the cell is to be used in 
 hatching and rearing the brood, any more than that a 
 hexagonal figure, with a certain inclination of its rhom- 
 Itoidal bottom, is to enable her and her associates to 
 employ the space and the wax in the way of all others 
 most economical of room and work and materials ; imd 
 so as just to acconnaodate the size of the unknown and
 
 196 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 unseen worm, chrysalis, or young bee, and no more — 
 and also to suit its form. 
 
 A. I think I could suppose also in this case that her 
 desire of action — her love of motion — is gratified by 
 the operation, and is satiated by continuing that mo- 
 tion to a certain extent, where she stops. 
 
 B. But allowing your right to make all these sup- 
 positions equally gratuitous, one after another, and to 
 extend them as the argument proceeds, and to relieve 
 the pressure as the fact pinches — see what it is that 
 vou must assume. The comb is constructed thus. 
 AVax-making bees bring a small mass of this material 
 and place it vertically to the plane from which the 
 comb is to hang down. Then other bees begin to ex- 
 cavate, one on one side, another on the other, and they 
 work with such perfect nicety, as never to penetrate 
 through the thin layer of wax ; also so equally that the 
 plate IS of equal thickness all throughout, its surfaces 
 being parallel. You must, therefore, suppose some 
 repugnance at once to a plate ever so little thicker, 
 and to one ever so little thinner than the plate's given 
 thickness. Indeed, this supposition, which some natu- 
 ralists have made, is wholly unsatisfactory, and shows 
 no accurate regard to the facts any more than their 
 notion (a most crude one) that the hexagon cells arise 
 from so many cyhnders pressing on each other. The 
 supposed instinct not to perforate wax, but to draw 
 back when they come to a given thickness, is inconsis- 
 tent with the fact ; for the original plate they work on 
 is uneven and of different thicknesses on both sides, 
 and there is no bee in the world (at least no social bee) 
 that ever made cylindrical cells. Huber has distinctly 
 shown, from having observed them at their work, that 
 they make them in quite another way ; nor mdeed, if 
 they did, could any pressure ever produce hexagons, 
 and far less rhomboidal plates. The wax-worker's 
 bringing plates of a given thickness is also wholly incap- 
 able of accounting for the angles, that is, the inclin-
 
 INSTINCT — FACTS. 197 
 
 ation of the plates — for supposing the bee to make a 
 groove (as she does), and suppose she has some means 
 of bisecting its arc by two chords, this only, with the 
 thickness of the cake, would determine the depth of 
 the rhomboid, and that can be easily shown not to be 
 the rhomboid actually made. She therefore makes 
 angles wholly independent of the thickness, not to 
 mention that were we to admit that the cake's thick- 
 ness governs the whole, we do not solve the problem ; 
 the difficulty is only removed a step ; for then how is 
 that exact thickness obtained? But this will not do 
 even to that extent ; a great deal more is done by the 
 bee, and a great deal more must be supposed to make 
 it conceivable that she has any immediate or primary 
 intention. She works so that the rhomboidal plate 
 may have one particular diameter and no other, and 
 always the same length, and that its four angles may 
 be always the same, the opposite ones equal to each 
 other, but each two of diiferent quantity from the other 
 two ; and then she inclines the plates at given angles 
 to one another. Why is there such a gratification to 
 the bee in a straight line — in a straight line at right 
 angles to a plane — in rhomboids — in rhomboids with 
 certain angles — any more than in lines or planes in- 
 clining at other angles to one another ? Why is the 
 bee, after working for half a quarter of a line in one 
 direction, to go on, and not take delight in a change 
 of direction ? If she goes on, why is she to be pleased 
 with stopping at one particular point? Nay, why is 
 each bee to take delight in its own little part of the 
 combined operation ? Why is each to derive pleasure 
 from doing exactly as much as is wanted, and in the 
 direction wanted, in order that when added to what 
 others have before done, and increased by what others 
 are afterwards to do, a given effect, wholly unknown 
 to her and to all the rest, her coadjutors, may be pro- 
 duced ? 
 
 A. It certainly is difficult to say. 1 can barely
 
 198 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 imagine the different bees so formed that some in- 
 explicable gratification may be the consequence of 
 moving in one line, and making one angle, and that 
 any other line or angle Avhatever may be disagreeable 
 to them. The concert in the operation of animals 
 seems to increase tliis difficulty much, always sup- 
 posing there is real concert without any arrangement, 
 communication, or knowledge. No man ever acted 
 so as to make his operations chime in with another's, 
 unless he either had previous concert with that other, 
 or both acted under a common superior, and obeyed 
 his direction; and then the joint operation was that of 
 this superior. But suppose a man were compelled by 
 some feelino; he could not accoimt for, and did not at 
 all understand, to go at a given time, to a certain 
 place, and with such speed as to arrive there at a 
 given moment, and were to find another just arrived 
 there, Avho came to meet him without the former 
 previously knowing of this, — we should have a case 
 similar to that of animals acting in concert, supposing 
 them to do so. There is, however, some doubt of this 
 as to the bees ; for Huber has said that they all act in 
 succession rather than co-operate contemporaneously. 
 
 B. I really can see no difference that tliis makes in 
 the argument as to concert. One bee brings wax and 
 does not sculpture ; another sculptures and does not 
 bring wax : but the wax-worker brings just as much 
 as the sculpturing bee wants, and at the very time she 
 wants it ; also, one works on the face, and another on 
 the back of the same rhomboidal plate ; and all so 
 work as never to interfere with or jostle one another, 
 which is the perfection of concert, and can only among 
 men be effected by discipline, which refers the whole 
 of the different purposes to one superintendent, and 
 makes his unity of design the guiding rule and im- 
 pulse, because concert among the different agents is 
 otherwise unattainable. But I own I can see no 
 greater difficulty thrown in our way by concert than
 
 rxSTINC'T — FACTS. 199 
 
 by blind agency — supposing it blind as to both the 
 events, and not merely blind as to the secondary con- 
 sequence — and your supposition of a first event known 
 and designed, the secondary being hidden from the 
 animal, would, I think, account for a case of concert, 
 as much as for any other operation ; for your hypo- 
 thesis of sensations and impulses would apply to con- 
 cert. You might say that each bee was induced by 
 the gratification of doing a certain thing, to take a 
 certain line at such a time ; that what it did should 
 answer to Avhat some other bee was by the like means 
 induced to do at the same time. I see no diff^erence in 
 the two applications of this hypothesis, 
 
 A. I rather think the time makes some difference ; 
 at least in rendering an addition to the hypothesis 
 necessary. For though the gratification of bringing 
 the caterpillars to its nest will account for the solitary 
 wasp doing what is also to serve the purpose of feed- 
 ing its young next season, something more is required 
 chan this motive to make one bee act in concert with 
 another ; it is necessary that there should be a grati- 
 fication, not only in doing the thing required, but in 
 doing it at the very moment required ; so that both 
 bees must be supposed to feel at the very same instant 
 of time the desire of the gratification in question, and 
 yet without any concert or communication. I hardly 
 see how my supposition of sensations and pleasures or 
 pains will explain this. 
 
 B. I all along have seen the greatest difficulty in 
 your explanation ; but does this consideration of time 
 increase it materially ? — or rather, is it not in all cases 
 part of the riddle which instinctive operations present 
 to us ? Thus the solitary Avasp acts, that is, according 
 to your hypothesis, feels the given sensation or derives 
 the supposed gratification at such precise time that her 
 acting upon it will suit the time required for the birth 
 and growth of the worm. The bird breeds, — but 
 before laying her eggs, and without any knowledge
 
 200 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 when she is to lay them, makes her nest, and it is 
 ready at the very time required. Therefore she feels 
 the desire of nest-making at the proper moment. I 
 will admit, however, that there is something still more 
 extraordinary in two separate and independent insects 
 feeling the same impulse at the same moment ; and 
 the difficulty is incalculably augmented, if twenty or 
 thirty insects all have the impulse separately, but all 
 at once, so as to act together. Indeed, I cannot help 
 regarding your solution as not only a gratuitous hypo- 
 thesis, for that it must needs be from the nature of the 
 thing, but one hardly conceivable, and in truth as 
 difficult to suppose possible as any other thing which 
 we can fancy in order to explain the phenomenon — 
 for instance, some invisible power or influence acting 
 upon the animal, or upon the different animals at once. 
 This is not at all more gratuitous, and it more easily 
 explains the phenomenon. 
 
 A. Consider if there is really any such essential 
 diiference between the case of instinct which we have 
 been considering, and any of the best known operations 
 of men, as well as animals, where we are not wont to 
 speak of instinct at all. Thus men eat from hunger, 
 which they intend to satisfy ; but the consequential 
 eifect, not intended, is chylification, sanguification, 
 secretion, and growth or sustentation of the body, as 
 well as the effect intended, and immediately produced, 
 of satisfying hunger. The mother eats things which 
 satisfy her appetite, and that is all she cares for ; but 
 those things also produce milk, which nourishes her 
 infant, and that she never thought of. The time is 
 also suited by the feeling. The hunger gives the 
 supply when the system wants it ; the eating produces 
 the milk when the infant requires it. How does this 
 differ from the other case ? 
 
 B. Much every way. The difference is wide and 
 marked. In the cases you put, the mental instinct is 
 confined to produce the effect intended; and having
 
 rXSTIXCT — FACTS. 201 
 
 produced it, the mind stops there and does nothin<' 
 more. The powers of matter, its physical quaUties, 
 set in motion, do the rest, of course beyond our direct 
 control, and unaided by us as unlvnown to us. But in 
 the case of Instinct the mind performs both parts — 
 both the things which it knows and intends, and the 
 thing which it neither knows nor intends. The mother 
 eats — nature produces the milk without the least action 
 of hers. But the bee not only gratifies herself (if that 
 is the cause of her architecture) by the structure of 
 the cell, but by her art, by her work, she does the 
 other thing also, that of provichng a lodging for her 
 young. It is as if the mother in your supposed case 
 were both to eat intentionally for satisfying her hunger, 
 and at the same time, without knowing or intendino' it, 
 were to make milk by some process of internal churn- 
 ing. It is as if in eating we at once chewed and 
 swallowed, and also with our tongue or teeth or fingers 
 made chyme, and then chyle, and then blood. It is 
 as if the animal in pairing both gratified his sexual 
 passion and voluntarily made the young by some pro- 
 cess of manipulation, though without knowing what he 
 was about, or intending to do it. 
 
 A. You must here distinguish a little, or rather you 
 must take into your account a point of resemblance 
 which you are passing over. How can any one even 
 acting with design affect matter in fashioning it or 
 moulding it, except by availing himself of the powers, 
 mechanical or chemical, belonging to matter? If I 
 distil, it is by availing myself of the process of fer- 
 mentation and of evaporation, and of condensation. 
 If I sow and reap, it is by availing myself of the 
 prolific powers of heat and moisture in the process of 
 vegetation. So even in processes where I seem to do 
 more and nature to do less ; if I build, or carve, or 
 weave, it is by availing myself of the qualities of 
 cohesion and gravitation, and of the powers of the 
 wedge in hewing, or of friction in polishing. Do not
 
 202 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 the animals who eat, the mothers who give suck after 
 eating and thereby secreting milk, in like manner do 
 part themselves, and as to the rest avail themselves of 
 the powers of natm-e in chyhfication, sanguification, 
 and secretion 't You perceive how much more nearly 
 akin the cases are than you have stated. 
 
 B. I am well aware of it ; indeed, we are now coming 
 nearly into the controversy about productive labour, 
 which you and I have often amused ourselves with as 
 political economists ; when I have always held that it 
 was a far less easy thing than those who discussed the 
 metaphysical parts of that science supposed, to draw 
 the line between productive and unproductive labour, 
 either by including manufactures or only commerce in 
 the latter — and agriculture alone or with manufactures 
 in the former, the productive class. Be it so : I am 
 content, if there be as marked a distinction here as 
 between the labour which produces or moulds matter 
 into a new substance, and that which only exchanges 
 one thing for another ; or defends the community, or 
 administers justice among its members. But, in truth, 
 we have, in our present argument, a specific difference, 
 admitting all that you have urged, as to the affections 
 and properties of matter being used by the animal in 
 both processes. The great and broad difference is this. 
 In the one case, as in the wasp carrying the caterpillar 
 to its nest, which she does and means to do, or, if you 
 will, gratifying her senses with the carrying, whatever 
 instruments she works with, she does the thing know- 
 ngly and intentionally ; she does it by means of gravi- 
 tation and cohesion, but still it is she, her action, her 
 will, her mind that does it. In the other case, that of 
 leaving the caterpillar in the nest for months, she has 
 done ; she quits the work ; nothing she does is at all 
 conducive to the operation then performed by nature ; 
 but what she did was all that could be done excepting 
 by nature. So the mother eats the galactigenous mat- 
 tov, and then has done ; nature does all the rest. But
 
 IXSTIXCT FACTS. 203 
 
 tliere is tliis material difference in what the bee or the 
 wasp does, — that she iinishes the whole operation vol- 
 untarily ; it is as if the mother were not only to become 
 gravid, but to prepare the child's clothes and habitatior^ 
 herself, and yet to do this without knowing what she 
 was about, and while she intended to do, and thought 
 she was only doing, some perfectly different thing. If. 
 indeed, you put the case of a person ploughing and 
 sowing for the purpose of strengthening his hmbs or 
 amusing himself, and not meaninjr anvthin^ to srow, 
 and also ignorant that anything will grow, and yet 
 choosing the seed which will grow, and sowing it at 
 the right time to make it grow — then you merely put 
 the case of Instinct in other words ; and the one thing- 
 will be as difficult to explain as the other. And if one 
 man should, by mere blind chance, do this the lirst 
 time, and some other man, equally ignorant of what 
 the use of thrashed wheat was, should reap and thrasli 
 it, and garner it away — and if all men were to do so in 
 two bodies, equally ignorant of what they were about, 
 I and yet both chiming in with each other in their opera- 
 tions, and both agreeing with the nature of things, 
 then we should say this is the self-same case with 
 Instinct — but we should add that this could not happen 
 without some overruling power not only giving those 
 men the desire to stretch their limbs, but guiding them 
 immediately how to do it — for there, as here, two de- 
 signs and only one designer appears, and therefore 
 suuie non-apparent contriver must exist and work. We 
 may again put it thus — When a man brews or tills, ho 
 does something himself, and leaves the rest to the 
 powers of nature. So when a mother eats or drinks 
 to gratify hunger or thirst, she has done ; nature does 
 the rest, namely, supports her body and secretes the 
 milk for her young. But the bee or the wasp does 
 the whole. They use the powers of matter, indeed, as 
 the farmer and brewer do, and as the mother does, in the 
 opoi-ation itself performed by them, namely, breaking
 
 204 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 the ground, throwing the seed, steeping the grain, 
 eating the victuals — but the insects finish the operation, 
 and leave nothing to be done. The solitary wasp has 
 completed a cell and provided food ; the young have 
 only to eat it. The bee has completed a cell with food 
 likewise. Neither mind nor matter on the part of either 
 insect has anything more to do ; the thing they intended 
 and knew all about is done, and in doing that thing 
 they did something else neither known to nor intended 
 by them. They only used the powers of matter in 
 doing the thing they intended. They did not leave 
 any natural powers to do the other thing not intended 
 by them ; but they did it also, though unintentionally. 
 Man does what he intended, but he does nothing more 
 — nature does the rest, both where he intended it, as 
 in ploughing or brewing, and where he did not, as 
 after eating to satisfy his hunger. In the bee it is like 
 a whole manufacture completed by the animal, though 
 unintentionally ; as if a man were to make a skein of 
 fine lace while he only meant to amuse himself with 
 twirling the bobbins, or playing with his fingers among 
 the flax or the threads. 
 
 A. I certainly think we do get to something like 
 a specific dilference. But compare the work of the 
 insect with certain chemical processes. If you mix, 
 or if any natural process mixes, certain salts, and the 
 liquor is left to evaporate, there are formed crystals, 
 say hexagons, as accurately as the bee forms her cells. 
 Also certain bodies move in lines which have properties 
 similar to the angles in the comb, as a heavy body fall- 
 ing through the shortest of all lines. There is no doubt 
 a diff'erence here, and a marked one ; yet it is as well 
 to consider it. 
 
 B. Doubtless there is a difference, and the greatest 
 possible. These forms are assumed, and these motions 
 performed : for instance, a stone falling to the ground 
 in the shortest line, or the planets, all arranged re- 
 specting their masses, the direction of their motions.
 
 INSTEs'CT— FACTS. 205 
 
 and the inclinations of the planes they move in, so as, 
 according to Laplace's beautiful theorem, to preserve 
 the system of the universe steady, by affixing limits, 
 maxinia and minima, between which the irregularities 
 oscillate; all these things are the direct and uninter- 
 rupted agency of the property which the Deity has 
 impressed on matter at its creation ; perhaps, of tlie 
 laws which His power perpetually maintains. But they 
 are wholly unconnected with any animal workmanship 
 of any kind ; they have no subordinate mind to guide 
 them ; nor can any act of ours, or of any animal, affect 
 them. On the contrary, in all our operations we must 
 conform to them. 
 
 A. Unquestionably it is so ; and this is the distinc- 
 tion, and the broad one. But then it follows from the 
 preceding deductions, that we must consider in the 
 works oflnstinct the animal acting as an agent, though 
 ignorantly and unintentionally, — a tool or instrument 
 blindly used to do a certain thing without its own know- 
 ledge 'or design; and the tool being a living thing, the 
 mind is the instrument. In the case of matter, the mat- 
 ter is the instrument blindly serving the purpose by 
 obeying the physical law. In our case the mind is the 
 instrument, and obeys the mental law as perfectly and 
 as bhndly. 
 
 B. There is one thing, however, always to be con- 
 sidered. We have hitherto been viewing Instinct alone, 
 and arguing as if animals always acted by it, and never 
 otherwise Now tliis is quite impossible, at least in the 
 sense in which we have taken the word Instinct. There 
 may be some doubt if we are right in so limiting the 
 term, though I have a very clear opinion that we arc. 
 Palcy and all or almost all others dedne Instinct to be 
 a disposition or acting prior to experience, and inde- 
 pendent of instruction. But among other objections, 
 there is this one to the definition, that it amounts to 
 saying " an acting without knowledge," and yet does 
 nut say it. There may be no experience, and yet no
 
 206 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 Instinct, e.g., we may act on the information of others 
 — but then what shall be said of the information given 
 by reasoning ; that is, by our inferences from our own 
 thoughts ? This is plainly not instruction. Is it expe- 
 rience ? If so, the definition seems only to say, that 
 Instinct is anything that is not reason, in other words, 
 that Instinct is Instinct. But I apprehend, when we 
 speak of instinctive operations we always have an eye 
 to some end which is blindly served by the act— some 
 act done by the animal, in which he does what he does 
 not mean, and in doing which he is a blind instrument. 
 
 A. How is it when we speak of instinctive desires ? 
 
 B. I should say we then mean something diiferent 
 from merely animal or natural desires, for that would 
 make everything instinctive. We mean desires which 
 are subservient to some purpose towards which they 
 move : some end beyond the doing the act seems always 
 involved in our notion of Instinct. We do not call 
 mere moving, yawning, stretching, instinctive ; and 
 when we speak of sucking or eating, and the desire or 
 power to suck or eat, as instinctive, it is surely with a 
 regard to the subserviency of those operations to sup- 
 port life that we so term them. If they did nothing 
 for our frame, we might call them natural, hardly 
 instinctive. 
 
 A. But be this as it may, no one can doubt that 
 animals, if we allow them to have these Instincts, and 
 to act for ends unknown to themselves, have other 
 actions of a kind resembling our own, and quite dis- 
 tinguishable from what we have been calling Instincts ; 
 therefore it signifies little whether or not we are right, 
 in giving the name to actions accomplishing undesigned 
 and unknown purposes, provided we keep that defini- 
 tion in view. These animals also have other actions, 
 where they both know and intend and accomplish their 
 definite object. 
 
 B. Undoubtedly, they have many such in which their 
 operations of mind and body cannot be distinguished
 
 INSTINCT — FACTS. 207 
 
 from our own. Xow whether these are under the iniid- 
 ance of faculties hke oiirs ; whether they have reason : 
 whether thev have faculties differing from our own in 
 kind, or only in degree — we need not at present stop 
 to inquire. It is quite enough for us that they have 
 two kinds of operations, one which we agree to call 
 Instinctive, distinguished by the ignorance of the ob- 
 ject and want of intention ; the other both knowingly 
 and intentionally done : so man, acting almost always 
 rationally, also acts in some rare cases unintentionally — 
 chietly in early infancy. 
 
 A. There may be instinctive acts with knowledge, 
 and there may be acts not instinctive without know- 
 ledge. Does not this break in upon the definition which 
 excludes knowledge as well as design ? Many parts of 
 human conduct seem to be guided by Instinct, and vet 
 with knowledge. 
 
 B. This would no doubt overturn the definition, 
 provided it be clear that "knowledge," and the 
 "presence of knowledge" are here used in the same 
 sense as in that definition. But we must make a dis- 
 tinction. There is acknowledge of some end or object 
 in view, and a knowledge of the means whereby that 
 end or object is to be attained ; in other words, of the 
 nwde of operating — of the process. There is also a 
 distinction to be taken between instinctive desires and 
 instinctive operations. The objection you have now 
 made refers to the former — to desires ; the latter, the 
 operations, are chiefly referable to the great question 
 respecting the controlling mind, or actual interposition 
 of the Deity, to which we are approaching ; but it also 
 refers, in some measure, to the objection which you 
 raise. Knowledge of consequence comes within the 
 description of object or end ; and if there be no inten- 
 tion to attain an end actually pursued, there can be no 
 knowledge of it ; and conversely, if there be no know- 
 ledge of it, there can be no intention to attain it. Take 
 anv instance of what vou call human instinct, as ImnffLr,
 
 208 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 or the sexual passion — these are desires, and their 
 gratification may be pursued without any knowledge 
 of, and consequently without any view to, the con- 
 sequences of making chyle and blood to support the 
 individual, or oiFspring to continue the race. As far as 
 the mere gratification of the desire or supplying of the 
 want goes, we may be said both to know what we are 
 doing and to intend or mean to do it. We are attracted 
 by our senses, that is, by the efi:ect of our senses on our 
 minds, to do certain things ; and this is called instinctive 
 acting, — I apprehend incorrectly. It is natural desire, 
 but why instinctive? When we say Instinct, do we 
 not mean something beyond this? Desires may be 
 subservient to Instincts ; but are they all we mean by 
 Instinct ? They may lead to the attainment of a certain 
 end ; they may be the way in which Instincts operate : 
 but ar^ they themselves Instincts ? If two foods are 
 presented to an animal, a man for example, who knoAvs 
 nothing of either ; and he is impelled, without knowing 
 why, to take the one and reject the other, and the one 
 is wholesome and the other a poison ; we at once call 
 this the operation of instinct, which some define to be 
 knowledge without instruction or experience, but which 
 I have wished rather to call mental action without 
 knowledge, or at least independent of knowledge. So 
 in Galen's beautiful experiment on the kid just born, 
 having been taken out of the mother, and which of 
 course had never sucked, when, upon many shallow 
 pans with different liquids being placed near it, tbe 
 animal preferred at once the pan containing goat's milk. 
 If the reason for the preference is some greater grati- 
 fication of the senses, or that the one food is pleasing, for 
 instance, in smell fragrant, and the other offensive, this 
 may be the mode taken by nature to make Instinct 
 operate according to your former hypothesis, which we 
 have been discussing at large ; and we certainly cannot 
 tell that such mav not, in all cases, be the mode taken 
 by nature for working to the same end. It seems,
 
 INSTINCT FACTS. 209 
 
 however, eminently unlikely that the whole operations 
 of bees, for example, should be owing to the pleasure 
 their senses receive from one particular form and pro- 
 portion alone, and a repugnance to all others, because 
 of their beino- disao-reeable to those senses. But do Ave 
 not, in all cases, mean, by usmg the word Instmct, to 
 point out the unknown connexion between the thing 
 done and something else of which the animal — the 
 agent — is not aware ? I grant you that we speak of 
 Instinct of hunger and Instinct of sex ; but is not this 
 only a way of saying, and do we not mean, merely 
 desire of food or sex, the gratification of which is a 
 natural propensity, and known and felt by us to be 
 such? Thus it is an Instinct which makes animals 
 propagate their kind while they merely mean to gratify 
 their passions, and which enables them to prepare a 
 nest, and have it quite ready at the very time they are 
 to want it for laying their eggs in. We always seem 
 to have the motive, the end, and the blind instru- 
 mentality in our view when we speak correctly of 
 Instinct. I may intend to do a thing, and know both 
 the object in view and that portion of the operation or 
 process which depends on me — e.g., to eat for the 
 purpose of making chyle. My ignorance of that pro- 
 cess, with which I have nothing to do, would not make 
 the operation of mine be called an Instinct. Indeed, 
 even if I eat to satisfy hunger, without any design of 
 supporting the system, this act is not instinctive, except 
 in so far as doing and meaning one thing, I am doing 
 another thing ignorantly and unintentionally. 
 
 A. I think we have got as far as we can in these 
 preliminary discussions and observations of Facts, and 
 may now proceed to Theorize and infer. 
 
 B. However, we are come, or coming to a part of 
 the subject where we should be among our books ; for 
 we shall now have to look at them in proceeding farther. 
 At least, it is as well we should observe what has been 
 liold on this matter by philosophers. So we had better 
 
 VOL. VI, P
 
 210 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 adjourn for the present ; and resume our conversation 
 in the hbrary, if indeed you, who are accustomed to 
 Althorp and Spencer House, can condescend to call 
 anything in this part of the world by that name. We 
 commonly, from feeling tliis modesty, name it the 
 Book-room. 
 
 A. And I dare swear, also from your love of the 
 Saxon idiom. 
 
 B. Possibly ; though I would that our good old 
 English never suffered more havoc than by calhng 
 Book-rooms Libraries. I expect to outlive it, as Ser- 
 jeant Maynard said he had nearly done the law, with 
 the lawyers.
 
 211 
 
 BOOK OR DIALOGUE IL 
 
 INSTINCT.— (Theory.) 
 
 Having thus far carried on our discussion in the open 
 air, we removed, towards the afternoon, to the hbrary 
 — '•' cum satis ambulatum videretur, turn in bibliothecu 
 assedimus"* — and there conveniently pursued the sub- 
 ject, which greatly interested us both. 
 
 B. The manifest difference between Instinct and 
 Reason which we have been observing, and its regular 
 and constant action, always the same, and never 
 improved, but never different, indeed apparently in- 
 capable of improvement, was probably the considera- 
 tion which induced Descartes to consider animals as 
 machines. 
 
 A. I am aware that this is commonly said of him. 
 But I know not how that great man could really have 
 held so untenable a position. Did he really considei- 
 them as mechanical contrivances — as mere physical 
 substances, without anythino- answcrino; to what we call 
 Mind? _ .y ^ . 
 
 B. He is always so represented ; but when you 
 examine his own statement closely, you really find that 
 this is an exaggci-ation, and that his doctrine differs 
 not very much from that commonly received. As has 
 oftentimes happened to others, his sentiments are rather 
 taken from the statement of thorn by those who were 
 controverting them, than from his own words. 
 
 • " Whi?n we thought we had walked long enough, we took our seats 
 in the library." — Cic. de Div. ii.
 
 212 DIALOaUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 A. Where are they to be found ? 
 
 B. Look here — you have them in the short treatise 
 on Method, the introduction to his work on Dioptrics 
 and Meteors. He dwells on brutes having no gift of 
 speech, which yet requires very little reason, he says ; 
 and therefore he concludes not that they are less 
 rational than man, " sed plane esse rationis expertia."* 
 Thus far no doubt can exist ; he only gives a very 
 common opinion on the subject, though an opinion con- 
 troverted by some, as I shall hereafter ask you to 
 discuss : but it forms a head distinct from our present 
 inquiry. But a little way farther on he proceeds to 
 illustrate his position in a manner which has given rise 
 to the notion in question. " They do many things 
 even better than ourselves," he says, " but this does 
 not prove them to be endowed with reason, for this 
 would prove them to have more reason than we have, 
 and that they should excel us in all other things also 
 — but it rather proves them to be void of reason, and 
 that nature acts in them according to the disposition of 
 their members, as we see a clock, which is only com- 
 posed of wheels and weights, can measure time better 
 than we can with all our skill." He goes on to show 
 that the interests of virtue are greatly injured by the 
 belief, not that brutes have souls, but that they have 
 souls like our own — " brutorum animam ejusdem esse 
 cum nostra naturse," — and that therefore we have 
 nothing more to hope or fear in a future state than 
 flies or ants ; whereas he had shown our souls to be by 
 their nature independent of the body, and therefore 
 not mortal like and with it. All this you perceive is 
 anything rather than the doctrine that brutes are mere 
 machines. 
 
 * Be 3fetfiodo, 36. — " Istud aiiteni non taiitum iiulicat bruta minore vi 
 pollere quam homines, sed ilia plane esse rationis expertia. Videmus 
 enini exigua admodum opus esse ad Inquendum." — ["But that not only 
 indicates that brutes have less power than men ; it also proves them to be 
 void (.'f reason. For we see that vcrj' little reason is required to enable 
 men to speak."]
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 213 
 
 A. But Avhere do you find the adversary's repre- 
 sentation of it -which you mentioned ? 
 
 B. Here, in this other and very curious vohime, 
 containing his Correspondence with many learned per- 
 sons, and some less learned, as Christina, Queen of 
 Sweden, and our Princess Elizabeth, the Electress 
 Palatine and stock of our present Royal family, to 
 whom he writes, among other letters, one on her brother 
 Charles the First's execution — which, to console her, 
 he praises as more glorious than an ordinary death — 
 "pulchrior, felicior, et dulcior/'* 
 
 A. Does the Princess enter on the question of 
 animals ? 
 
 B. Xo ; she seems to have been ailing with fever, 
 and having been hght-headcd, she apphes to the philo- 
 sopher to explain to her how in the night she felt an 
 irresistible desire to make verses : this he courteously 
 explains (after saying it reminded him of a similar 
 anecdote related by Plato, of Socrates), that it is owing 
 to the agitation of the animal spirits, which in weak 
 brains produces madness, but in strong ones only a 
 genial warmth, leading to poesy, and thereupon he 
 holds her Serene Highness's case to be " ingenii soh- 
 dioris et sublimioris indicium." | 
 
 A. Upon my word, I shall begin to think a person 
 who could thus theorize as well as flatter about animal 
 spirits and Serene Highnesses, was capable of shutting 
 his eyes to the most ordinary facts, and believing 
 brutes to be machines. 
 
 B. Do not undervalue this great man : he is the 
 true author of all the modern discoveries in mathe- 
 matics. He made the greatest step that ever man 
 made since the discovery of algebra, which is lost in 
 the obscurity of remote ages : I m-^an his application 
 of algebra to geometry, the source of all that is most 
 valuable and sublime in the stricter sciences and in 
 
 * "Finer, happier, sweeter." — Epist., Pars I., Ep. xxvii. 
 t " The proof of a more solid and more loft}' understanding."
 
 214 DIAXOGTJES ON ESfSTINCT. 
 
 natural philosophy. But assuredly his physical and 
 iisychological speculations are much less happy ; al- 
 1 hough it was no mean fame to be the author of a 
 treatise, the answer to which was the first work ever 
 composed by man — Newton's 'Principia.' But I was 
 coming to the controversy on Instinct. An ingenious 
 clergyman of Cambridge, Henry More, objected to the 
 doctrine of the great philosopher, as laid down in that 
 treatise to which we have been referring, on Alethod ; 
 and he began by describing the doctrine as denying 
 sense and life to brutes. He speaks of Descartes' 
 genius, " chalybis instar rigidum et crudele, quod uno 
 quasi ictu omnium ferme animantium genus vita ausit 
 sensuque spoliare in marmora atque machinas ver- 
 tendo."* This he repeats in various ways, and argues 
 against, as the doctrine of Descartes. 
 
 A. Nothino- in what we have read out of Descartes' 
 own writings justifies this. Is there any other passage 
 to which More can allude ? 
 
 B. He refers expressly to the passage in the ' Trac- 
 tatus de Methodo,' and discusses the argument there 
 given from the want of speech. But there remains a 
 letter of Descartes to a certain great personage (ad 
 Magnatem quondam), in which he repeats the doctrine 
 of the treatise at somewhat greater length, but using 
 the same comparison of a clock, and using it as a com- 
 parison. His whole contention is, that they, the brutes, 
 have not reason lilvo us, which he terms sometimes 
 "intellect," or thought — "intellectum vel cogitationem." 
 But that he means reason, and does not mean to assert 
 that brutes are machines, seems plain from this, that 
 in the same passage he allows them natural cunning, 
 or craft, as well as strength — " imo et puto nonnullos 
 (animantes) esse posse quae naturalibus astutiis in- 
 struct ge sunt quibus homines etiam astutissimos de- 
 
 * " Rigid and heartless like steel, which, as by a single stroke, can 
 deprive almost all animals of life and sensation, turning them into marbles 
 and machines." — Ejndi Pars. I., Ep. Ixvi.
 
 INSTINCT — THEORY. 215 
 
 cipiant."* This is anything rather than describing 
 them as mere machines.f 
 
 A. But what does Descartes reply to liis corre- 
 spondent's letter, in which he represents that to be his 
 doctrine'!' Does he object to Mr. More's statement? 
 
 B. Why, singularly enough, he does not in distinct 
 terms repudiate it, though this may be owing to his 
 supposing tliat, as he had used the comparison of the 
 clock, Mr. More is also speaking in the same terms, 
 especially as Mr. More had professedly used figurative 
 language, and spoken of Descartes' cutting off all ani- 
 mals as with a sword. But he speaks certainly in this 
 answer! niore strongly than elsewhere. " I have dili- 
 gently inquired," says he, " whether all the motions of 
 animals came from two principles, or only from one ; 
 and as I find it clear that they arise from that principle 
 alone which is corporeal and mechanical, I can by no 
 means allow them to have a thinking soul. Nor am I 
 at all hindered in this conclusion by the cunning and 
 sagacity of foxes and dogs, nor by those actions done 
 by animals from lust, hunger, or fear ; for I profess to 
 be able easily to explain all these things by the sole 
 conformation of their limbs." He adds, that though 
 he sees no proof of the affirmative proposition (of their 
 having a thinking principle), yet he also admits there 
 is no proof of the negative ; and he then comes back to 
 
 * "Xa_v, I also think there may exist some brutes endowed with 
 natural cunning to deceive the most cunning of men." — Epist., Pars. I., 
 p. 107. 
 
 t He afterwards, in the same letter, .says, that although brutes do 
 nothing to show they can think, yet it may by some be supposed that as 
 tliey have limbs like our own, so thought (cogitatio) may be joined 
 with those limbs, as we know it is with our own, although in them tlie 
 thinking principle (cogitatio) may be less perfect tiian in us. " Ad quod," 
 says he, " nihil est quod respondeam nisi (piod si ilia cogitant ut nos, 
 animam etiam ut et nos imniortalem liabeiit, quod non est verisimile ;" 
 ["To which I can only answer, that if they think as we do, they must 
 also have, like us, an immortal soul, which is not probable;"] and he 
 jintceeds to say, that oysters, sponges, and other imperfect animals, can 
 hardly be supposed immortal. 
 
 + i'ars. I., Kp. Ixvii.
 
 216 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT, 
 
 his favourite topic of its "being less likely that worirs 
 should have immortal souls, than that they should 
 move like machines ;" and again refers to the want of 
 speech. 
 
 A. How any man who ever saw dogs in a field 
 pointing, or greyhounds chasing a hare, or still more, 
 dogs sleeping and manifestly dreaming without any 
 external object to excite their senses or motions, or 
 who had observed birds taught tunes, could ever sup- 
 pose them mere corporeal or material mechanism, 
 things made of dead matter and without hfe, I can- 
 not comprehend. 
 
 B. The best of it is that he positively afiirms they 
 have life. The letter I have just been reading from, 
 and in which his doctrine, if anywhere, is stated the 
 most exphcitly, concludes by warning Mr. More not 
 to suppose he denies them life ; and it is remark- 
 able that he uses the very words vita and sensus, 
 which Mr. More had represented him as refusing to 
 brutes — "Vehm tamen notari me loqui de cogita- 
 tione, non de vita vel sensu. Vitam enim nullo animali 
 denego."* 
 
 A. Then what does he mean by life and sense ? 
 
 B. He goes on to tell you, " utpote quam in solo 
 cordis calore consistere statuo ; " mistaking the indi- 
 cation or effect of life for life itself. He adds, " nee 
 denego etiam sensum, quatenus ab organo corporis 
 pendet."! Noav, can it be that Descartes really sup- 
 posed he had taken a tenable distinction here between 
 mind in man and in brutes ? Or that there could be 
 any perceptible difference between a machine endowed 
 with life and sensation, and capable of imitation, of 
 learning, and of much cunning — and a body animated 
 by a mind ? To speak of sensation as dependmg upon 
 
 • " I would have it borne in mind, however, that I am speaking of 
 thought, not of life or sensation, for life I deny to no animal." 
 
 t " Nor do I deny them sensation, in so far as that depends upon the 
 organs of the body."
 
 INSTDfCT THEORY. 217 
 
 the corporeal organs is either unintelligible or it is a 
 begging of the question, and the very same definition 
 might be given of our own sensation — nay, is given of 
 it by the materialists, who hold our mind to be the 
 mere result of a physical organization. Yet with 
 these Descartes differs more indeed than with all 
 others. 
 
 A. I cannot help thinking, on the whole, that it is 
 very possible this great man may have only meant to 
 deny the brutes a reason, or mind like ours, a power 
 of ratiocination, and not to consider them as mere 
 machines. But I am clear of one thing, that if he 
 did mean the latter, a more untenable doctrine never 
 was broached upon this, or indeed upon any other 
 subject. 
 
 B. We may, therefore, I conceive, pass over this 
 theory altogether. But another and a greater man 
 has been so pressed with the difficulties of the subject, 
 that he has recourse to a very different supposition, 
 and instead of holding the Deity to have created brutes 
 as machines without any mind at all, he considers their 
 whole actions as the constant, direct, and immediate 
 operation of the Deity himself. Such is the doctrine 
 of Sir Isaac Newton, which is saying enough to prevent 
 any one from hastily rejecting it, or rashly forming his 
 opinion against it. 
 
 A. Does he not mean merely to derive the actions 
 of brutes from a perpetually superintending and sus- 
 taining power of the Deity, as we ascribe the motions 
 of the heavenly bodies to the same constantly existing 
 influence? He probably only means that the brute 
 mind, having been created, is as much under the Divine 
 governance as the material powers, qualities, and mo- 
 tions are : in other words, that mind was created, and 
 matter was created ; and that still the actions and pas- 
 sions of both are constantly under the guidance of the 
 Creator. So that Sir Isaac Newton would no more 
 deny the separate existence of the minds of brutes.
 
 218 DIALOGUES ON DfSTINCT. 
 
 tlian lie would the separate existence of their bodies, 
 or of the heavenly bodies. 
 
 B. Here are liis own words. The passage occurs 
 in the famous 31st Query, or General Schohum to the 
 ' Optics ; '* and you see that, after recounting the struc- 
 ture of animal bodies as proofs of design, he adds, 
 " And the instinct of brutes and insects can be the 
 effect of nothing else than the wisdom and skill of a 
 powerful, ever-living agent, who, being in all places, is 
 more able by liis will to move the bodies within his 
 boundless uniform sensorium, and thereby to form and 
 re-form the parts of the universe, than we are by our 
 will to move the parts of our bodies." He proceeds to 
 guard the reader against a supposition of the Deity 
 being the soul of the world, or of brutes, or of His 
 being composed of members or parts, stating that He 
 only " governs and guides all matter by his prevailing 
 power and will." So that you see he draws the dis- 
 tinction between the mind or will of men, which influ- 
 ences the motions of their bodies, and the influence 
 which moves brutes; plainly enough referring the 
 latter to the Deity himself, as the primum mobile, or 
 actuating principle ; for he allows that the kind of ubi- 
 quity or universal action to which you refer applies to 
 our bodies, and I presume to our minds also, wliich were 
 created and are sustained by Him. Of that no doubt 
 can exist, because elsewhere he has laid down as cleai' 
 this ubiquity, called, as you know, essential ubiquity, 
 to contradistinguish it from potential or virtual. You 
 find this plainly stated in the 'Principia' — here is the 
 celebrated General Scholium : " Omnipresens est non 
 per virtuteni solam, sed etiam per substantiam" — " In 
 
 * There is nothing more admirable for extent and generalization of view 
 than this 31st Query. The happy conjecture respecting the nature of the 
 di iinond in the '2nd Book (Part II., Prop. 10), does not surpass the won- 
 derful sentence in the query, where Sir Isaac Newton classes together, as 
 similar operations, respiration, oxydation, and combustion. These have 
 since been discovered to be the same process. In Sir Isaac Newton's time, 
 their diversity seemed as great as that between the diamond and charcoal.
 
 IXSTINCT THEORY. 219 
 
 ipso continentur et moventur universa, sed sine mutua 
 passione."* Therefore it is quite manifest that, in here 
 treating of Instinct, that is, of the operations of animals, 
 he considers the Deity's action as different from that 
 general direction which he ascribes to Ilim over matter 
 and mind by His essential ubiquity. In other cases He 
 acts on matter and mind, and in the case of mind, He 
 acts on matter mediately or through the agency of 
 mind, which mind He moves. But here He acts, ac- 
 cording to Sir Isaac Newton, directly on matter, and is 
 the moving and acting principle of animals ; and such 
 has generally been the construction put upon his words 
 as you have them here in the 31st Qii^ry. It has been 
 so stated by so popular a poet as Pope, and also, though 
 with less precision, by Addison. The former takes the 
 distinction, in his ' Essay on Man,' between brutes as only 
 liaving vohtion, which in them acts for both willing and 
 reasoning : while men have the double faculty. lie 
 expresses himself with his wonted felicity : — 
 
 " See then tlie acting and comparing powers, 
 One in thtir nature, which are two in ours ; 
 And Reason raise o'er Instinct as you can, 
 In this 'tis God that acts, in that 'tis Man." 
 
 Essay, Ep, iii. 
 
 Addison in his 120th 'Spectator,' after giving many in- 
 stances in which he jumbles together Instinctive and 
 Intelligent operations, concludes with the remark, that 
 '' they can no more be explained than gravitation can ; 
 .aid come not from any law of mechanism, but are an 
 immediate impression from the first mover, and the 
 Divine energy acting in the creature." 
 
 A. This dogma of Newton is certainly great autlio- 
 rity — the greatest human authority. For it is the 
 opinion — and, regard being had to the awful nature 
 of the subject as well as the contemplative and religious 
 
 * "He is omnipresent, not virtually alone, but substantially" — " In Iiim 
 all things are contained and moved, but without mutually allecting each 
 other." — Frinci/na, lib. iii., Sch. Gen.
 
 220 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 nature of the man, it is probably the well-considered 
 opinion — of the greatest inquirer into nature that ever 
 existed, and whose conjectures have been almost as 
 happy, and are certainly quite as marvellous, as his 
 complete discoveries. 
 
 B. Observe, too, that it is the opinion of his maturer 
 years. The Scholium to the 'Principia' was added in 
 the later editions — when written does not clearly ap- 
 pear, but the second edition was published in 1713, 
 and the third as late as 1726. The 31st Query to the 
 ' Optics ' was added at a time which can be fixed better. 
 The first edition of the ' Optics,' published in 1704, had 
 not the queries. The second, published in 1717, had 
 them ; and the third edition was corrected by the 
 author's own hand a short time before his death ; from 
 which corrected copy the one I am now citing was 
 printed in the year 1730, after his decease. But as 
 he first published this passage in 1717, and was born 
 in 1642, he was then in his 75tli year, and had long 
 before made all his discoveries. 
 
 A. I quite agree that as far as mere authority goes, 
 no opinion ever had so great a weight — nevertheless 
 we have the same illustrious man's authority, and ex- 
 ample too, to teach us that it is by our own reason 
 alone that we ought to be guided in philosophizing, and 
 we must brino; to the test of that canon even his best 
 considered opinions. 
 
 B. This I of course freely admit. Let us, then, 
 examine a little this doctrine of immediate interposition 
 — which regards the work of the bee, for instance, as 
 the direct and immediate operation of Divine wisdom 
 and power. 
 
 A. I need hardly warn you against being seduced 
 by another bias, as powerful as Sir Isaac Newton's 
 authority — the disposition we must have, if possible, 
 to believe in a doctrine which, by exhibiting the finger 
 of God as perpetually moving and working before our 
 eyes, seems to bring us constantly into His presence,
 
 INSTINCT — ^THEORY. 221 
 
 as if we saw a perpetual miracle wrought, and almost 
 enables us to commune with the Deity, as the Patri- 
 archs did of old. The gratification to us, as men, of 
 reaching this position, should not make us, as philoso- 
 phers, open our ears the more readily to any unsound 
 or inconsistent reasonings, assume facts on slight 
 grounds, or, passing over flaws in the argument, re- 
 ceive easily erroneous conclusions from what we see. 
 
 B. Again I entirely agree with you. Far from 
 making greater haste to reach a position so delight- 
 ful, 1 should take the greater care of my steps, that I 
 might not slip and fall by the way : for that the road 
 is slippery, the light glimmering, and the route over 
 high ground, leading through precipitous passes, must, 
 I "think, be admitted freely. But let us step on 
 cautiously as we have hitherto done. 
 
 A. We left oiF with the deduction that brutes act 
 from a principle, a thinking principle, a mental prin- 
 ciple, something difterent from their bodies and from 
 surrounding objects, but that they act towards an end 
 of which they are ignorant, and accomphsh that end 
 without design, though very possibly they may also in 
 so actino- accomplish some intermediate end of which 
 they are aware, and which they intend to attain. 
 
 B. We may add another thing to the proposition. 
 The end which they accomplish blindly and instinc- 
 tively is fai' the more important of the two, admitting 
 that*^ there is another and intermediate one. For, 
 sujjpose your theory to be correct, that the solitary 
 wasp gratifies some sense in carrying caterpillars and 
 the bee, in making liexagons and rhomboids, it is plain 
 that this is a vci-y trifling matter ; it neither feeds, nor 
 clothes, nor lodg-cs her, nor her brood ; whereas, the 
 |)urposes to which those works are subservient are the 
 continuation of the species of the insects respectively — 
 tl'C greatest and most favourite end in nature. 
 
 A. True ; and you may add another thing, which I 
 allow, even if my theory be ever so certainly correct
 
 222 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 — that the only possible use of the intermediate end is 
 the accomplishment of the other end — for if you grant 
 me that the wasp carries caterpillars, and the bee 
 makes geometrical figures, to please themselves, or 
 gratify some sense, it is of no importance that either 
 should receive that gratification : its only use is the 
 unknown and unintended consequence of providing for 
 the unborn issue, 
 
 B. We are now then arrived at a very important 
 height, from whence we may survey the subject cor- 
 rectly and advantageously. 
 
 A. Let us be quite sure that we have left no obstruc- 
 tions, or rather that we have passed over nothing 
 material — that we have left no objections in our rear, 
 which may rise up and mock any inference we now 
 draw. For instance, are all our facts clear ? As to the 
 bee's architecture, some have questioned the theory. 
 I have heard it said that what seems so perfect a 
 structure, and so judicious a dividing out of the space, 
 so as to save room and work and material, is only the 
 necessary consequence of placing a number of cylin- 
 drical or globular bodies together ; that if you blow 
 many soap-bubbles in a basin they will, by their weight 
 and pressure, settle into hexagons. 
 
 B. There never was anything more absurd than 
 what some, calling themselves philosophers, have said 
 without a moment's reflection on this subject. No less 
 a name than Buffon may be cited for such nonsense. 
 There are two decisive answers: — First, the soap- 
 bubbles will not make hexagons, although your eye 
 may see straight lines formed by their intersections, 
 but not one hexagon the least like the bee's will you 
 find in all the foam ; and next, there is not a single 
 globe, or cylinder, or any figure like it ever made by 
 any bee. Huber has seen them, or rather had them 
 carefully observed, when at work ; they first make a 
 groove, and then form its walls into planes, and all the 
 :'est is a making of planes and angles one after the
 
 INSTINCT — THEOEY. 223 
 
 other without any circular figures at all. So some 
 one finding tlie eye of the bee to be a net-work, when 
 greatly magnified, and each mesh a hexagon, thouoht 
 he had found out why the bee works in that figure. 
 To which the answer was obvious, that men and other 
 animals ha^-ing circular pupils should, by parity of 
 reason, work in circles. But another answer was just 
 as decisive; that the light entering by a hexagon 
 almost infinitely small no more helps the bee to tliat 
 figure than if it entered by a circle or a square. Its 
 paws and feelers are to work. jS^ay, suppose even it 
 had a small pattern hexagon ready made, would its 
 working a large one on that model be at all less 
 wonderful ? Not to mention that the hexagon is not 
 the greatest wonder; the rhomboidal bottom of the 
 cell, and the angles which its three plates form with 
 each other, and with the walls, are the wonder, and no 
 one pretends to account for that. I pass over the 
 form of the hmbs ; nothing can possibly be deduced 
 from them in the smallest degree fitted to aid the bee 
 in her marvellous work. 
 
 A. Have not some sceptical inquirers thrown other 
 doubts upon the mathematical part of this great won- 
 der ? I think I have heard something of the kind, as 
 if ]\Iaclaurin, or whoever was the discoverer, had rather 
 been fanciful, or over-refining, and that the bee had 
 turned out to be not so good a geometrician as they 
 had supposed. 
 
 B. Here is a sample of those doubts — though they 
 are not indeed, like Newton's sound conjectures, stated 
 with the mod(>stv of doubts — but somewhat doo-mati- 
 cally. It was the celebrated Maraldi who first measured 
 the angles, and found them to be 109° 28' and 70^' 32' 
 respectively. Keamur afterwards set a young mathe- 
 matician, jmjiil of Hernouilli, called Koenig, to find what 
 were the angles that made the greatest saving of 
 wax, and the result was by his analysis 109° 26' and 
 70° 34', being withiin two minutes of his own measure-
 
 224 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 ment, which measurement he had not communicated to 
 Koenio-. But it turns out that the bee was rip'ht and 
 the analyst wrong : for by solving the problem in 
 another Avay I find that he erred by two minutes ; and 
 other mathematicians, with whom I have communi- 
 cated, distinctly find the same thing, and we have also 
 found how the error crept in.* 
 
 A. These angles must have been very nicely mea- 
 sured ; for the difference of two minutes, or the 2000th 
 part of the lesser angle, is very small indeed. How 
 were the angles first ascertained ? 
 
 B. Maraldi was a most accurate observer, and he 
 gives the angles, as I have stated, 109° 28' and 70° 32' ; 
 and he gives them to differ with the result of Koenig's 
 calculus, which was made after Maraldi had measured 
 — so he could not have fancied the amount. But I 
 have reduced it from measuring an angle to the easier 
 operation of measuring a small line. If those are the 
 ano'les, then it follows that the breadth of the rhomboid 
 is exactly equal to the side of the hexagon, and you 
 find it appears to be so. Also, if those are the angles, 
 the rhomboidal plates are inclined to one another at 
 the ano-le of 120°, that of the hexagon ; and you find 
 they do not differ when you place them together, one 
 within the other. However, I admit that this is not a 
 very close admeasurement of such small differences ; 
 and I presume Maraldi must have employed a micro- 
 meter. I have used one to compare the breadth of 
 the plates and sides, and I certainly can find no in- 
 equality. At all events, the bee seems entitled to the 
 benefit of Maraldi's previous measurement, which had 
 been thought to put her in the wrong, now that the 
 analyst and not she has been found in error. This, 
 however, is nothing to what follows. A Berlin 
 
 * See this fblly explained in the experiments and demonstrations 
 relating; to the comb in this volume. There is some contradiction in 
 Maraldi's statement, Mem. Acad, des Sciences, 1712, pp. 310-312; but 
 the above measure has always been considered to be that which he 
 intended to state as his resulU
 
 INSTINCT— THEOllY. 225 
 
 academician, tliinking, I suppose, to do a kindness by 
 Frederic II., objected to the bee, that though, if the 
 dimensions of the cell be given, the saving is as I have 
 stated, yet there is such a great waste of wax arising 
 from those dimensions as proves the saving of wax to 
 be no object. He sets himself the problem of what he 
 calls a minimum minimorum; namely, to find the 
 proportion between the length and breadth of the cell 
 which saves most wax ; and he finds it something quite 
 wide of the actual proportions. Now, I went over this 
 analysis, and aoain found the bee rig-ht, and the 
 philosopher at fault; for he had wholly left out the 
 hexagonal covering of the cell's mouth, which, whether 
 for brood or honey, there always is ; and I found the 
 actual or bee's proportions to save more than the aca- 
 demician's, when tins was taken into the calculation. 
 I moreover found the sides to be so much thinner than 
 the bottom, that a shallow and wide cell would have 
 cost more, even independent of the covering at the 
 mouth. Again, he admits the form chosen to suit the 
 bee's shape, which the form he calls a true minimum 
 never could ; but I show that it saves wax as well. 
 Lastly, I have solved another problem of a like kind, 
 namely, to find the angles that save most of the fine or 
 difficult work, which is the angular or corner-working 
 evidently, and that also is the thickest part of the 
 work necessarily. I find the solution gives the very 
 same angles which the bee uses, and which also save 
 wax in the other view. So that she has hit upon the 
 very form which in every respect is the most advan- 
 tageous, and turns out to be on all grounds right — as 
 indeed we might well suppose when we recollect who 
 is her Teacher. 
 
 A. All tliis is most satisfactory, and it was worth 
 stopping to state it. However, as we have made a 
 pause before our next advance, it may bo just as well 
 to stop for a moment longer in order to consider what 
 the bee's operation really is. How we should go to 
 
 VUL. VI. ' Q
 
 226 DIALOGUES OX INSTINCT. 
 
 work had we to build cells is plain enough. Suppose 
 we had discovered, which we should do by mathema- 
 tical investigation, the proper form, the due proportion 
 of the width to the length, and the proper angles of 
 the bottom or roof — then we should have drawings and 
 plans ; and by these we should either cut our planks, 
 if the structure were of wood ; or if it were of stone, 
 which more resembles the bee's materials, and is, be it 
 observed, much more difficult and complicated to work 
 with, we should, by those plans and by models or 
 frames, run our courses. It would be a nice and diffi- 
 cult work to make this masonry, and would require 
 the builder, both in hewing the stones and in putting 
 them up, to follow the details of the plan in its parts, 
 and without any regard to the general figure or result. 
 He would be wholly unable to succeed if he looked to 
 that ; all his building would be awry and out of the 
 required figure ; his only chance is to make his plan 
 exact, and his model-frames suit it ; and then he has 
 instruments and tools, plumb-lines, squares and plumbs 
 together, in order to raise his perpendiculars. By these 
 he proceeds, for he cannot trust his eye or his hand a 
 moment beyond the mere adjusting his work to his in- 
 strument and his plan. Now the bee confessedly has 
 neither plan, except what is in her head ; nor any model 
 at all whereby to guide her hand ; nor any instrument 
 to adjust her work to the plan in her head ; nor any tool 
 to work with except her paw and her feeler, which is as 
 her eye in doing the work. Then how does she work ? 
 B. Certainly, this is a most important consideration. 
 We cannot trust our eye or our hand an instant. We 
 have no exact perception of the line, and no steadiness 
 in pursuing it. We have recourse to plans and instru- 
 ments because we cannot form our lines by volition, 
 that is, by having a form in our mind and by making 
 our hands follow that form. We therefore must first 
 lay it down sensibly, and then guide our hands by 
 material means. Thus we have no power of forming
 
 INSTINCT THEOKY. 227 
 
 a dome, an arch, or a circle, or a perpendicular, or a 
 level, or even a straight line at all, or any one line or 
 form which we conceive in our mind. Far from beino- 
 able to follow these lines m great works, as roofs and 
 walls and excavations, we cannot even represent such 
 forms on a sheet of paper by our handiwork. If we 
 could do this we should work like the insect, who acts 
 immediately, and not through the instrumentality of 
 means. Unable to execute any purpose of our minds, 
 as she docs, we have recourse to instruments. We en- 
 deavour, as far as we can, to reduce everything to a 
 physical or material process — to exclude mental opera- 
 tion or agency altogether — to make the whole a mate- 
 rial, or as we call it, accurately enough, a mechanical 
 operation. Reason no doubt has taught us to do so ; 
 but it has taught us a general rule ; and there is little 
 or no reason, little or no operation of the mind, in its 
 application to the particular cases. On the contrary, 
 the use of the rule or method is that it precludes the 
 operation of the mind as much as possible, and makes 
 the whole physical, or nearly so. To take an instance 
 — we reduce, by engraving or printing, the whole opera- 
 tion of drawing a picture, or writing a page, to turning 
 a lever, which does the work for us. So in building, 
 though there is less mechanical facility, we guide our 
 hand by the instruments employed and the lines drawn, 
 making the operation as mechanical, as little mental, as 
 possible. The bee's operation is all mind together. Slic 
 has tio plans, no instruments, no tools. It is as if by 
 waving our hands among plastic materials we formed 
 walls, and domes, and columns, and never deviated a 
 hair'sbreadth from tlie perfectly accurate plan. I am 
 very decidedly of opinion that this essential difference 
 between tlie works of Reason and Instinct is of the 
 greatest impoftanco to our in([niry : for nothing can 
 more show the peculiarity of the instinctive operation ; 
 or more prove that the mind of the agent is as it were 
 the machine, and the instrument, to perform the work,
 
 228 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 and to perform it with an unerring certainty and with 
 absolute perfection. 
 
 A. Does this, which appears to me, as it does to 
 you, a most important consideration, bring us at all 
 back towards the ground of Descartes, which we had 
 passed over as forming a position wholly untenable : I 
 mean, that the insect is a mere machine, fashioned by 
 a perfectly skilful mechanic, and wound up to perform 
 the functions which he designed ? 
 
 B. Certainly not. The proposition which we have 
 just been deducing from the facts is rather of a kind 
 the very reverse : it affirms that the insect's mind per- 
 forms the whole operation ; it makes the insect's mind 
 the machine, if I may so speak. But let us see to what 
 it also leads or seems to lead us. We perceive there is 
 mind at work, action exerted, effect produced ; but we 
 see that the mind is quite unconscious of the effect, and 
 that the action works to a purpose which the mind 
 never contemplated. There is a thing done, an im 
 portant and rational thing done, but done by an agent 
 who neither intends nor knows anything about it. 
 Here there is design, but there is no designer — an 
 action and an object no doubt ; but that action per- 
 forming, besides what the agent intended, knew, and 
 did, something else (and that something the only im- 
 portant thing), which the agent neither knew nor in- 
 tended, and cannot possibly be said to have done at all. 
 This by no means leads us back to Descartes' position, 
 but does it not lead us to Sir Isaac Newton's ? The 
 design is manifest ; the action is perfectly and surely 
 adapted to it ; the purpose is with singular regularity 
 effected ; must there not be a designer, and who can 
 that be but the Deity ? There is none other that can 
 be suggested even. Must it not be He ? 
 
 A. Doubtless in one sense it must, as he is the de- 
 signer of all we see. But how is he more the designer 
 here than he is of the motions of the heavenly bodies, 
 or the growth and germination of plants ?
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 229 
 
 B. As tlius. In those cases there is nothing but 
 matter affected, or acting ; whatever laws were origin- 
 ally imposed on matter are followed ; whatever qualities 
 first communicated to it are displayed : all is material. 
 There was design in the original formation of it, in the 
 prescribing those laws, and impressing those qualities. 
 That design these bodies fultil ; they conform to the 
 primeval and original intention of their being. But 
 there is no rencAved design, no repeated intention, no 
 special and particular disposition in each case of action. 
 The Deity made a stone, and made the earth, so that 
 the stone falls to the ground by virtue of the general 
 rule of their formation. He is not to be referred to ; 
 he needs not interfere each time the support is with- 
 drawn from the stone, in order to direct the path it 
 shall take. If on that support being withdrawn some 
 interposition were required to decide how it should go — 
 for instance, whether it should stand still or not — 
 although it be admitted, that if it move it can but 
 move in the straight line downwards, the case would 
 more resemble Instinct, though even here it would be 
 diiferent ; for it is as if each hair'sbreadth of the stone's 
 motion required a new action to carry it on in its 
 course. 
 
 A. The Deity created matter so as to obey in each 
 case certain general laws : so he created mind in like 
 manner to obey certain laws in each case. Wherein 
 do the two facts differ, the fact of material and the fact 
 (jf mental action ? 
 
 B. As thus. The moving power is wanting in the 
 one case. I'he law is that matter shall act in a certain 
 way, and mind in a certain way ; but is it the mind of 
 the insect that acts when the whole mental process is 
 wanting, namely, the knowledge, thought, and will '! 
 Its mind acts, subject not only to a general law, but to 
 a particular impulse each time. Who gives the im- 
 ])ulse? Besides, your doctrine of the Deity creating 
 tiic insect's mind such as to act so in given circumstances,
 
 230 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 applies quite as mucli to our Reason as to its Instinct. 
 Let me, however, put a case : suppose we saw a man 
 born blind, to our own knowledge, without any teach- 
 ing, and without ever having tried it before, move his 
 fingers in the design of giving them exercise, as to keep 
 them warm, &c., but holding a pencil in them, and by 
 the same act producing, unknown to himself, a beautiful 
 and finished portrait, of perfect resemblance to the 
 original : or suppose we saw a man who had been born 
 and lived in a foreign country, and was utterly ignorant 
 of our language, of which he had never heard a word, 
 write a letter in correct English, or a beautiful copy of 
 verses, wdiile only meaning to try whether a pen was 
 well cut, or the ink rightly made — these acts are quite 
 analogous to the Instinct of bees. Nay, we may take 
 a nearer case, and suppose a man who never had learnt 
 mathematics, and did not know a line from an angle, 
 to solve on a slate a problem of great difficulty with 
 perfect and unerring accuracy, and this while he was 
 only trying the pen and the slate ; and suppose he then 
 appUed this solution to the combinations of a perfect 
 time-keeper, while he thought he was only cutting off 
 the superfluous pieces of two lumps of brass and steel 
 of which he intended to make weights, he being wholly 
 ignorant of what a time-keeper meant. There is 
 nothing more strange in this than the bee's architecture. 
 It is indeed exactly, and in all its parts, a parallel in- 
 stance. In all such cases (the extra thing done, and 
 not known or intended, being far more difiicult and 
 more important than the thing intended and known to 
 be done), we should at once pronounce that there was 
 a miracle, because of the thing done being without the 
 possibility of the apparent agent doing it unassisted, 
 according to the ordinary laws of nature. In other 
 words, want of power in the immediate agent compels 
 us to believe in the interposition of another agent having 
 the power. There is dignus vindice nodus, and we call 
 in the vindex. This is the foundation of all bchef that
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 231 
 
 there must be supernatural agency where the laws of 
 nature are suspended. But in the cases put there is 
 not only want of power, but of design. If want of 
 power in the apparent agent drives us to suppose or 
 infer the action of another unseen agent, want of inten- 
 tion or design should drive us to infer the intending of 
 another designer, and want of both power and intention 
 should make us infer the thinking of a planner wlio 
 intends, and the action of an agent able to perform the 
 work : in other words, to infer the interference of one 
 who has both the will and the power, each of which is 
 wanting in the immediate or apparent agent. 
 
 A. In the case you put of a miracle, there is a single 
 instance, and because it is solitary, we say the laws of 
 nature are suspended, and we call in supernatural aid. 
 In the case of Instinct, it is the constant course ; it 
 would be a suspension of the law, and a miracle, were 
 it ever otherwise. It is as much part of the law of 
 nature that the animal should do the thing in question 
 without intending it, or knowing how he does it, nay, 
 that he does it at all, as that man should do it knowingly 
 and intentionally, or that the animal should knowingly 
 and intentionally do those other things in which he acts 
 rationally, and not instinctively. Therefore this case 
 does not resemble a miracle. 
 
 B. The case of a miracle I did not put in this way 
 or with this view at all. I do not say tliat the instinc- 
 tive act of the animal, or of man when he acts merely 
 from Instinct, as he does, though most rarely, are to 
 be compared with miracles as being suspensions of 
 natural law : but only that the same reason which 
 makes us, when arguing from such suspension ot natural 
 laws, conclude that some power has interposed ditterent 
 from the powers acting under those laws, requires us, 
 when arffuino; from the acts done by the animal without 
 either design or power, to conclude that some agent 
 has interposed of power sufficient, and some intending 
 and desiirnino; being of will fitted, to do the acts iu
 
 232 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 question. Suppose, to put again my first case witii a 
 variation, we saw a blind man draw a likeness as often 
 as he stretched his fingers with a pencil in them, and 
 every foreigner of a certain class write good English 
 verses as often as he tried a pen, and every man of a 
 particular description make excellent time-keepers as 
 often as he cut away the parings of the metal balls he 
 was forming into weights — we should in every such 
 instance of these general laws (as they could now be) 
 have a right to draw an inference of one and the same 
 kind. What would that be ? Manifestly that here tlie 
 same thing was done without knowledge or intention, 
 Avhich in the other class of cases (those where reason 
 and experience operated) was done by means of know- 
 ledge, and with intention. For the gist of the question 
 and the whole difficulty is this — that we have two classes 
 of cases — the same act done in the one class knowingly 
 and intentionally, and in the other, without knowledge 
 or intention — and as in the vast majority of all acts 
 taken together of all kinds of agents, we can see no 
 such thing — indeed, cannot form the idea of such a 
 thing — as an act without power and will to do it, or a 
 thing resulting to all appearance from intention, because 
 in itself such a thing as we should do if we intended a 
 given thing, and yet without any Being to intend, so 
 we are compelled to infer the power, that is, the know- 
 ledge of the intender 
 
 A. Indeed, it must be observed, that when we speak 
 of a miracle we mean, and commonly do mean, two 
 things, not only the fact seen of the laws of nature 
 being suspended, but the inference drawn of some power 
 interposing capable of suspending them, and therefore 
 above them, and having sway over them ; and this in- 
 ference arises from the necessity under which we feel 
 of accounting for the phenomenon observed by suppos- 
 ing an adequate cause ; in short, from our being unable 
 to conceive anything done without a cause. The 
 ordinary powers with which we are acquainted fail to
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 233 
 
 account for this event, and we therefore infer another 
 power to be in operation. 
 
 B. Certainly it is so ; but then this is precisely the 
 case with Instinct, as compared with the other pheno- 
 mena, namely, those things done with both knowledge 
 and design on the part of tlie agent, that is, things in 
 doing which the agent is known to us, and intends, and 
 knows what he does. Suppose, according to the case 
 so well put by Paley, in the beginning of his book, — 
 suppose you find on a common a watch going and pro- 
 ducing manifestly an effect according to its construc- 
 tion ; this would show a design in its maker ; but only 
 a former, or bygone, a spent and executed design. 
 Nothing would be seen designing or intending, as it 
 were, before your eyes. Suppose, then, you saw the 
 watch, or other machine, making a second and third 
 machine, but not by mechanical contrivance — for that, 
 too, like the case put by Paley, would still only be 
 evidence of a former, or bygone, or executed design, — 
 you must suppose a new watch to be made before your 
 eyes without any material agency, or, which is the same 
 thing, made by a machine wholly incapable of perform- 
 ing the operation itself. Then you would necessarily 
 infer from these the existence of some being, some 
 thinking and designing and skilful being, capable of 
 doing what you saw, that is, of making the machine ; 
 and you would suppose this just as much if you saw an 
 incapable body performing the operation, as if you saw 
 the operation performed without any visible or sensible 
 material agent at all. Now, this is precisely the case 
 of the bee : it is the incapable body or being. 
 
 A. May it not all be said to be only another inference 
 of original and general design, as we deduce that con- 
 rlusion from the structure of the limbs of animals, and 
 the functions suited to that structure which those limbs 
 perform ? 
 
 B. YjVqxv if it were so, there is the broad distinction 
 between mere mental and mere physical agency ; and
 
 234 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 the difference between the inferences to which those 
 agencies respectively lead. But I apprehend the differ- 
 ence is greater still than this. The two cases are not' 
 at all the same or alike, hardly even analogous. We 
 never know of matter, or any combination of material 
 parts, acting or affected but in one way. We have not 
 matter with, and matter without, gravity, cohesion, im- 
 penetrability. But if the phenomena of instinct are to 
 be regarded as only one class of mental phenomena, 
 we have here two kinds of mind, endowed with wholly 
 different qualities, and acting in wholly different ways ; 
 one kind such that the being possessed of it neither 
 knows nor intends what he is doing, and yet all the 
 while does exactly as if he both knew and intended. 
 Nay, in one case, the agent possessing this mind is 
 manifestly able to act ; in the other, he is as clearly 
 incompetent in any way that we can conceive. If no 
 being is here concerned except the apparent, and un- 
 conscious, and impotent agent, it is like matter gravi- 
 tating to a centre which does not exist : and then, to 
 make the thing still more incomprehensible, and the 
 difference between matter as subject to general laws 
 and this case the more extreme, both these kinds of 
 mind are found in the same individual ; for he some- 
 times uses, as it were, the one, sometimes the other ; 
 he sometimes acts knowingly and intentionally ; some- 
 times blindly, as an instrument to do he knows not 
 what, nor cares — as if we had a piece of matter, a 
 lump of metal, for instance, which at one time was 
 heavy, and at another flew about in the air. 
 
 A. There is certainly a material difference; and I 
 should not much wonder if we were, sooner or later, 
 driven by the extraordinary nature of the case to some 
 new conclusion. These things have really not been 
 sifted as they deserved. Men have rested satisfied 
 with general and vague statements, and I suppose their 
 attention has been too much engaged by the great 
 curiosity of the facts connected with the subject to let
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 235 
 
 them closely reason upon the theory. However, I 
 must again recur to my supposition, and refuse to 
 quit this position where we now stand until we have 
 examined it more accurately. There are two kinds of 
 mind, I will sav. Then the Deitv created two kinds 
 originally. As he created two kinds of substance or 
 existence, mind and matter, and as he endowed these 
 with different qualities, so did he endow the two kinds 
 of mind with different qualities. As he made matter 
 solid and heavy, and made mind imperceptible to the 
 senses, but endowed it with consciousness, so he gave 
 the two kinds of mind different qualities — both of 
 course must have consciousness, which I take to be 
 the essence of all mind, at least we cannot conceive 
 mind to exist without it — but one he made such that 
 it could act rationallv, knowino- and intendino- all it 
 did — the other such that it acted without knowing or 
 intending. This hypothesis, you perceive, gets rid of 
 the necessity of supposing a constant interposition of 
 the Deity, unless in the sense in which He is said to 
 interfere for the purpose of maintaining and executing 
 the general laws which he originally framed for the 
 whole universe. 
 
 B. I perceive no such thing. I do not think your 
 supposition at all meets the fact, or removes the diffi- 
 culty, or dispenses with the other inference. In one 
 sense I may grant your assumption, namely, if you 
 only meant that the Deity originally willed the animal 
 should act in a certain way for a purpose which He 
 foreordained, and which He yet concealed from the 
 animal itself, though foreknown to Him, the Creator. 
 But in the same way all rational acts and intentions 
 may be said to have been foreknown and foreordained 
 by the Creator, which indeed seems, at least in the case 
 of an intelligent agent, only to mean that witli the 
 Deity there is no such thing as present and future, but 
 all things are seen as present. But then this resolves 
 itself into saying that the Deity originally designed and
 
 236 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 ordered the animal's acts; and that this Is the same 
 thing as if He actually superintended and did each act 
 of the animal at the moment of action — which is the 
 same thing with saying that the Deity constantly acts 
 and not the animal, and that is the theory in question. 
 But, in any other sense, to what does your objection, 
 or the hypothesis put by you in order to escape the 
 conclusion, amount? Only to this, that the Deity 
 created the instinctive mind such that it acts without 
 knowledge or intention, exactly as the rational mind 
 acts with both the one and the other. Now the theory 
 of course never meant to deny that the instinctive mind 
 was created by the Deity, and endowed with certain 
 qualities. Sir Isaac Newton expressly excludes the 
 supposition of the Deity being the ariima ynuncli, or 
 the soul of any part of nature, and clearly never in- 
 tended to represent Him, as Himself the soul of animals, 
 but only as constantly guiding that soul. But the 
 theory holds that the mind being endowed with certain 
 qualities originally and at its creation, those qualities are 
 summed up in this one, namely, to act, and to act quasi 
 mind, but without knowledge or design, and yet to 
 produce all the effects of both, and, moreover, that this 
 constitutes the whole of the qualities of instinctive 
 mind. This mind therefore was created such that it 
 must always be the blind instrument in the Creator's 
 hands; its knowledge and design, by the hypothesis, 
 reside as it were out of itself and in some other intel- 
 ligent being, that is, in the Deity, who is to supply at 
 each instant, the knowledge and design wanting in" the 
 animal mind, or to know and intend for it — and whe- 
 ther the Deity performs this operation, exercises know- 
 ledge and intention, beforehand and once for all, or 
 constantly and continually at all times, seems an imma- 
 terial distinction referable to the former head of the 
 alternative. The question always recurs — Was a mind 
 created of such a species that it could act quasi mind 
 without knowing and intending ? Is not that contrary to
 
 rS'STINCT THEORY. 2o7 
 
 the nature and essence of mind ? ^ 'ly, is it not a con- 
 tradiction in terms ? And is not your whole hypothesis 
 of two kinds of mind grounded on a false position, which 
 supposes a substratum to be endowed with various qua- 
 lities, and then, in order to make two kinds of that 
 substratum, confounds the qualities with the essence 'i 
 For what is mind but that which thinks, knows, wills ? 
 If there be no knowledge, will, intention, at all, mind 
 is not concerned in the operation, and we come to the 
 Cartesian hypothesis, that the animal is a machine. 
 Therefore knowledo-e and desio'n there must be ; and 
 it must either exist in the animal mind or in some other 
 mind which uses or employs the animal as an instru- 
 ment. Can this higher mind do so beforehand, or 
 otherwise than by constant operation, that is, constant 
 exertion of itself ? 
 
 .4. Then are we not getting either to the Deity 
 being the soul of the animal, or to the mind of the ani- 
 mal having none of the qualities constituting mind ? 
 
 B. We may suppose the mind to be the mere power 
 of giving voluntary motion to the limbs, and to consist 
 of no other quality, unless it thinks and intends. Then 
 the Deity may have suffered it to have these powers, 
 and to use them in some things, and there His own 
 intelligence does not interfere ; but not to use such 
 powers in other things, and there His intelligence does 
 interfere. 
 
 A. There is knowledge and intention in the animal. 
 The bee, for instance, knows it is carrying wax to a 
 given place, and placing it in a given direction. So 
 tar as the thing is done, the agent knows, and wills, 
 and intends what it is doing, and this in every possible 
 case of instinctive action. 
 
 B. But the whole question arises, not upon what tlie 
 1)00 knows and intends, e.f/., putting particles of wax 
 in a placi,', but upon what she cannot possibly know 
 anything about — the giving her work a peculiar form, 
 most difficult to discover at tirst, most advantageous for
 
 238 DIALOGUES 0?T IXSTINCT. 
 
 a certain end, and still more difficult to follow and work 
 by even when discovered. The question always is, who 
 desii^ns and knows these things unknown to the bee ? 
 And we cannot conceive the Deity acting thus origi- 
 nally through a future and non-existing animal ; al- 
 though we can easily enough imagine Him acting- 
 through an existing animal at the time. Tliis is sup- 
 posable on the theory of essential ubiquity, or indeed 
 upon any theory of ubiquity, even virtual. It merely 
 requires ubiquity — whether of essence, or of power — 
 some ubiquity — which no one denies who believes in a 
 Deity at all. 
 
 A. A child shall place together different lines and 
 angles, or other parts of figures, so as to form certain 
 diagrams. The figures he thus unwittingly makes 
 have certain properties quite unknown to him. All he 
 intends or knows is to put the parts together ; the rest 
 is consequential, arising from the necessary relations 
 of number and figure : so in cases of physical or con- 
 tingent truth : he may do, and mean to do, and know 
 that he is doino-, what will form a certain combination ; 
 but the laws of nature actino; on that combination, 
 produce, unknown to him, effects which he never in- 
 tended, and knew nothing of; as if he mixed sulphuric 
 acid and oil of turpentine, and there was an explosion ; 
 or an acid and an alkali, and there was a neutral salt 
 and a crystallization. 
 
 B. This, when examined, we shall find either to be 
 a case wholly different from the one in question, or to 
 be only idem per idem, as lawyers say when they have 
 a case put which is like enough to the one in hand, 
 but just as difficult to resolve ; so, in either way, the 
 argument will remain unaffected. If the child plays 
 with the things at random, and they happen to fall 
 into a certain shape once, or it may be twice, that is 
 certainly not the case of the bee, which regularly, and 
 without ever failing, always makes the figure required ; 
 and, upon being obstructed in her operations, varies
 
 IXSTmCT^THEORT. 239 
 
 her means till she can again attain the particular form. 
 If, on the other hand, the child places the things always 
 accurately in the same way, then the case not only 
 resembles the one in question, but becomes identical 
 with it ; all the arguments and all the difficulties apply ; 
 it is exactly idem ijer idem. So again, if the child 
 does a certain thing with knowledge and design to do 
 that and no more, leaving the rest to be done by some 
 law of matter unknown to it — this is not the case of 
 Instinct ; for the bee does all that is done by the 
 operation of mental agency ; the wall, the hexagon, 
 the rhomboid, are all made by the bee's living power ; 
 she does not place wax and leave it to fall into 
 hexagonal forms, as we mix salts and leave them to 
 crystallize into cubes or hexagonal prisms ; she forms 
 the figures herself, and when she has done her work 
 nothing remains to be done further by any law of 
 nature. But if the child makes a combination con- 
 stantly and correctly, say some useful substance not to 
 be made by accident or random working, then the case 
 becomes the same, and the aroument is not affected bv 
 it m any way. 
 
 A. You often complain of my obstinacy ; which I 
 call sometimes caution, and sometimes slowness, ac- 
 cording as I may be in a self-complacent or a modest 
 humour. 
 
 JJ. Then, as I do not remember ever to have seen 
 you in the former state of mind, I am sure you must 
 always call it slowness, which no one else ever called 
 it; but I will call it caution, and ask what more it 
 leads to i* 
 
 A. To this — that I would again hanker after my 
 doctrine of general laws, primarily impressed on matter 
 and mind both. You argue, and argue justly, that the 
 operations of matter and of mind arc to be kept apart ; 
 you allow that the material operation is explicable by 
 •id referable to general laws; you allow, too, that 
 whatever is wrought by the operation of mind, acting
 
 240 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 as such, is explicable by and referable to general laws 
 of mind, originally imposed, e.g., to desire what is 
 agreeable to it by its general constitution; to reject 
 what is bv the same constitution disagreeable. But 
 you say that we see, in the case of instmctive actions, 
 operations for Avhich desires and aversions will not 
 account, and operations carried on as if by the most 
 refined and correct reason, and yet without any mate- 
 rial or physical interposition ; that is, without any in- 
 strumentality whatever, as if a cast were made without 
 a mould, or a print without a plate. From hence you 
 say it is difficult to understand how there should not 
 be here an intellio-ent beinp-, as well as mere desires 
 connected with the senses — a cause connected with the 
 understanding. Now, hankering as before, I still ask 
 — though perhaps, after our long argumentation, with 
 somewhat diminished confidence — may not this be 
 accounted for by supposing a general law adapting 
 and adjusting all the proportions beforehand? May 
 not the Deity have originally appointed the taste or 
 desire of carrying caterpillars in the solitary wasp, for 
 instance, exactly to the very number required to feed 
 the worm after born, when, by the laws of matter, the 
 egg shall have been hatched and the grub produced 'i 
 So may not the bee form her hexagons and her rhom- 
 boids, in consequence of a gratification felt by a fore- 
 ordained law of her nature, in following those lines and 
 angles, and no other ? 
 
 B. That this is barely conceivable I may perhaps 
 admit. But it is wholly unhke any other operation of 
 the senses and desires of which we have any know- 
 ledge. It means this, that each desire is so nicely 
 adjusted as to produce in the animal the effects of 
 reason and intention in man, or of reason and intention 
 in the same animal when acting with design and know- 
 ledge, and not instinctively. The bird is to have a 
 pleasure in bringing sticks or moss to a certain place, 
 just at a given time, and putting them in one position
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 241 
 
 — the solitary -wasp, in bringing, and only in bringing, 
 for it never tastes, a certain number of caterpillars, 
 and to have no gratification in bringing one more, but 
 the strongest desire, because a sensible pleasure, in 
 bringing the eleventh as much as the first — also no 
 kind of gratification in carrying the eleventh to any 
 other place than the same where all the other ten 
 were put — also a like pleasure in forming the hole for 
 them, without the least regard to the use she is to 
 make of it, nay, ignorant beforehand of its being to 
 have any use ; and yet all the pleasure of carrying 
 caterpillars is to consist in carrying them to that par- 
 ticular hole, and there is no gratification to be derived 
 from carrying them to a place one hair'sbreadth on 
 the right or the left. Still more — it means that the 
 bee is to have such a gratification as proves irresistible, 
 and occupies her whole life, in tracing certain lines 
 and angles ; and yet this strong desire is so far under 
 control, even of reason, that on obstacles being inter- 
 posed, other lines and angles are to be made, reason 
 suspending the desire for the moment. So that the 
 law originally imposed, and the quality impressed on 
 the mind, was not one and inflexible, to do a certain 
 act in all circumstances, viz., to follow the impulse of 
 the desires implanted, and which form the animal's 
 nature ; but it was a law or order coupled with a 
 condition, and, as it were, giving a discretionary power 
 provisionally, or a power to be used in certain circum- 
 stances ; it was as thus — a law or order to do a certain 
 thing, to obey the impulse of the desire, unless certain 
 events shall happen ; and then and in that case to 
 cease following the impulse of the desire, and to follow 
 another guide, or rather to use a faculty, namely, 
 reason, and act according as it should direct, allow, or 
 recommend in the circumstances. Now, in the mere 
 union of desires with reason, while the desires act 
 blindly by impulse and the reason with discrimination, 
 there is nothing at all inconsistent or incomprehensible ; 
 
 VOL. VI. B
 
 242 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 it is the ordinary case of all mental operations. 
 But the peculiarity of the case now supposed is that 
 the desires act exactly like reason, producing the very 
 same effects unknown to the agent which reason does 
 with his knowledge. Are Ave not then calling different 
 things by the same name, when we say that it is the 
 influence of desires and appetites which makes the bee 
 form her cell and the spider her web ? Might not the 
 same kind of argument be applied to the operations 
 admitted on all hands to be those of reason, for 
 example, the investigations of Newton or Lagrange? 
 Might it not be said that they were influenced by an 
 irresistible propensity, from deriving some gratification 
 in drawing one line and using one divisor rather than 
 another ? But we know this not to be the fact. Why 
 and how ? Only from their statements and our own 
 consciousness. But for this, the same argument might 
 be used, and no one could refute it. So in the case of 
 the animal we argue thus, because we cannot ask her 
 and learn how she works. The impulse (it must all 
 along be borne in mind) of which the argument speaks 
 is a physical one, i.e., the effect of some external 
 object, or, which is the same thing, some operation of 
 the animal's body, on her senses ; it is a gratification 
 of this specific kind which the explanation assumes — ^if 
 not, it explains nothing. Then how little resemblance 
 does any such gratification which we can form any 
 idea of (leading the bee to her lines or angles, and the 
 solitary wasp to her carriages and deposits) bear to what 
 we know and feel to be the ordinary nature of physical 
 gratification, and the desires connected with it. 
 
 A. This consideration has much weight — I mean the 
 way you put the question as to the mathematicians. 
 It seems to show that we have just the same right, in 
 the case of the animal's instinct, to conclude in favour 
 of design and reason, and an intelhgent agent, and to 
 conclude against its being animal impulse or the direct 
 operation of the physical senses, as we should have,
 
 INSTINCT THEORY. 243 
 
 (lid we see the mathematicians at Avork, observe their 
 process, and mark the result congruous with that pro- 
 cess, before we spoke to them on the subject of how 
 their working was conducted. Indeed it is remarkable 
 that we are in point of fact just as much without the 
 evidence which the thus inquiring of them would afford, 
 as we are in the case of the animal ; for who ever asked 
 the question of either Newton or Lagrange, and yet 
 who doubts that both worked their problems from 
 knowledge with intelligence ? The reason why we do 
 not ask them is, that we have no kind of doubt in our 
 minds ; the view of the operation is enough for us. 
 This is because we sav to ourselves, "If I cUd so and 
 so, I know it would be from knowing and meaning to 
 do so and so, and not from any physical gratification." 
 This inference we transfer to others, by saying, " There- 
 fore I believe they act in hke manner." 
 
 B. Certainly ; and tliis, observe well, is the founda- 
 tion of all our reasoning as to design. The only 
 argument we ever have or can have in favour of any 
 intelhgent cause, from seeing the adaptation of means 
 to ends, on surveying the works of nature, is, that, if 
 we had done so and so, we should have had the design. 
 All we see is the fact of an adaptation ; the inference 
 of a cause, or of a designing being, rests on the kind 
 of reasoning you have just stated. So that in reality 
 we have reached this important position, that our argu- 
 ment for the existence of a designino- cause at all in the 
 universe rests on no better, indeed no other foundation 
 than our argument that instinctive action proves an 
 interposition of the Deity at each moment. 
 
 A. I must farther observe, however, that beside the 
 great weight of this consideration as last presented, I 
 feel the difficulty of the hypothesis of an original law 
 generally imjiosed to be much aggravated by the 
 consideration vou adverted to at the same time, of a 
 provisional and conditional law — a law to operate or 
 not, according to circumstances, as if two implements
 
 244 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 had been given to the animal, Instinct and Reason ; 
 for I feel the very gratuitous nature of this assump- 
 tion ; and I know that there is not a greater proof ot 
 our reasoning being merely hypothetical on any ques- 
 tion than when we find ourselves obliged to mould, 
 refit, and modify our hypothesis, in order that we 
 may adapt it to the new observations of fact. 
 
 B. But there remains a diflftculty still more insuper- 
 able in your way, which you do not yet advert to. 
 The supposition of a law, and a provisional or con- 
 ditional law, is all along founded on the assumption of 
 a person to obey it, to act instinctively, unless a certain 
 thing happens, and then to use Reason till a certain 
 other thing happens, and then to fall back upon Instinct 
 again. What can be more gratuitous, not to say 
 absurd ? The supposition that the Instinct is to cease 
 and the Reason to begin in a certain event, implies 
 that the animal acting by Instinct all the while was 
 reasonable and intelligent, else how could he know 
 when to lay down liis Instinct and take up his Reason ? 
 If I send a man to go straight on till he meets a mes- 
 senger, or sees a finger-post, he is just as much a 
 rational ao;ent all the while he does not deviate from 
 the way, as he is when, meeting the messenger or 
 seeing the guide-post, he does deviate. So that the 
 theory involves here this absurdity, that the instinctive 
 action is all the while an intelhgent and rational opera- 
 tion, contrary to the supposition. I can really imagine 
 nothino- more decisive or demonstrative than this — and 
 I purposely kept it to the last. 
 
 A. Perhaps the end is not yet come ; you have said 
 nothing; of the known errors or mistakes of instinct — 
 and thus I reserve also my strongest argument to the 
 last. I own that it was this consideration which, always 
 meeting me, drove me to deny the Newtonian doctrine, 
 and to find any or every other escape from it ; for 
 surely if the Deity is always acting, there can be no 
 mistake — everything must be perfectly successful and
 
 INSTLNCT THEOKY. 245 
 
 quite cei'tain. Yet how many cases of mistaken instinct 
 do we sec ? Mules begotten ; flies deceived by the 
 smell of the stapeha to lay their eggs where they can- 
 not breed the maggots, supposing the vegetable an 
 animal substance putrefying ; and many others. Now, 
 if this was only the result of similar desires originally 
 implanted, there is no difficulty ; for the law Avould be 
 to follow that smell, and this law is obeyed. 
 
 B. Now, I really think you have just yourself an- 
 swered vour strongest aro-ument ; for you admit there 
 was that general law. Had it no design ? Doubtless, 
 and but one, to lead the animal towards its food, and 
 the nest for its young — the two great objects of all 
 nature, preserving the individual, and continuing the 
 species. Yet here they fail in particular instances, 
 and do neither. Then is not this a defect or imper- 
 fection in the general law, detracting, 2^i''o tanto, from 
 its adaptation to work its undoubted purpose ? The 
 same Being gave the general law whom the Newtonian 
 theory supposes to be the particular agent. Then is it 
 not just as inconsistent with His perfections to believe 
 He has made a faulty statute, as to suppose that He 
 makes a mistake in particular cases ? Can there be 
 any difference at all here ? 
 
 A. How do we get out of this in the general case ? 
 
 B. You mean, how do we answer sceptical, or rather 
 atheistical arguments, drawn from these supposed errors 
 or imperfections 't Only by saying, that as in the great 
 majority of cases the design is perfect, and the wisdom 
 complete, it is probable that further knowledge would 
 remove all apparent anomalies, and reduce everything 
 to order, and to a consistency with perfect wisdom and 
 skill. In truth, we always assume design, even where 
 we cannot trace it. The physiologist never supposes 
 any part which he sees produced, as the spleen, to 
 have no use ; but rests satisfied that there is a purpose, 
 thoiigli he has failed to discover it ; and he hopes that 
 it will hereafter be revealed to his inquiring eye. iSo
 
 246 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 when he finds apparent imperfection, he has a right — ■ 
 nay, it is sound logical reasoning — to suppose, that 
 further knowledge would prove it to be perfect, as in 
 the vast bulk of cases he has found perfection. The 
 instances of erroneous or defective instinct are as mere 
 nothing compared to those of true or perfect instinct. 
 
 A. We also approach here the argument on the 
 Origin of Evil. There is somethins to be said, though 
 perhaps not much, as to the irreverent nature of the 
 supposition that the Deity acts, considering the mean- 
 ness or impurity of some instinctive operations, and the 
 trilling nature of others. 
 
 B. You may well say, not much in this ; there is 
 absolutely nothing at all. Our present argument only 
 refers to physical, and not to moral considerations. 
 Moral feelings or actions are of course not instinctive 
 at all. There is no blame where there is no choice — 
 no knowledge — no intention — no reason. Then, as to 
 indifferent acts ; there is nothmg small, or mean, or im- 
 pure in the Deity's eye. There is nothing in this more 
 than is sometimes, without due consideration, urged 
 against the doctrine of Essential Ubiquity. It all pro- 
 ceeds upon a forgetfulness that the Deity cares as much 
 for one creature as another ; all are alike proofs of his 
 wisdom ; all alike objects of his favour. So as to mat- 
 ter ; there is notliing impure or disgusting, except in 
 relation to our weak and imperfect senses, wliich are, 
 for wise purposes, so formed as to delight in some 
 things and to repudiate others. This is all relative, 
 and relative to ourselves and our imperfect nature. 
 To the Deity it can have no apphcation. The struc- 
 ture and functions of the maggot, bred in the most 
 filthy corruption that can disgust our senses, exhibits, 
 even to the eye of the philosopher, how cumbered so- 
 ever with the mortal coil, as marvellous a spectacle of 
 Divine skill and benevolence as the sanguiferous or the 
 nervous system of the human body, or the form of the 
 most lovely and fragrant flower that blows.
 
 CfSTINCT THEORY. 247 
 
 ^i. I think the instinct of hunger has begun to ope- 
 rate upon my structure ; whether stimulated by the 
 operation of the gastric juice upon the coats of the 
 stomach, or how otherwise, I do not stop to inquire. 
 Nor do I apprehend that our good hostess's instinctive 
 love of order and method would approve of our keep- 
 ing dinner waiting. 
 
 B. Your own excellent mother was the pattern of 
 that regularity, as of so many other admirable qualities ; 
 and the intercourse of society was in this, as in far more 
 important particulars, greatly reformed by her example. 
 Therefore let us adjourn our further discussion, of which 
 not much remains, at least not much that is difficult, 
 till to-morrow
 
 248 
 
 BOOK OR DIALOGUE ni. 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.— (Facts.) 
 
 A. It must be confessed, that for a subject so ex- 
 tremely amusing as well as interesting in a higher 
 view, Instinct has been giving us but little matter of 
 entertainment. I question if any persons ever talked 
 upon it for so many hours without almost a single 
 anecdote, or illustration of any kind from the facts, 
 which are inexhaustible in variety, and every hour 
 present new matter of wonder. Indeed, those ordina- 
 rily known are full of interest; and we have been 
 going on with, I think, two, the bee and the solitary 
 wasp, never even casting a look over the rest of this 
 boundless and variegated field. 
 
 B. Why truly so ; and the reason is plain enough. 
 We had a problem to solve, and we set ourselves to try 
 our hand at it. We assumed that the whole facts re- 
 sembled those few to which we applied our arguments, 
 or from which we drew our inferences ; and our choos- 
 ing two was quite right and safe — indeed, one rather 
 than two, for we have dwelt more on the solitary wasp 
 than even the bee, because no question could ever be 
 made in her case of training or traditionary instruction. 
 I do not at all repent of having pursued this course ; 
 it has prevented digressions and distractions, which 
 would have ensued, had we gone upon the facts at 
 large. We should have been perplexed, sometimes by 
 questions of evidence, sometimes by minute diiferences 
 of no importance to the argument, sometimes by ana-
 
 AXBIAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 249 
 
 logies only calculated to mislead. Our way has been 
 to pitch upon a good example or two, which in some 
 sort embody the subject, as far as matter of fact is con- 
 cerned — an abstraction of Instinct, as it were, without 
 immaterial particulars — and to confine our reasonings 
 and our illustrations to that. However, there can be 
 no sort of reason why we should not now reward our- 
 selves with a little of the entertaniment which, as you 
 say, so amply belongs to this great subject. 
 
 A. The Instincts which we have been considering 
 as our choice examples, especially that of the bee, are 
 certainly the most wonderful of all the animal pheno- 
 mena. But the cases where sagacity is shown, and 
 which seem really quite inconsistent with the doctrine 
 that denies brutes all rational faculties, are most fre- 
 quently cited to raise men's wonder ; and, as I take it, 
 for this reason, that we set out with supposing the 
 common animals to be wholly devoid of intellio-ence, 
 and are astonished to find them sometimes acting as if 
 they had it — while the operations of Instinct being in 
 many brutes above what any degree of intellect can 
 account for, we refer these to a totally different origin. 
 
 B. I quite agree with you. Perhaps one need not 
 go much more now into examples of Instinct. None 
 can exceed that of the bee, which has from the begin- 
 ning of the creation been working, and all over the 
 world working, in the same manner, upon the success- 
 ful solution of a problem in the higher mathematics, 
 which only the discovery of the diflerential calculus a 
 century and a-half ago could enable any one to solve 
 without great difficulty at all ; and which a celebrated 
 mathematician, who was devoted to the ancient geo- 
 metry, though an adept also in modern analysis, when 
 he solved, conceived that he had gained no small vic- 
 tory for that favourite science by sliowing that it could 
 solve this question of maxima and minima. 
 
 A. Nevertheless, there are other wonders of a like 
 kind, those which show Instinct to be as great in
 
 250 DIALOGUES ON DISTINCT. 
 
 manufactures as the honeycomb proves it to to excel 
 in architecture. The paper-making of the wasp is of 
 this class. She makes a paper as excellent as any 
 manufacturer at Maidstone ; she has been for sixty 
 centuries acquainted with what was only discovered by 
 men between five and six centuries ago — for I think 
 the question raised by Meerman confined the discovery 
 to the years between 1270 and 1302, though after- 
 wards a specimen was produced as early as 1243. 
 Moreover, when some of the more recent improve- 
 ments, as the lengthening and equalizing the fibres, 
 are considered, it is found that the wasp was all along 
 acquainted with these useful devices also. 
 
 B. I have observed, too, in examining her structures, 
 that she makes two kinds of paper, white and brown, 
 the former being fine cambric paper, and the two glued 
 together by an excellent smooth and durable kind of 
 cement. The white paper, I find, takes the ink as well 
 as if it were sized. 
 
 A. When stories are told to excite wonder under the 
 head of Instinct, they generally relate not to Instinct, 
 but to the Reason or IntelHgence which animals show. 
 However, there are other wonders of Instinct beside 
 those we have been adverting to. The uniformity of the 
 operations of animals of the same species everywhere 
 and at all times is remarkable ; and the expertness 
 they show from the first clearly proves that instruction 
 and experience has nothing at all to do with the matter. 
 Bring up a crow under a hen or under any other bird, 
 it makes as exact a crow's nest as if it were born and 
 bred in a rookery. 
 
 B. So Maraldi found that a bee an hour old flew off 
 to the proper flowers, and returned in a little time with 
 two pellets of farina, then supposed to be the materia 
 for making wax, now known to be used only in making 
 l)ees breed, since the capital discovery of our John 
 Hunter showed wax to be, like honey, a secretion of 
 the animal. Nay, before birth too the animal works
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 251 
 
 to an end, and with the same exact nniformity. Tlio 
 inimitable observations of the great Reanmm' show that 
 the chick, in order to break the egg-shell, moves round, 
 chipping with its biU-scale till it has cut off a segment 
 from the shell. It always moves from right to left; 
 and it always cuts off the segment from the big end. 
 There is no such thing as a party of what Gulliver 
 calls "httle-endians" in nature. All these singular 
 Instincts, however, regular and uniform though they 
 be, are, when circumstances require it, interfered with 
 by the rational process of adapting the means to the 
 end, and varying those means where the end cannot 
 otherwise be attained. But Instinct is regular and 
 steady in all ordinary circumstances. 
 
 A. The vast extent of the works performed by ani- 
 mals, especially by insects, is no less wonderful than 
 their instinctive skill. This arises from their immense 
 numbers, and the singular Instinct whereby they always 
 work in concert when gregarious. What can be more 
 astonishing than the work of the termites, or white ants, 
 which in a night will undermine and eat out into hollow 
 galleries a solid bed or table, leaving only the outside 
 shell or rind, and soon will make that too disappear ! 
 
 B. Or the ant-hills in tropical countries, twelve and 
 fifteen feet high, as if men were to make a building the 
 height of the Andes or Himalaya Mountains, when they 
 are vain of having made the little pyramids ? But let 
 us go to instances of the other class — of Intelligence. 
 
 A. Had we better begin this new discussion by as- 
 certaining whether or not the doctrine of a specific 
 difference between man and the lower animals is well 
 founded; or had we better begin witli the facts? 
 
 B. I am upon the whole for beginning with the facts ; 
 and I should come at once, as we have just been speak- 
 ing of concerted operations of Instinct, to the case of 
 the beaver, which is, under the head of Intelligence, 
 almost as wonderful as the proceedings of the bee and 
 the ant are under that of Instinct.
 
 252 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 A. But before quitting the bee, and the ant, and the 
 wasp, let us just observe their rational acts. They are 
 nearly as notable as their instinctive ones. The bee, 
 upon being interrupted by Huber in her operations, 
 shortened the length of her cells ; diminished their 
 diameter ; gradually made them pass through a transi- 
 tion from one state to another, as if she was making 
 the instinctive process subservient to the rational ; and, 
 in fine, adapted her building to the novel circumstances 
 imposed upon her ; making it, in relation to these, what 
 it would have been in relation to the original circum- 
 stance if they had continued unaltered. It is found, 
 too, that the ant, beside the wonderful works which 
 she instinctively performs, has the cunning to keep 
 aphides, which she nourishes for the sake of obtaining 
 from them the honey-dcAv forming her favourite food, as 
 men keep cows for their milk, or bees for their honey. 
 
 ^. On this discovery of Huber some doubt has lately 
 been thrown ; and do not let us trouble ourselves with 
 anytliing at all apoci'yphal when the great body of the 
 text is so ample and so pure. But the expeditions of a 
 predatory nature are by all admitted. They resemble 
 some of the worst crimes of the human race ; the ants 
 undertake expeditions for the purpose of seizing and 
 cai'rying off slaves, whom they afterwards hold in sub- 
 jection to do their work — so that the least significant 
 and the most important of all animals agree together in 
 committing the greatest of crimes — slave-trading. 
 
 A. With this material difference, that the ant does 
 not pharisaically pretend to religion and virtue, while 
 we bring upon religion the shame of our crimes by our 
 disgusting hypocrisy. But the wasp, too, shows no 
 little sagacity as well as strength. Dr. Darwin relates 
 an incident, to which he was an eye-witness, of a wasp 
 having caught a fly almost of her own size ; she cut off 
 its head and tail, and tried to fly away with the body, 
 but finding that, owing to a breeze then blowing, the 
 fly's wings were an impediment to her own flight, and
 
 ANMAL INTELLIGENCE — PACTS. 253 
 
 turned her round in the air, she came to the ground 
 and cut off the fly's wings one after the other with lier 
 mouth. She then flew away with the body unmolested 
 by the wind.* 
 
 B. I have myself observed many instances of similar 
 fertility of resource in bees. But perhaps the old 
 anecdote of the Jackdaw is as good as any — who, when 
 he found his beak could not reach the water he wanted 
 to drink, threw into the pitcher pebble after pebble till 
 he raised the surface of the hquid to the level of his 
 beak. Lord Bacon tells it of a Raven filling up the 
 hollows in a tree where water had settled. 
 
 A. Or the Crows of whom Darwin speaks in the 
 north of Ireland, who rise in the air with limpets and 
 mussels, to let them fall on the rocks and break them, 
 that they may come at the fish. It is said that animals 
 never use tools, and Franklin has defined man a tool- 
 making animal ; but this is as nearly using tools as may 
 be — at least, it shows the same fertility of resources, 
 the using means towards an end. 
 
 B. It does a httle more. It shows the highest reach 
 of ingenuity, the using the simplest means to gain your 
 end — the very peculiarity for which Frankhn's own 
 genius was so remarkable. He could make an experi- 
 ment with less apparatus, and conduct his experimental 
 inquiry to a discovery with more ordinary materials, 
 than any other philosopher we ever saw. With an old 
 key, a silk thread, some sealing-wax, and a sheet of 
 paper, he discovered the identity of lightning and elec- 
 tricity. Here we are instituting a harmless comparison 
 l)et\veen the bird and the sage : but the crow's genius 
 is said once to have come in collision with the head of 
 a philosopher in a less agreeable manner, when, mis- 
 taking the bald skull of Anaxagoras for a rock, she let 
 fall the oyster from such a height that it killed him. 
 
 A. But there certainly must be allowed to bo oven 
 
 • ZooDomia, Sec. xvi. IG.
 
 254 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 nearer approaches to tool-making, or, at least, to tlio 
 use of tools, amonii' animals. There are many insects 
 which use hollow places, and some which use hollow 
 I'eecls or stalks for their habitations, 
 
 B. Indeed they do ; and perhaps the most remark- 
 able of all proofs of animal intelligence is to be found 
 in the npnphte of Water-Moths, which get into straws, 
 and adjust the weight of their case so that it can always 
 float — at least, JNIr. Smellie says that when too heavy 
 they add a piece of straw or wood, and when too light 
 a bit of gravel.* If this be true, it is impossible to deny 
 pTeat intelho-ence to this insect. 
 
 O O 
 
 A. Why should we doubt it? The crow in rising 
 and letting the mussel fall shows as great knowledge 
 of o-ravitation as the moth in this case. 
 
 B. But an old Monkey at Exeter Change, ha^vong lost 
 its teeth, used, when nuts were given him, to take a 
 stone in his paw and break them with it. This was a 
 thing seen forty years ago by all who frequented Exeter 
 Change, and Darwin relates it in his Zoonomia. But 
 I must say that he would have shown himself to be 
 more of a philosopher had he asked the showman how 
 the monkey learned this expedient. It is very possible 
 he may have been taught it, as apes have oftentimes 
 been taught human habits. Buffon, the great adversary 
 of brute intelligence, allows that he had known an Ape 
 who dressed himself in clothes to which he had become 
 habituated, and slept in a bed, pulling up the sheets 
 and blankets to cover him before going to sleep ; and 
 he mentions another which sat at table, drank wine out 
 of a glass, used a knife and fork, and wiped them on a 
 table-napkin. All these things, of course, were the 
 consequence of training, and showed no more sagacity 
 than the feats of dancino;-doo-s and bears, or of the 
 learned pig — unless it were proved that the ape on 
 being taught these manipulations became sensible of 
 
 * Transactions of Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. i., p. 42.
 
 ANDIAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 255 
 
 their convenience, and voluntarily, and by preference, 
 practised them — a position -which no experiments ap- 
 pear to support. Smellic, however, mentions a Cat 
 which, being confined in a room, in order to get out 
 and meet its mate of the other sex, learnt of itself to 
 open the latch of a door ; and I knew a Pony in the 
 stable here, that used both to open the latch of the 
 stable, and raise the lid of the corn-chest — things which 
 must have been learnt by himself, from his own observa- 
 tion, for no one is hkely to have taught them to him. 
 Nay, it was only the other day that I observed one of 
 the Horses taken in here to grass, in a field through 
 which the avenue runs, open one of the wickets by 
 pressing down the upright bar of the latch, and open 
 it exactly as you or I do. 
 
 A. I have known, as most people living in the 
 country have, similar instances, and especially in dogs. 
 
 B. But there is one instance of animals catching 
 their prey in a way still more hke the tool-making 
 animal. I do not allude merely to the Spider's web, 
 or to the Pelican's use of his large open pouch in fish- 
 ing ; but to an American bird, of which you find a 
 curious account in the ' Philadelphia Transactions.'* It 
 is called the neun-tddter by the Germans, as we should 
 say the nine-killer, and is found to catch grasshoppers 
 and spear them when dead upon twigs where the small 
 birds come on which it feeds ; for the grasshoppers 
 themselves it never touches. These are left, generally 
 about nine in number (from whence its name), the 
 whole winter, and they attract the birds of which the 
 animal in question makes its prey. This is really using 
 one creature as a bait, in order thereby to decoy and 
 catch another. 
 
 A. It is certainly a singular and curious instance, 
 whether of Instinct or Intelligence. Are there not 
 stories told of apes using a cat or some other animal — 
 
 • Vol. iv.
 
 256 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 I should suppose rather anything than a cat — to get 
 chesnuts out of the fire ? — or what else is the origin of 
 the phrase cafs pmv ? 
 
 B. Fable, I presume. Many fables have a real 
 origin in fact : this, I suspect, has not. Monkeys, on 
 the contrary, have been used by men to obtain fruit or 
 cocoa-nuts, by pelting them, and their defending them- 
 selves with a fire of nuts. 
 
 A. That, however, is a plain instance of sagacity and 
 imitation. They used missiles, as missiles were used 
 ao-ainst them. Some of our own bellig-erent measures 
 of retaliation have not always been nearly so judiciously 
 contrived, 
 
 B. No : we once, by way of retaliating on Napoleon, 
 helped him ; as if the moiilceys had pelted themselves, 
 instead of throwing at us. However, an unexception- 
 able authority, Captain Cook, or at least Captain King, 
 in Cook's last voyage, has a singular instance of sagar 
 city in the use of means, and almost weapons, in Bears 
 Here you have his account of their mode of hunting : 
 " The wild deer {harein) are far too swift for those 
 lumbering sportsmen ; so the bear perceives them at a 
 distance by the scent ; and, as they herd in low grounds, 
 when he approaches them, he gets upon the adjoining 
 eminence, from whence he rolls down pieces of rock ; 
 nor does he quit his ambush, and pursue, until he finds 
 that some have been maimed."* 
 
 A. Certainly, such a well-attested fact as this is very 
 important, and worth a thousand stories of lions and 
 jackals. But you spoke of coming at once to the 
 Beaver, as the parallel to the Bee. 
 
 B. Certainly it is, and may be called, in respect of 
 its works, the Bee of quadrupeds, or if you will, of In- 
 telligent animals, holding among them as high a place 
 as does the Bee among; Instinctive creatures. Never- 
 theless, there may be some doubt raised how far Instinct 
 
 • Cook's Third Voyage, vol. iii., p. 306.
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — PACTS. 257 
 
 lias a share in his operations. They are of great uni- 
 formity : all packs or companies of beavers, and at all 
 times, build the same shaped structure, and resemble 
 one another closely in matters which are arbitrary, and 
 therefore cannot be considered as the result of experi- 
 ence or reflection — cannot be dictated by circumstances. 
 This, however, opens a question of some difficulty, 
 which, according to the plan we are pursuing, may be 
 left to the end of our discussion, after we shall have 
 gone through the facts. In considering the beaver, I 
 think we shall do well to follow Butfon, as we did upon 
 the ape, because he purposely rejected every thing- 
 marvellous or doubtful in the accounts he had received 
 from travellers, and these must have been numerous, 
 for Canada was then a French colony. Those singular 
 animals assemble in bodies of from two to four hundred, 
 and choose a convenient station in the lake or the river, 
 having regard to the slope of its banks and their woodi- 
 ness, but also, no doubt, to the frequency of floods in 
 the water. If it is a lake, or a river that varies little 
 in its level, they build their huts without any further 
 structiu-e, but if the level changes much, they construct 
 a dam or dyke, what we call a breakwater, extending 
 eighty or a hundred feet across, and ten or twelve 
 broad : they thus keep the water nearly of the same 
 height, at least they thus always obtain a sufficient 
 depth of water. They then work in concert on the 
 wood, gnawing the trees and branches to suit their 
 operations. A tree the thickness of a man's body they 
 will soon bring down by gnawing round its base, but 
 on one side merely, and they know so exactly the 
 operation of gravity on it, that they make it fall always 
 across the stream, so as to require no land-carriage. 
 It must be observed, in passing, tiiat if they do this the 
 first time they have built, and without any previous ex- 
 perience of falling bodies, the ojK>i'ati(m must be taken 
 as purely instinctive. They form their cabins so as to 
 
 contain from fifteen to twenty-live or thirty animals ; 
 vol,. VI. 8
 
 258 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 each cabin has two doors, one to the land, and one to 
 the water, in order that they may either go ashore, or 
 bathe or swim, and sit in the water, which is part oi 
 their pleasure, or rather of their amphibious existence. 
 They have in each cabin also a storehouse for placing 
 the parts of the shoots on which they feed (for that 
 they make provision against winter is quite certain), 
 and room enough for accommodating their young when 
 brought forth. The cabins are built on piles, so as to 
 be out of the water ; they are neatly plastered with 
 cement, the animal's flat and scaly tail being used as a 
 trowel in this operation. They are of sufficient strength 
 to resist not only the stream and floods to which occa- 
 sionally they may be exposed, but also severe storms 
 of wind. The beavers choose to work with a kind of 
 earth not soluble in water, and which they mix with 
 clay. Such is the account of those very rational and 
 intelhgent proceedings which Bufi'on, sceptical beyond 
 all men of stories respecting animal reason, sifted out 
 of all he had lieard, after rejecting everything that boi-e 
 the appearance of exaggeration or fancy. He adds, 
 that a single beaver which he had, showed, in its solitary 
 and domestic state, no signs of sagacity or resources ; 
 but rather appeared to be a stupid animal. According 
 to his strange theory, that animals are degenerating in 
 mind, and losing their faculties as man improves (a 
 notion derived from confounding their loss of dominion, 
 power, and numbers, in a wild state, with their loss of 
 intellect),* he considers the beaver as the " only sub- 
 sisting monument of the ancient intelligence of brutes." 
 
 A. They say doubts have of late been cast upon the 
 former accounts of the beaver. I am told, Hearne, one 
 of the best North American travellers, is cited for this. 
 
 B. Here is what that excellent observer says upon 
 the subject : you shall judge if he has in the least 
 altered the case. The beavers select, he says, eitb.er 
 
 * Vol. iv., p. 73, and v., p. 21.
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 259 
 
 in small lakes or in rivers, spots where the water is of 
 such depths as not to freeze to the bottom, preferrino-, 
 however, running water, because this helps them to 
 convey the timber they require. They begin by form- 
 ing a dyke across with fascines, stones, and mud, but 
 without piles buried in the ground ; this dyke, whose 
 only use is to give them a convenient level of water, is 
 convex on the upper side fronting the stream ; and it 
 becomes solid and strong by repeated repairs, so that 
 the branches sprout, and birds build in the hedge 
 which it forms. Each hut contains commonly one or 
 two, but sometimes four families ; and sometimes each 
 is separated from the others by a partition. The hut 
 has a door opening on the water, and no connexion 
 with the land. He then goes on to show how they cut 
 down and build, Avherein he differs from the common 
 accounts only in saying that no piles are used in the 
 construction. They work, he says, only by night, and 
 each season they cover the buildings with a new coat 
 of mud-plaster, as soon as the frost sets in. In summer 
 they make excursions in the woods, choosing the trees 
 they mean to make use of, and marking the position 
 of new settlements, when their increase of numbers 
 requires them to plant colonies. Their wood-cutting 
 begins at the end of summer, and the building is car- 
 ried on in autumn. They have also subterraneous 
 retreats along the banks of the river or lake, to serve 
 as a place of refuge when they may be attacked by the 
 glutton. You perceive, then, that there is very little 
 discrepancy between this account and Buffon's ; indeed, 
 there is one remai-kable addition to the latter, if it can 
 be relied upon, the precaution taken in sunnner to 
 choose and to mark out the convenient stations where 
 the new settlements are afterwards to be made. 
 
 A. There seems reason to suppose that other ani- 
 mals still preserve their sagacity and act in concert. 
 No one can luive observed a flock of pigeons without 
 perceiving tiiat they have sentinels posted to give the
 
 2G0 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 alarm. Indeed, wilder birds act in like manner. Field- 
 fares, when tliey are occupying a tree which you 
 approach, remain steady and fearless until one at the 
 extremity rises on her wings and gives a loud and very 
 peculiar note of alarm, when they all get up and fly, 
 except one who continues till you get near, as if she 
 remained to see that there really was occasion for the 
 movement, and to call them back if the alarm proved 
 a false one. She too at length flies off repeating the 
 alarm-note. 
 
 B. In the forests of Tartary and of South America, 
 where the Wild Horse is gregarious, there are herds 
 of five hundred or six hundred, which, being ill pre- 
 pared for fighting, or indeed for any resistance, and 
 knowing that their safety is in flight, when they sleep, 
 appoint one in rotation who acts as sentinel, while the 
 rest are asleep. If a man approaches, the sentinel 
 walks towards him as if to reconnoitre or see whether 
 he may be deterred from coming near — if the man 
 continues, he neighs aloud and in a peculiar tone, which 
 rouses the herd and all gallop away, the sentinel bring- 
 ing up the rear. Nothing can be more judicious or 
 rational than this arrangement, simple as it is. So a 
 horse, belonging to a smuggler at Dover, used to be 
 laden with run spirits and sent on the road unattended 
 to reach the rendezvous. When he descried a soldier 
 he would jump oft' the highway and hide himself in a 
 ditch, and when discovered would fight for his load. 
 The cunning of Foxes is proverbial ; but I know not if 
 it was ever more remarkably displayed than in the 
 Duke of Beaufort's country ; where Reynard, being 
 hard pressed, disappeared suddenly, and was, after 
 strict search, found immersed in a water-pool up to the 
 very snout, by which he held a willow-bough hanging- 
 over the pond. The cunning of a Dog, which Serjeant 
 Wilde tells me of, as known to him, is at least equal. 
 He used to be tied up as a precaution against hunting 
 sheej). At night he slipped his head out of the collar,
 
 AXBIAL INTELLIGENCE —FACTS. 261 
 
 and returning before dawn, put on the collar again, in 
 order to conceal his nocturnal excursion. Nobody has 
 more familiarity with various animals (beside his great 
 knowledge of his own species) than my excellent, 
 learned, and ingenious friend, the Serjeant ; and he 
 possesses many curious ones himself, His anecdote of 
 a drover's dog is striking, as he gave it me, when we 
 happened, near this place, to meet a drove. The man 
 had brought seventeen out of twenty oxen from a field, 
 leaving the remaining three there mixed with another 
 herd. He then said to the dog " Go, fetch them;" and 
 he went and singled out those very three. The Ser- 
 jeant's brother, however, a highly respectable man, 
 lately Sheriff of London, has a dog that distinguishes 
 Saturday night, from the practice of tying him up for 
 the Sunday, which he dislikes. He Avill escape on 
 Saturday night and return on Monday morning. The 
 Serjeant himself had a gander which was at a distance 
 from the goose, and hearing her make an extraordinary 
 noise, ran back and put his head into the cage — then 
 brought back all the goslings one by one and put them 
 into it with the mother, whose separation from her 
 brood had occasioned her clamour. He then returned 
 to the place whence her cries had called him. I must 
 however add, that I often have conversed Avith Scotch 
 shepherds coming up from the Border country to our 
 great fairs, and have found them deny many of the 
 stories of the miraculous feats of sheep-dogs. Alfred 
 ^Montgomery and I, the other day, cross-questioned a 
 Roxburghshire shepherd with this result. 
 
 A. Many of the feats which we are now ascribing 
 to intellectual faculties may be instinctive operations. 
 How shall wo distinguish ? 
 
 B. The rule seems simple. Where the act is done 
 in ordinary and natural circumstances, it may be called 
 instinctive or not, according as it is what our reason 
 <;ould, in the like circumstances, enable us to perform 
 or not, and according as the animal is in a situation
 
 2(J2 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 which enables him to act knowingly or not. Thus a 
 bee's cell is made by a creature untaught ; a solitary 
 wasp provides food for an offspring it never can see, 
 and knows nothing of. We set these things down to 
 Instinct. If horses, fearing danger, appoint a sentinel, 
 it may be Instinct certainly, but there is here nothing 
 to exclude Intelligence, for they do a thing which they 
 may well do by design, and so diifer from the bee ; they 
 are aware of the object in view, and mean to attain it, 
 and so differ from the wasp. But these remarks apply 
 to acts done in ordinary circumstances, and which I 
 admit may or may not be instinctive. Another class is 
 clearly rather to be called rational. I mean where the 
 means are varied, adapted, and adjusted to a varying 
 object, or where the animal acts in artificial circum- 
 stances in any way. For example, the horse opening 
 a stable-door, the cat a room-door, the daw filling a 
 pitcher with stones. So there is a singular story told 
 by Dupont de Nemours in Autun's ' Animaux Celebres,' 
 and which he says he witnessed himself. A Swallow 
 had slipped its foot into the noose of a cord attached to 
 a spout in the College des Quatre Nations at Paris, and 
 by endeavouring to escape had drawn the knot tight. 
 Its strength being exhausted in vain attempts to fly, it 
 uttered piteous cries, which assembled a vast flock 
 of other swallows from the large basin between the 
 Tuileries and Pont Neuf. They seemed to crowd and 
 consult together for a little while, and then one of them 
 darted at the string and struck at it with his beak as 
 he flew past ; and others following in quick succession 
 did the same, striking at the same part, till after con- 
 tinuing this combined operation for half an hour, they 
 succeeded in severing the cord and freeing their com- 
 panion. They all continued flocking and hovering till 
 night; only, instead of the tumult and agitation in 
 which they had been at their first assembling, they 
 were chattering as if without any anxiety at all, but 
 conscious of having succeeded.
 
 ANDIAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 2G3 
 
 A. The moans taken to escape from danger, and to 
 ]>rovide for security, are certainly often of this descrip- 
 tion, the danger being often of a kind purely accidental 
 and solitary, and the operation of the animal varying 
 in different and new circumstances. Some birds AvhoUy 
 change their mode of buikhng to avoid snakes, hang- 
 ing their nests to the end of branches, and making the 
 exit in the bottom, in places where those reptiles 
 abound. 
 
 B. So too the Ants in Siam make no nests on the 
 ground, as with us, but on trees, that country being 
 much subject to inundations. But you find this change 
 of habits in animals, upon circumstances changing, 
 pretty general. The Dogs which the Spaniards left 
 in the island of Juan Fernandez were found to have 
 lost the habit of barking, when Juan and D'Ulloa 
 visited that famous spot in the course of their journey 
 in South America. Possibly they found that barking 
 warned their prey, and enabled it to escape. But 
 Dogs in Guinea howl and do not bark, and when Euro- 
 pean dogs are taken there they lose their bark in three 
 or four generations. This fact, then, is somewhat equi- 
 vocal. 
 
 A. The docility of some animals may, however, as 
 it seems to me, be strictly ranged within the class of 
 facts we are speaking of. Although children, as well 
 as animals, learn through fear and kindness, both ope- 
 rating (and fear alone would suffice), yet it is an act of 
 Intelligence to follow the dictates of both feehngs: it 
 implies this process of reasoning, — " If I do so and so, 
 1 shall have such a punishment or such a reward." 
 Now the degree to which animals arc teachable is won- 
 derful. All Singing-Birds probably learn their whole 
 notes. 
 
 B. Yes, Dailies Barrington has demonstrated this 
 by numerous experiments* on various birds; the younj; 
 
 • i'hU. Trans., 1776.
 
 264 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 untaught birds, being placed in the nests of different 
 species of birds, always had the song of those it nestled 
 with ; and we all know how a Piping Bullfinch can be 
 taught almost any tune. They seem to have no notion 
 of harmony or melody. I recollect a Green Linnet, 
 which I had when a boy, or rather a mongrel between 
 that and a goldfinch, being placed in a kitchen, and 
 leaving its own fine and sweet notes, to take to an imi- 
 tation, and a very good and exceedingly discordant 
 one, of a jack which, being ill-constructed, generally 
 squeaked as if it wanted oiling. 
 
 A. Dogs show the greatest talents in learning. The 
 feats of pointers, but still more of shepherds' dogs, after 
 making all the deductions you have mentioned, are 
 astonishing. It almost seems as if the shepherd could 
 communicate, by sign or by speech, his meaning, when 
 he desires to have a particular thing done. But assur- 
 edly the dog takes his precautions exactly as he ought, 
 to prevent the sheep from scattering, and to bring back 
 runaways. Indeed, Greyhounds and other dogs of 
 chace, as well as Pointers backing one another, show the 
 adaptation of, and variation in, the means used towards 
 an end. 
 
 B. Retrievers exceed all other dogs in this respect. 
 There was one died here a year or two ago that could 
 be left to watch game, till the keeper went to a given 
 place, and she would then join him after he had ranged 
 the field; nay, could be sent to a spot where game had 
 been left, and where she had not been before. Indeed, 
 she did many other things which I have hardly cour- 
 age to relate. 
 
 A. How were her pups? I have always found such 
 extraordinary faculties hereditary. 
 
 B. My worthy, intelligent, and lamented friend, T. A. 
 Knight (so long President of the Horticultural Society), 
 has proved very clearly that the faculties of animals are 
 hereditary to such a point as this. He shows that even 
 their acquired faculties — the expertness they gain by
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 265 
 
 teaching — descends in the race. His paper is exceedino-ly 
 curious. But I think we need hardly go so far as' to 
 his minute details for proof of the fact. It is found 
 that where man has not been, no animals are Avild and 
 run away from his approach. When Bougainville went 
 to the Falkland Islands (or, as the French call them the 
 ]\Ialouines), he found himself and his men immediately 
 surrounded by all kinds of beasts and birds, the latter 
 settling on their shoulders. No navigators had ever 
 been there before. Lord jMonboddo says that the same 
 thing had been related to him by navigators.* It seems 
 clear, then, that the running away from man, which 
 seems natural to all wild animals in or bordering upon 
 inhabited countries, is an acquired propensity, trans- 
 mitted to the descendants of those whose experience 
 lirst tancrht it them as necessary for their safety. 
 
 A. Have you Knight's paper here ? I know the 
 accuracy of his observation to equal his great in- 
 genuity. 
 
 ^ B. To that I too can bear my testimony. Here is 
 his principal paper, read lately before the Royal So- 
 ciety. It is given as the result of his observations and 
 experiments, made for a period of sixty years; it is 
 therefore most justly entitled to great respect. He 
 chiefly dwells on the case of Springing Spaniels, and 
 among other instances gives this, which is indeed very 
 remarkable. He found the youno- and untauo-ht ones 
 as skill 111 as the old ones, not only in finding and rais- 
 ing the woodcocks, but in knowing the exact degree of 
 frost which will drive those birds to springs and rills of 
 unfrozen water. He gives the instance, too, of a young 
 retriever, bred from a clever and thoroughly-taught 
 parent, which, being taken out at ten months old, with 
 hardly any instruction at all, behaved as well and 
 knowingly as the best-taught spaniel, in rushing into 
 the water for game that was shot, when pointed out to 
 
 * Origin of Language, b. ii., ch. 2.
 
 266 DIALOGUES ON INSTIKCT. 
 
 it, however small, bringing it, and depositing it, and 
 then going again, and when none remained, seeking the 
 sportsman and keeping by liira. He imported some 
 Norwegian ponies, mares, and had a breed from them. 
 It was found that the produce " had no mouth," as the 
 trainers say; and it was impossible to give it them; but 
 they were otherwise perfectly docile. Now, in Norway, 
 draught horses, as I know, having travelled there and 
 driven them, are all trained to go by the voice, and 
 have no mouth. — Again, he observed that they could 
 not be kept between hedges, but walked deliberately 
 through them — there being, he supposes, none in the 
 country from which their dams came. 
 
 A. Does he speak of any other animal ? 
 
 B. Yes, he mentions his observation on woodcocks, 
 Avhich he could remember having been far less wild half 
 a century ago ; for on its first arrival in autumn, it was 
 tame, and chuckled about if disturbed, making but a 
 very short flight, whereas now, and for many years past, 
 it is very wild, running in silence and flying far. He 
 gives an instance of sagacity in a Dog, unconnected 
 with hereditary intelligence. He one day had gone out 
 with his gun and a servant, but no dog. Seeing a 
 cock, he sent the servant, who brought this spaniel. A 
 month afterwards he again sent for the same dog from 
 the same place. The servant was bringing him, when 
 at twenty yards from the house the spaniel left him, 
 and ran away to the spot, though it was above a mile 
 distant. This he often repeated, and always with the 
 sa^tie result; as if the animal knew what he was wanted 
 for. Leonard Edmunds tells me of a dog (a Newfound- 
 land spaniel) of Mr. Morritt's, at Rokeby, which has 
 been known to take the shorter road to where he knew 
 he was wanted, and leave the servant or keeper to go 
 round about. You yourself told me of a dog that met 
 you sporting by a short cut unknown to you. 
 
 A . The manner in which animals can find their way is 
 very extraordinary. But though, in many cases, it mnyl e
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 267 
 
 tlirougli close observation, and observation the clearer 
 and better remembered because, like the Indian woods- 
 men, they have so few ideas; yet, in other cases, it seems 
 an Instinct very difficult to conceive in its working's. In 
 truth, if the stories told be true, I question if any in- 
 stance we have vet examined of Instinct be so trulv un- 
 accountable on any principles of intelhgence. I have 
 known of dogs sent to a distance, and coming home im- 
 uiediatelv, thouo-h taken in the dark. 
 
 B. That might be from smell or track, but stories 
 are also told of dogs and cats taken in hampers, and 
 finding their way back speedily. L. Edmunds had one 
 tliat was carried from Ambleside to three miles on the 
 other side of Burton, a distance of twenty-seven miles, 
 in a close hamper, by a coach; and it found its way 
 back next mornino-. Dr. Beattie's account of a do<>; 
 which was carried in a basket thirty miles distance, 
 tlirough a country he never had seen, and returned 
 home in a week, is less singular than this, even if it 
 were as well authenticated. Dr. Hancock, in his ex- 
 cellent work on Instinct, which, however, contains fully 
 as much upon the peculiar tenets of the Society of 
 Friends as upon our subject, relates the story of a Dog 
 being conveyed from Scotland to London by sea, and 
 finding his way back; of a Sheep returning from York- 
 shire to Annandale, a distance of at least eighty miles ; 
 and of another Sheep returning from Pertlishire to the 
 neighbourhood of Edinburgh. Kirby and Spence, too, 
 in their ' Introduction to Entomology,' state, on the au- 
 thority of a captain in the Navy, a strange anecdote of 
 an Ass taken from Gibraltar to Cape do Gat on board 
 of ship, and finding its way immediately back through 
 Spain to the garrison, a distance of two hundred miles 
 >f very difficult country. The ass had swam on shore 
 when the ship was stranded. This fact seems to be 
 well authenticated, for all the names are given, and the 
 dates. 
 
 A. There is no end of such facts, and many of them
 
 268 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 seem sufficiently vouched. The ' Letters on Instinct,' 
 mention a cat which had been taken to the West In- 
 dies, and on the ship returning to the Port of London 
 she found her way through the city to Brompton, 
 whence she had been brought. 
 
 B. That is a work I have often wished to see, and 
 never been able to get. Dr. Hancock quotes it for one 
 of the most remarkable proofs of sagacity and resource 
 in the Goat, and this operation has been, it seems, ob- 
 served more than once. When two Goats meet on a 
 ledge bordering upon a precipice, and find there is no 
 room either to pass each other, or to return, after a 
 pause, as if for reflection, one crouches down and the 
 other walks gently over his back, when each continues 
 his perilous journey along the narrow path. 
 
 ^. In ' Rees's Cyclopajdia' a story is given as well 
 vouched, of a cat that had been brought up in amity 
 with a bird, and being one day observed to seize suddenly 
 hold of the latter, which happened to be perched out of 
 its cage, on examining it was found that a stray cat 
 had got into the room, and that this alarming step was 
 a manoeuvre to save the bird till the intruder should de- 
 part. But what do you make of carrier-pigeons? The 
 facts are perhaps not well ascertained; there being a 
 good deal of mystery and other quackery about the 
 training of them. 
 
 B. I desired one of the trainers (they are Spital- 
 field weavers generally) to come, that I might examine 
 him about his art, but he has never been with me. I 
 have read and considered a report made to me on the 
 subject. It is said the bird begins his flight by making 
 circles, which increase more and more in diameter as 
 he rises ; and that he thus pilots himself towards his 
 ground. But still this indicates an extraordinary 
 power of observation ; for they come from Brussels to 
 London and return. Nay, they have been known to 
 fly from the Rhine to Paris. Serjeant Wilde took 
 pigeons of the Rock kind to Hounslow, and they flew
 
 AXDIAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 2G0 
 
 back to Guildford Street in an hour. They were 
 taken in a bag, and could see or smell nothing by the 
 way. On being let loose, they made two or three wide 
 circles, and then flew straight to their dovecot. The 
 Serjeant also knew of a cat which a shopkeeper's 
 apprentice in Fore Street had been desired to hang, 
 and found he could not. He then took it in a bag to 
 Blackfriars Bridge and threw it into the river — the 
 cat was at home in Fore Street as soon as the ap- 
 prentice. He mii2;ht have made a circuit, but certainly 
 the cat returned in an hour or two. The grocer's 
 name was Gardner — the distance is certainly above a 
 mile, and through the most crowded part of London. 
 The case of bees is referable to Instinct clearly. 
 Honey-finders in America trace their nests by catch- 
 ing two bees, carrying them to a distance, and letting 
 them fly. Each takes a straight hue towards the nest 
 or hive, and by noting these two lines, and finding 
 where they intersect each other, the hive is found. 
 Now the bee is known to have a very confined sphere 
 of vision, from the extremely convex form of her eye. 
 She is supposed only to see a yard or so before her. 
 
 A. I fancy we must pass over the subject of migra- 
 tion for a like reason. It seems still involved in much 
 obscurity and doubt, though I take for granted that 
 no one now yields to Daines Barrington's theory, which 
 denies it altogether. 
 
 B. Clearly no one ; the facts arc quite indisputable 
 as far as negativing that goes ; and indeed his reason- 
 ings are so full of prejudice, or preconceived opinion, 
 and his suppositions for disposing of the facts so 
 strained, that his argument never could have had 
 nuich weight. One fact seems also not to be disputed, 
 and is referable to Instinct alone. I mean the agita- 
 tion which, without any cause, comes on upon a \nvd 
 of any of the migratory classes at the appointed season 
 of migration. It is, in all probabiUty, connected with 
 the sexual impulses.
 
 270 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 A. Tlie communication with each other, which ani- 
 mals have by sounds or signs, can, I think, hardly be 
 doubted. 
 
 B. The observations of Huber clearly show that 
 ants have a kind of language by means of their feelers 
 or antennas ; and every day's experience seems to show 
 this in other animals. 
 
 A. Some believe that they have a notion of what 
 men are saying, and no doubt very strange and lucky 
 guesses have sometimes been made, one of which I wrote 
 you an account of. I had it from a most accurate and 
 literal person, and it tends to prove that his shooting 
 doo's had found out his intention of o-oing; into Nottinir- 
 hamshire the day after. However, it is perfectly clear 
 that these things are referable to minute and exact ob- 
 servation of things which escape us in the greater mul- 
 titude of our ideas and concerns. All this, however, 
 only illustrates the more how well animals can profit 
 by experience, and draw correct inferences from things 
 observed by them. 
 
 B. Among other instances referable plainly to in- 
 telligence must be ranked the devices which one ani- 
 mal is known to fall upon for beneiiting by another's 
 operations. The ant enslaving workers is the most 
 curious instance certainly. But the cuckoo laying in 
 other birds' nests, and leaving her progeny to be 
 brought up by them is another. Nor can this be set 
 down wholly to the score of Instinct ; for there are 
 abundant proofs of her also building when she cannot 
 find a nest, and then she lays in her ow^n, and hatches 
 and rears her brood. This curious and important fact, 
 long disbelieved by vulgar prejudice, was known to 
 that great observer Aristotle, who says she sometimes 
 builds among rocks and on heights.* Darwin confirms 
 this by the observations of two intelligent friends whom 
 he cites.f The man-of-war bird is a still more singular 
 
 * Lib. vi., c. 1. f Zouiiomia, vol. xvi., p. 13.
 
 AIvTMAL INTELLIGENCE- FACTS. 271 
 
 instance of contvivance, for though its food is fish, it 
 has not such a form as to be fit for catching any, and 
 therefore it hves piratically on the prey made by other 
 fishing birds ; hence the name we have given it. 
 
 A. Only think of our never having all this while 
 said a word, or more than a word, of either the Fox or 
 the Elephant, proverbially the two wisest of animals. 
 Of the former's cunning every day shows instances ; 
 but that the elephant should be left to take care of a 
 child unable to walk, and should let it crawl as far as 
 his own chain, and then gently lift it with his trunk 
 and replace it in safety, seems really an extraordinai'y 
 effect of both intelligence and care, and shows that fine 
 animal's gentle nature, of which so many anecdotes are 
 told by travellers in the East. 
 
 i?. The amiable qualities of brutes are not quite 
 within the scope of our discussion, unless indeed in so 
 far as whatever things are lovely may also be said to 
 betoken wisdom, or at least reflection. The natural 
 ^ove of their offspring I should hardly cite in proof of 
 this, because it seems rather an instinctive feelino;. 
 But the attachments formed between animals of differ- 
 ent classes, a cat and a horse, a dog and a man, and 
 often between two elderly birds, may be cited as inter- 
 esting. One of these friends has been known to be 
 unable to survive the other. I have heard this of two 
 old parrots, upon the best authority. 
 
 A. We have said nothing of fislies, or of any marine 
 animals. 
 
 B. Why, of these our knowledge is necessarily very 
 limited. That they have remarkable Instincts, some of 
 them resembling tliose of land animals, is certain. The 
 Sepia, or cuttle-fish, ejecting a black or dark-brown fluid 
 to facilitate his escape, resembles the stratagem of some 
 beasts emitting an intolerable effluvia in the face of 
 their pursuers. The Whale, when attacked by tin; 
 Sv/ord-fish, diving to such a depth that his enemy cannot 
 biistain the pressure of the water, is another well-known
 
 272 DiALoauEs on instinct. 
 
 example of defensive action. I used to observe with 
 interest the wary cunning of the old Carp in the ponds 
 here : there was no decoying them with bait, which the 
 younger and less experienced fish took at once. So 
 little have men formerly undervalued the faculties of 
 fishes, that Plutarch wrote an ingenious treatise in the 
 form of a dialogue, on the question whether land or 
 water animals have the most understandinp;. 
 
 A. How does he treat this odd question? 
 
 B. Here is his book ; and certainly as far as the 
 first portion of the subject goes, where the merits of 
 land animals are concerned, he sails before the wind. 
 To his first remark I willingly subscribe, that those 
 hold the most stupid doctrine upon the subject (ol 
 a/3fArfpwc )^eyovTeg) who say that animals do not really 
 fear, rejoice, remember, rage, &c., but only do some- 
 thing like fearing, rejoicing, &c. {(oaavei (pOfDeicr^ai, 
 ike.) ; and he asks what such reasoners would think 
 were it also contended that animals do not see, but 
 make as if they saw ; nor hear, but make as if the}^ 
 heard ; nor roar, but make as if they roared ; and, 
 finally, do not live, but only did something hke living. 
 He then relates a great variety of facts respecting the 
 sagacity of animals, some of them evidently fabulous 
 (as the love of a dragon for a young woman), and 
 some, as the account of the ant laying in grain, now 
 proved to be erroneous ; but he gives others worthy of 
 attending to. Thus, the contrivance of African crows, 
 who, when the water was scarce, threw pebbles into 
 deep cracks of the earth, so as to bring the fluid up 
 towards the surface, and within their reach — the 
 similar cunning of a dog on board of a vessel — the 
 like device fallen upon by elephants to rescue one that 
 had fallen into a pit — the astuteness of the fox, used 
 by the Thracians as a kind of guide in crossing a river 
 frozen over, to find out whether the ice is thick enough, 
 which the animal does by stopping and listening to hear 
 if the water is running near the surface — the judicious
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 273 
 
 mode of flight in which cranes and other birds of pas- 
 sage marshal themselves, forming a wedge-like body, 
 with the strongest birds at the tront angle or point- 
 But when he comes to the other side of the question, 
 and is to state the case for the fishes, we find a great 
 falling off both in his facts and in his evidence. Beside 
 telhng very absurd stories about crocodiles in Egypt 
 obeying the call of the priests and submitting to their 
 influence, he dwells upon the Sepia, whose escape in a 
 black cloud of his own making he compares to the 
 tactics of Homer's gods ; upon the cunning shown by 
 fishes in gnawing lines to escape with the hook ; nay, 
 upon a story he tells of their helping one another to 
 escape when caught, wdiich is plainly groundless ; upon 
 the Torpedo, or electrical eel, giving shocks, which is 
 clearly a mere physical quality, and no more indicates 
 reason than the shark using his teeth ; upon shoals of 
 fishes, like flocks of birds, forming themselves into 
 wedges when they move from one sea to another, 
 which is certainly true ; upon the dolphin loving music, 
 which is purely fabulous, as well as the feats of wisdom 
 and philanthropy that he ascribes to this fish {^ovog 
 yap avC'pwTTOv acnrut^eTai ku^o av^ptoTTog ecm) ; finally, 
 upon all the fables to be found in the poets respecting 
 tliis fish. After reciting one of these, by way of 
 proving his case in favour of marine animals, he in- 
 nocently enough says that although he had promised 
 to relate no fables, he now finds himself, he knows not 
 how, in the company of Caeranus and Ulysses, and so 
 he brings his notable argument to a close. 
 
 A. How does he ultimately decide the question pro- 
 pounded ? 
 
 B. With a verse of Sophocles, intimating that both 
 sides have gained some advantay-e towards a connnon 
 purpose ; but the victory is given to neither, the 
 umpire pronouncing that both the arguments combined 
 overthrow the doctrine of those who deny llcason and 
 Intelligence to animals generally. 
 
 VOL. VI. *
 
 274 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 A. There are no modern books which fully discuss 
 this subject systematically, either as regards Instinct 
 or Intelligence. One is exceedingly disappointed in 
 consulting our best writers, whether metaphysicians or 
 naturalists, Avith this view ; and the omission is the less 
 to be excused because there are great opportunities of 
 observing and comparing : this branch of knowledge 
 is eminently suited to inductive reasoning ; we live as 
 it were among the facts, and have not only constant 
 facilities for making our experiments, but are in some 
 sort under a constant necessity of doing so. 
 
 B. Truly it is as you say. I have often felt this 
 disappointment and this disapprobation. The works of 
 metaphysical writers contain a few scattered sugges- 
 tions, or dogmas, and with these they leave the subject. 
 Naturalists, who could throw so much light upon it, 
 confine themselves chiefly to the structure and functions 
 of the organs, and leave the mental part of the subject 
 out of view. Yet a physiologist, who also applied him- 
 self to this latter branch of the inquiry, would be the 
 person best qualified to grapple with its difliculties 
 and to throw hght upon it. Therefore I learnt witli 
 extreme satisfaction that an able and learned professor 
 of Natural History had given a course of lectures 
 upon it at Paris, and was still more gratified to find 
 that he soon afterwards published them. I speak of 
 M. Virey's work ; those two thick volumes lying there 
 contain above a thousand pages on the Habits and 
 Instinct of Animals ; and to raise my expectation still 
 higher, it professes by its title to deal in facts — for it 
 is called ' Histoire des Moeurs et de 1' Instinct des 
 Animaux.' 
 
 A . Well ; I suppose you rushed upon it to slake 
 your thirst ? 
 
 JB. As a traveller upon a delicious and copious spring, 
 and found it a picture ; or upon a luscious-looking large 
 peach, and found my mouth filled with chalk. I have 
 had these volumes here these two years, and I can
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 275 
 
 barely now say I have been able to get through them. 
 They are throughout not only written in the very worst 
 style of French sentimental declamation, but they avoid 
 all precision, all details, all facts, as something grovel- 
 ling, common-place, and unimportant. The constant 
 object is not to find out or illustrate some truth, to de- 
 scribe or arrange some phenomenon, but to say some- 
 thing pretty, tar-fetched, and figurative. And all this 
 with an arrangement of the classes of animals so me- 
 thodical, that on lookino- at the contents, and findinu* 
 they proceed regularly from the structure of the globe 
 and the general qualities of its difierent products, to 
 mammalia, then to birds, reptiles, fishes, and so down- 
 wards through the invertebrated animals, eneling with 
 zoophytes and mollusca, you naturally expect under 
 each head to have what the title promises, a History 
 of the Habits and Instincts ; and find nothing of the 
 kind from beginning to end, but only trope after trope, 
 one piece of finery after another, nothing but vague 
 declamation long drawn out, an endless succession of 
 the most frivolous sentimentahty. Truly such a work, 
 from so learned a naturalist, one who could so well have 
 instructed and entertained us, had he but chosen to be 
 plain and didactic, instead of being brilhant and rhe- 
 torical, where all eloquence and ornament are absolutely 
 misplaced, is no small offence in the literary world. 
 
 A. I'll assure you our French neighbours are not 
 the only sinners in this particular. I have been some- 
 what mortified of late years at perceiving a tendency 
 to fine writing and declamation among our own men of 
 science, and I ascribe it, in some degree, to the more 
 general diftusion of scientific knowledge, which naturally 
 introduces the more popular style of composition. Our 
 Society of Useful Knowledge has no sins of this sort on 
 its conscience, because we correct with unsparing seve- 
 rity all we publish ; but you may perceive the tendency 
 of j)()pular cxphration to run in this bad direction, from 
 the kind of matter that is often submitted to us for
 
 27G DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 revision. I am sure I sometimes draw my pen through 
 half a page of fine writing at a time. 
 
 B. I will engage for it you do inexorably whenever 
 you find such outrages. My experience is precisely the 
 same ; and I am just as severe on those parts, evidently 
 the prime favourites of the learned and very able writers. 
 But we originally set out with firmly resolving to be 
 most rigorous in matters of taste, being aware, as you 
 say, of the tendencies of popular writers. In truth, 
 however, that vile florid style darkens instead of illus- 
 trating ; and while we never can write too clearly to 
 the people, we never can write too simply, if our design 
 be to write plainly and intelligibly. But though our 
 Society is free from having any of this blame, I cannot 
 quite acquit of all blame the meetings, however useful 
 and praiseworthy in other respects, of an association 
 which brings crowds of hundreds and thousands to- 
 gether, to hear mathematicians and chemists making 
 declamatory speeches. I must say that those assem- 
 blages offer some violence to Science, at least thev 
 somewhat lower her by showing her cultivators trying 
 a trade they no more can, or even ought to excel in, 
 than poets in solving questions of fluxions. It is since 
 these meetings, otherwise useful and excellent, rose into 
 eloquence, that I have seen a mathematical discussion, 
 by a very able and learned man, in two consecutive 
 pages of which I reckoned up above twenty metaphors 
 — all tending to darken the subject — to say nothing of 
 poetical quotations without any mercy. Formerly de- 
 clamations were reckoned so little an accomplishment 
 of scientific men, that when Bishop Horsley filled our 
 Royal Society with a factious controversy, the ministe- 
 rial side, Sir Joseph Bank's party, had to send for assist- 
 ance — and where think you they went for an orator ? 
 
 A. I suppose to some Nisi Prius advocate. 
 
 B. Guess again. — No ! — So humble were their views 
 of oratory that they went to the other side of the hall, 
 as the lawyers say, and got for their champion, Mr.
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 277 
 
 Anguish, who was Accountant- General, a Chancery 
 man, and had perhaps made as few speeches as any 
 one in that Court. But in the work which I have re- 
 ferred to, and even in those scientific meetings, there 
 is at least much that is highly valuable, much good 
 grain, and the trash may be rejected as chaff — whereas, 
 in this piece of French declamation all is chaff, and 
 hardly a grain can be gleaned out of the light and 
 worthless matter. 
 
 A. Can vou find nothino- bv siftino- and boltino- it? I 
 irenerally find something even in the worst books. 
 
 B. I will not say that these heavy volumes of light 
 matter contain absolutely nothing ; but wondrous little 
 assuredly they have to reward the pains of searching. 
 What can be more hateful than a man of science un- 
 able to speak of granivorous animals without terming 
 them Pythagoreans and Gymnosophists ; calling the 
 cryino- baboon of South America a wild Demosthenes, 
 the lion a generous prince, the jackal a courtier ; de- 
 scribing the nightingale as appealing to Heaven against 
 the robber of her nest, and the crocodiles as the " sad 
 orphans of nature," because hatched in the sand ; nay, 
 carrying his ridiculous fancies into actual practice, seri- 
 ously explaining the mild temper of one animal by the 
 sweetness of its humours, and the ferocity of another 
 by the acrid juices of its system — all a pure fiction in 
 fact, as well as a gross absurdity in theory ! Then 
 mark the consistency of a philosopher — a consistency 
 worthy of the veriest mob. He denounces, as the most 
 atrocious of men, the experimenter on a living dog or 
 rabbit, Fontana, or Majendie, I suppose, and afterwards 
 speaks with the utmost composure of dividing a bee in 
 two, in order to examine her honey-bag. Of the bee, 
 indeed, he seems very moderately informed. He speaks 
 of Aristarchus having devoted his life to the study of 
 this insect, instead of Aristomachus ; assumes to be true 
 the notion long exploded of honey being collected from 
 llowers, instead of a secretion in the stomach ; will not
 
 278 DIALOGUES 0\ INSTINCT. 
 
 believe that wax, too, is a secretion, though he refers 
 unconsciously to Huber's experiment of obtaining it 
 from bees feeding upon sugar and water ; and, to set 
 off his modern natural history with a little false classical 
 lore, must needs call the cells " their citadel, or the 
 palladium of their republic." 
 
 A. Bad enough in all conscience. But now give us 
 the grain or two of wheat in all this bushel of chaff. 
 
 B. First, and this makes it more provoking, the 
 author writes clearly and admirably when he chooses 
 to leave oft' declaiming. There is a long note upon 
 vertebrated and invertebrated animals, showing with 
 much clearness and precision that in the former, which 
 have a cerebral and nervous system. Intelligence pre- 
 vails ; in the latter, Instinct. He maintains the specific 
 difference of Instinct and Reason or Intelligence with 
 great force and clearness ; indeed, there seems nothing 
 to find fault with in his statements here, except that 
 he places the seat of Intelligence in the cerebral ner- 
 vous system, and of Instinct in the ganglionic, and thus 
 is forced to deny Intelhgence altogether to insects, 
 whereas we have seen that Huber's observations plainly 
 show the bee to have the capacity of varying its means 
 in accomplishing the end in view when the circumstances 
 vary ; and this surely cannot be distinguished from In- 
 telligence. Also he discusses, with perfect strictness of 
 reasoning, the hypothesis of a very celebrated naturalist, 
 no less than M. Lamarck, and, I must say, refutes very 
 satisfactorily the theory of my most learned and worthy 
 colleague, for whom we all must feel the most profound 
 respect. He had been induced to suppose that Instinct 
 results from the habits originally acquired by animals 
 adapted to the circumstances in which they found them- 
 selves placed at the beginning of the creation, and that 
 these habits occasioned an adaptation of their structure 
 to particular operations, as well as a constant capacity 
 and desire to perform them. Now, my only objection 
 to M. Vu-ey's refutation of this theory, which is merely
 
 A>TMAL INTELLIGENCE — FACTS. 279 
 
 the exploded doctrine of appetencies in a new form, is, 
 that it requires no such elaborate answer to overthrow 
 it. For what do we see in all nature which in the 
 least entitles us to suppose any animal at any period 
 to have had the power of altering his bochly structure, 
 creating one part and altering another according to his 
 wants ? Besides, if animals, at their first creation, had 
 so much power and so much intelligence as this theory 
 supposes, why should this all cease and leave them only 
 possessed of blind Instincts now ? The reasoning, how- 
 ever, of M. Virey is sound, and does much credit to his 
 acuteness. 
 
 A. But have you found, in his volumes, no facts ; 
 nothing to place among the phenomena which we are 
 collecting previous to resuming our discussion respect- 
 ing the faculties of brutes ? 
 
 B. Very little ; and that so wrapped up in decla- 
 mation, and so disfigured with figures (if I may thus 
 speak), that there is no small difticulty in seizing hold 
 of it. What he says of the architecture of squirrels, 
 marmots, rats, and some other rodents, is new to me. 
 I had only been aware of the beaver, among this tribe, 
 as remarkable for ingenuity. But it seems these others 
 excel all animals in digging subterranean dwellings ; 
 they m.ake compartments or chambers, which they line 
 with clay, and cover with a roof from the weather ; in 
 some of these chambers they stow vegetables, which 
 they previously dry in the sun ; others they use for 
 the reception of their young ; in others they sleep. 
 He brings together some curious instances of swift and 
 long-sustained flights of birds. Thus the smallest bird, 
 he says, can fly several leagues in an hour ; the haAvk 
 goes commonly at the rate of a league in four minutes, 
 or above forty miles an hour. A falcon of Henry II. 
 was flown from Fontaincbleau, and found, by its ring, 
 at Malta next day. One, sent from the Canaries to 
 Andalusia, returned to Tenerifl"e in sixteen hours, a 
 distance of nearly seven hundred miles, which it must
 
 280 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 have gone at the average rate of about forty-three miles 
 an hour. Gulls go seven hundred miles out to sea and 
 return daily ; and Frigate-birds have been found at 
 twelve hundred miles from any land. Upon their mi- 
 gration he states, as a known fact, that Cranes go and 
 return at the same date, without the least regard to 
 the state of the weather, which shows, no doubt, if 
 true, a most peculiar instinct ; but these, and, indeed, 
 all facts which we find stated by a writer so addicted to 
 painting and colouring, must be received with a degree 
 of suspicion, for which no one but M. Virey is to be 
 blamed. The accounts, however, of the swiftness of 
 birds, I can well credit, from an experiment which I 
 made when travelling on a railway. While going at 
 the rate of thirty miles an hour, I let fly a bee ; it 
 made its circles as usual, and surrounded us easily. 
 Now, if there was no current of air or draught to bear 
 it along, this indicated a rate of ninety miles an hour ; 
 and even allowing for a current, the swiftness must 
 have been great. I should, however, wish to repeat 
 this experiment before being quite sure of so great a 
 swiftness in so small an insect. 
 
 A. Have you given all your gleanings from tliis 
 work ? 
 
 B. I should, perhaps, add these two. We find in it 
 a curious passage from an old Spanish author of the 
 seventeenth century, giving a quaint and lively account 
 of the sagacity of the beggars' dogs at Rome ; and we 
 also find the titles of some German works on the 
 faculties of brutes, which are truly curious, and show 
 how great a degree of attention that laborious people 
 have paid to the subject, but, at the same time, betray 
 not a little of the characteristic boldness and enthu- 
 siasm of their speculations. 
 
 A. I conclude you have never seen more than these 
 titles in this book ? 
 
 B. Never ; and I really should wish to see the works 
 themselves. One is ' Mayer de peccatis et poenis Bru-
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE FACTS. 281 
 
 torum,' 1686, in quarto. Another, in 1725, 'Hermanson 
 de peccatis Brutorum;' this, however, is printed at 
 Upsal. A third is ' Schroeder de Siniulacris virtutum 
 in Brutis Animantibus,' 1691 ; and a fourth, ' Schroeder 
 de Brutorum Rehgione,' 1702. Then, it appears that 
 one Drechsler wrote, in 1672, a 'Dissertation on the 
 Speech of Animals,' and Meyer and Martin, not to be 
 outdone, followed this up a few years after, the one 
 with a ' Treatise on the Logic of Animals,' and another 
 with one ' De Animalium Syllogismo.' 
 
 A. Does the Spaniard give any curious particulars 
 of dogs ? 
 
 B. Not perhaps any that surpass what we have been 
 stating from facts known among ourselves. But his 
 account is diverting enough. " The blind man's dog," 
 says he, " will take him to the places where he may 
 best hope to get his alms, and bring him thither through 
 the crowd by the shortest way and the safest ; nay, lie 
 will take him out of the city some miles to the great 
 church of St. Paul, as you go to Ostia. When in the 
 town he cometh to a place where several ways meet, 
 and with the sharpness of ear that the bhnd have, 
 guided by some sound of a fountain, he gives the string 
 a jerk by either hand, straightway will the poor dog- 
 turn and guide him to the very church where he knows 
 his master would beg. In the street, too, knoweth he 
 the charitably-disposed houses that be therein, and will 
 lead thither the beggar-man, who, stopping at one, saith 
 his pater-noster ; then down lieth the dog till he hear 
 the last word of the beadsman, when straight he riscth 
 and away to another house. I have seen myself, to 
 my great joy, mingled with admiration, when a piece of 
 money was thrown down from some window, the dog 
 would run and pick it up and fetch it to the master's 
 hat ; nor, when bread is flung down, will he touch it 
 bo he ever so hungry, but bring it to his master, and 
 wait till he may have his share given him. A friend 
 of mine was wont to come to my dwcHing with a great
 
 282 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 mastiff, which he left by the door on entering ; but he, 
 seeing that his master had entered after drawing the 
 string of the bell, would needs do likewise, and so made 
 those within open the door, as though some one should 
 have rung thereat," 
 
 A. Upon my word, you have been amusing yourself 
 Avith making the old Castilian speak in old EngUsh. — 
 But now, I think, we may be said to have gone at 
 sufficient length into the facts, and to have gathered 
 together a collection large enough for our purposes of 
 speculation — nor have we perhaps much more to do 
 with this in that way. For can any one rationally 
 doubt that they evince in these brutes some faculties 
 at least approaching in kind to our own — nay, and to 
 such of our own as we are wont to prize the most, and 
 to be the proudest of ? No blind impulse of a mecha- 
 nical kincl, no mere instinct, or feeling, or operative 
 principle, apart from knowledge, experience, learning, 
 even intention, — can surely account for the things we 
 have just been considering as done by animals — and 
 one example, and an ordinary one, is as good as a thou- 
 sand. The cat opening a door from observing men do 
 so before it ; or the bird, from its own observation of 
 the effect produced by solid bodies, sunk in water, 
 raising the water by throwing in pebbles ; or letting 
 mussels fall to break the shells — these things surely 
 argue a thinking and a reasoning process. 
 
 B. There seems little doubt of this ; however, we 
 may perhaps adjourn the further discussion, as we no 
 longer require to be among our books, but may take 
 our walk out in the sun, which is far from disagreeably 
 hot to-day. 
 
 A. I have no kind of objection, and will meet you 
 on the Terrace as soon as I have written my letters.
 
 283 
 
 COOK OR DIALOGUE IV. 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.— (Theory.) 
 
 We accordingly finished our letters, and prepared to 
 go out and walk about in the sunny exposure, which a 
 north-west wind made agreeable, as in the north it 
 often docs, even at this season — " calceis et vestimentis 
 sumptis, placitum est ut in aprico maxime patente loco 
 conveniremus :"* — where, as we walked about, he be- 
 gan in continuation of his last remark. 
 
 A. I know not why so much unwillingness should 
 be shown by some excellent philosophers to allow in- 
 telligent faculties, and a share of reason, to the lower 
 animals, as if our own superiority was not quite suffi- 
 ciently established, to leave all question of jealousy out 
 of view, by the immeasurably higher place which we 
 occupy in the scale of being, even should we admit the 
 difference to be in degree rather than in kind ; because 
 when the difference of degree becomes so vast, there is 
 hardly any more chance of encroachment or confusion, 
 hardly any more likeness or comparison, than if the 
 difference were radical and in kind. Some writers, as 
 D. Stewart, really seem to treat the question as one of 
 an exciting nature, and almost to regard the purity of 
 religious belief as involved in the controversy. Uow is 
 this, and why should it be ? 
 
 B. It is possible that the origin of the feelings 
 shown by those good and able men, resembles that of 
 Descartes' absurd theory, of brutes being like machines, 
 
 * " Ilavins taken our boots and greatcoats, we chose to meet in an open 
 and 3uni)y exposure." — Cic. dt Repub., lib. i., cap. 12.
 
 284 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 whicli, as far as he holds it, he avows to have pro- 
 ceeded from the notion that unless they are so, their 
 souls would be immortal. But another reason may be 
 assigned. The sceptical, or free-tliinking, philosophers 
 always lowered human nature as much as possible. 
 They regarded it as something gained to their argu- 
 ments against religious belief, if they could show the 
 diiference to be slighter than is supposed between men 
 and brutes ; and that there is a chain of being from 
 the plant, nay, almost from inorganic matter, up to man. 
 They seem to have had a confused idea that this helped 
 them even to account for the constitution of the uni- 
 verse, " without the hypothesis of a Deity," as Laplace 
 is said to have termed it when Napoleon questioned 
 him on the remarkable omission in the ' Mecanique 
 Celeste.' Thus much is certain in point of fact, that 
 those philosophers, and especially the French school, 
 were fond of lowering the human intellect by raising 
 that of animals ; and while the priests were lavish of 
 their admission that our moral nature is utterly cor- 
 rupt but claimed for our intellectual capacity to be only 
 a little lower than the angels, the society of the Ency- 
 elopedie, and the coterie of Baron d'Holbach were fond 
 of levelling the intellectual distinction between immortal 
 and confessedly mortal beings, though they denied the 
 moral depravity of their race with perhaps no very 
 strict regard either to the evidence of their conscious- 
 ness or of their observation. It thus appears that this 
 theory of a diiference in kind is found in company 
 with that of scepticism, just as some other theories are 
 usually coupled with it also ; for example, the sel6sh 
 system, — philosophical necessity, — expediency, — mate- 
 rialism, — all of which are held by Hume, Voltaire, 
 Helvetius, Diderot, and other free-thinkers ; yet all of 
 which are also held by some as determined believers 
 as any that are to be found in any church. Priestley, 
 for instance, held all these doctrines, and Paley all but 
 the last. Hume's opinion on the reason of brutes can-
 
 AJTBIAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 285 
 
 not be doubted from some accidental remarks inter- 
 spersed in liis writings. Helvetius, a materialist and 
 sceptic both, has explicitly stated that if the arm of 
 man had chanced to terminate in the foot of a horse, 
 he would still have been found wandering- about as the 
 tenant of the woods.* The company in which the 
 opinion has been found has thus greatly disinclined 
 pious men towards it. Professor Eobinson, in his at- 
 tacks on the French school, is nowhere more severe 
 upon them than where he impeaches them of endea- 
 vouring to lower the dignity of human nature,! and 
 undoubtedly such attempts may be made in a manner 
 to hurt the interests both of religion and of morals, 
 
 A. Has not Lord Monboddo given great offence of 
 the same kind, and m the same quarters ? 
 
 B. Possibly he has ; although from his station as a 
 judge, and a man of most loyal political opinions, and 
 also from his being an orthodox behever, at least as far 
 as professions go, he has been less blamed than the rest. 
 He was an admirable Grecian, such as in modern times 
 Scotland has very rarely produced; and there is an 
 infinite deal of ingenuity and subtlety as well as learn- 
 ing in his writings, with a constant display of most 
 correct taste in judging of the ancient controversies. 
 But his theory has subjected him to great ridicule, not 
 so much from his holding that there is a gradation in 
 the whole scale of beings, and that the mental faculties 
 of man arc found in tlie minds of brutes, as from his 
 denying any specific difference even in body ; and hold- 
 ing that originally men were fashioned like monkeys, 
 and lived like them wild and savage. 
 
 A. I could nmch more readily understand this doc- 
 trine giving offence and scandal as heterodox, than the 
 other ; for it seems not very easily reconcileable either 
 to our religion or indeed to almost any other received 
 among civihzed nations. 
 
 • De I'KsjirL t rroofis of a Conspiracy.
 
 286 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 B. I consider it a thing just as little supported by 
 the facts, as it is repugnant to all known systems of 
 theology. But my objection to it is really not founded 
 upon its tendency to lower human nature. On the 
 contrary, I doubt if it does not rather exalt our faculties 
 beyond all the ordinary doctrines, and draw a broader 
 line of distinction between us and the lower animals 
 than that which it was intended to efface. For surely 
 if we have not only by our intelligence made the great 
 progress from a rude to a refined state — from the New 
 Zealander to Laplace, and Newton, and Lagrange — 
 but have also, by the help of the same faculties, made 
 the progress from the state of monkeys and baboons, 
 while all other animals are the same from one genera- 
 tion to another, and have made not a single step for 
 sixty centuries, and never have attempted in a single 
 instance to store up for after-times the experience of a 
 former age, our faculties must needs be immeasurably 
 superior to theirs. In short, the only question is as to 
 the nature of the difference, 
 
 A. I can well suppose a difference merely in degree 
 sufficient to explain any diversity of condition or result. 
 We have only to compare individual men together to 
 perceive this. It is admitted that reason, nay, that the 
 power of forming abstract ideas, as well as drawing in- 
 ferences from premises, is possessed by persons whom 
 yet you shall in vain attempt to teach the simplest 
 mathematical demonstration. Then their faculties only 
 differ in degree from those by wliich Pascal learnt 
 geometry without a master or a book, and Newton dis- 
 covered Fluxions, and Lagrange and Euler the Calculus 
 of Variations. It may truly be said, that there is no 
 difference in kind which could make a greater diversity 
 in the result. 
 
 B. It may indeed be truly so said ; but it may also 
 be added, that there is not a greater difference, call it 
 in kind or in degree, between the person whose obtuse- 
 ness you have supposed, and a sagacious retriever, or
 
 A^'LMAL INTELLIGENCE THEORY. 287 
 
 a clever ape, than between the great mathematicians 
 you have named, and that same person. Locke, whose 
 calmness of understanding was equal to his sagacity, 
 and never allowed his judgment to be warped by 
 prejudice, or carried away by fancy and feelings, seems 
 to have held this opinion, and indeed to have allowed 
 some reason to animals. " There are some brutes," he 
 observes, " that seem to have as much knowlege and 
 reason as some that are called men ; " and he goes on 
 to say that there is such a connexion between the 
 animal and the vegetable kingdom, as makes the dif- 
 ference scarcely perceptible between the lowest of the 
 one and the hio-hest of the other. 
 
 A. You quoted Addison's paper upon Instinct yester- 
 day, in proof of his taking the Newtonian view of the 
 subject. What does he say as to the Reason, and 
 generally the Intelligent faculties, of animals ? 
 
 B. He is, as you are aware, no very great reasoner ; 
 insomuch, indeed, that I have known persons made 
 converts to Deism, or rather from Christianity, by 
 reading his most feeble treatise on the Evidences. One 
 man of great virtue, learning, and ability confessed as 
 much to me. Accordingly, he is very wavering and 
 inconsistent on this subject also, and encounters it with 
 prejudice. At one place he says, reason cannot be the 
 cause of brutes acting as they do ; and then, after 
 seeming to deny it, he only adds a kind of admission 
 that they have reason : " for," says he, " were animals 
 endued with it to as great a degree as man," &c. And 
 again, in the same paper, he seems to deny it altogether. 
 " One would wonder to hear," he says, " sceptical men 
 disputing for the reason of animals, and telling us it is 
 only our ])ride and prejudices that will not allow them 
 the use of that faculty." This is exactly the notion to 
 which I was a little while ago imputing the unwilling- 
 ness of so injiny reasoners to allow brutes their fair 
 share of intellii>;ence. You see Addison considers it the 
 natural course of a sceptic ; yet surely Locke was as
 
 288 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 firm a believer as himself, and certainly a far more re- 
 flectino; and intelligent one. 
 
 A. Perhaps we had as well consider, before goin^ 
 into the question, by what kind of logic the argument 
 is to be conducted, by what sort of evidence we are to 
 try the cause. 
 
 B. I presume there can be no doubt here. We must 
 examine it according to the rules of inductive science. 
 The facts are before us. Some we gather from observa- 
 tion — those relating to animals ; some, as those respect- 
 ing the nature of the human mind, we ascertain by our 
 OAvn consciousness, or at least chiefly by that, though 
 in some sort also by observing other men's conduct, and 
 communicating with them ; but having no means of 
 communicating with animals, we are reduced to our 
 observation merely ; and then we naturally draw the 
 inference that, because the same things done by our- 
 selves would be known by us to be done from certain 
 mental powers, therefore we ascribe those powers to 
 the animals. This conclusion as to ourselves is certain, 
 because we know and feel it to be so by our own con- 
 sciousness. With respect to animals it is not nearly so 
 certain, because we cannot either enter into their minds, 
 as we do into our own, or communicate with them, as 
 we do with our fellow-men. Nevertheless, by varying 
 our observations on them, by making experiments on 
 their faculties, by placing them in new and arbitrary 
 combinations of circumstances, we can reduce the 
 chances of error to a very small amount, and render 
 our inferences as highly probable as most of the pro- 
 positions of contingent truth are. 
 
 A. It is not, however, necessary that we should now 
 go into an investigation of the nature of the human 
 faculties. Our researches are in their nature com- 
 parative only. 
 
 B. Certainly ; and therefore, agreeing with you, I 
 would begin by laying down this position, that all we 
 have to do is to grant or to deny the existence of certain
 
 A>nMAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 289 
 
 mental faculties, and to ascertain the meaning of the 
 terms which we employ in expressing these. AVhat- 
 ever those fiiculties may be in us, all we are now to 
 consider is, whether or not the brutes have the same, 
 or in any degree. 
 
 A. I think it quite right and really for our safety, 
 in conducting the inquiry, to lay down a second pre- 
 liminary principle or caution, namely, that Ave have no 
 right to argue from the mere effects produced by certain 
 endowments, or by any given combination or modiHca- 
 tion of these. Thus, when we see what has been 
 achieved by man, and contemplate the extraordinary 
 monuments raised by his industry, his activity, and his 
 intelligence, and the poAvcr which he has acquired over 
 the operations of nature, and of all other animals, pro- 
 fiting so largely by both, and when we compare this 
 with the feeble state of those animals, their having no 
 accumulation of either knowledge or possessions, and 
 gained nothing upon man or by man, we are drawing 
 a contrast which really proves nothing ; because it is 
 just as easily accounted for by supposing the two classes 
 extremely different in degree, as by assuming that they 
 differ in the kind of their faculties. Thus to take a 
 common instance, and one which Adam Smith himself 
 gives as marking a great difference between us and the 
 brutes, they have no appearance of barter ; but if bai-ter 
 arises from comparing ideas together, and forming a con- 
 clusion IVom the premises, and if, from other facts, ani- 
 mals appear to possess that power, there being no posi- 
 tive barter only siiows that their judgment or reasoning 
 faculties arc weaker thanours, or that for some otlioi- i-ea- 
 son, it is innnaterial to the argument wliat, they have; not 
 acquired that particular result of the reasoning faculty. 
 
 B. I entirely agree in this general position, hohling 
 that the neglect of it has been one main cause of the 
 errors into which pliilosophers have fallen on tliis ques- 
 tion ; I must, however, doubt the correctness of the 
 position, that the brutes are wholly ignorant of bai-tcr. 
 
 VOL. VI. u
 
 290 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 No one, as Smith says, ever saw one dog barter a bone 
 with another. But many of the operations of })oth dogs 
 and horses in dividing their labour, and of insects, as 
 ants, in helping each other, seem referable to a prin- 
 ciple not to be easily distinguished from barter. The 
 division of labour is clearly to be observed among them. 
 Of course I do not mean that comminute division by 
 which bees work together, and in which they incal- 
 culably excel ourselves; for that we have classed as 
 instinctive and unintentional, and therefore it cannot 
 enter into our present argument. But horses plainly 
 help one another in drawing, and take diiferent parts 
 of the work ; so do dogs in the chace. However, to 
 leave no doubt about it, and allowing beavers to act 
 instinctively, the wild horses sleeping and watching by 
 turns is a clear and unequivocal instance of the division 
 of labour. But I admit your position — that if anything 
 which is the result of a faculty, proved already to be 
 one of the animal mind, is not possessed by them, this 
 is no argument against their having that faculty. It may 
 lead us to be the more cautious in examining the proofs 
 by which their possession of the faculty is estabhshed : 
 but that is aU. Indeed, such distinctions are taken upon 
 no more philosophical ground than he would have for 
 his classification who should make two divisions of metals 
 or of water, one the solid, and another the fluid, accord- 
 ingly as they had different temperatures. 
 
 A. I hold it to be a part of the same preliminary 
 position, that if brutes are shown to possess any given 
 simple faculties, their not having the power of doing 
 things only to be accomplished by combinations of 
 these simple powers, does not impeach the proposition, 
 already established, of their ha\ang those simple powers. 
 For it would only show that they have not the combi- 
 nation, though they may have the separate powers. 
 Does any other proposition occur to you as convenient 
 to be laid down in the outset ? 
 
 B. I should say this, which is perhaps ralher a
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE THEORY. 291 
 
 corollary from the last, that we must carefully dis- 
 tinguish between simple and composite Acuities, as 
 they are called. Indeed, I deny the accuracy of this 
 form of speech, and I believe it tends much to error in 
 metaphysical speculations. No system of psychology, 
 ancient or modern, sanctions it ; neither those of Hart- 
 ley, Priestley, Berkeley, nor that of lieid and Stewart 
 and Brown, although I think it has been much en- 
 couraged by the speculations of these last, and their 
 separate treatment of our mental powers under distinct 
 heads, how necessary soever this was for the elucidation 
 of the subject. The mind being one, and entire, and 
 invariable, without parts or composition, acts always as 
 one being. It recollects, praises, judges, abstracts, ima- 
 gines ; and when you say that it exercises a compound, 
 or complex, or composite faculty, as for example, the 
 imagination, you only mean that it first exerts one 
 faculty, then another, and then a third. We never 
 should call the process by which chemists bleach vege- 
 table substances a composite operation, because they first 
 make oxymuriatic gas, then mix lime with water, then, 
 by agitation of the water exposed to the gas, cause lime 
 to combine, and then expose the vegetable fibre to this 
 compound liquor ; we say that these are so many suc- 
 cessive operations performed, and not one complex 
 operation. And so imagination is not one compound 
 faculty, nor is imagining one complex operation of the 
 mind. But that mind in succession remembers, ab- 
 stracts, judges or compares ideas, and reasons or 
 compares judgments — and the whole four successive 
 operations form imagination ; to which you may add 
 the further operation of taste, Avhich, rejecting one and 
 selecting other results of imagination, produces the 
 fruits of refined or purified fancy ; if indeed this taste 
 itself bo anything l)nt a sound exercise of judgment — 
 a judgment refined by exj)ericnce, that is, by constant 
 attention to what is pleasing, and wliat disagreeable. 
 I'he rapidity with which all these separate operations
 
 202 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 are performed by the mind, neither prevents them from 
 being in succession and separately performed, nor at all 
 shows the mind to have composition or parts. Giving 
 names to certain combinations, or rather successions of 
 operations, and not to others, may be correct ; but it 
 must be admitted is somewhat capricious. We talk of 
 imagination as if it were one operation, though it is 
 many ; and yet we give no separate name to several 
 other successions as rapid of our mental operations. 
 So as to our moral feelings. We speak of conscience 
 as one ; yet it is, as Smith describes it, a succession 
 (he says a compound) of several, among which pity for 
 the party injured, and fear of the consequences to our- 
 selves, are the chief. Yet we give no name to the 
 reflection on past enjoyments, which is as quick a 
 succession of several emotions, — namely, recollection, 
 comparison of the present, and sorrowing for the con- 
 trast. However, as regards our present purpose, the 
 simplest part of the proposition is, that any given simple 
 faculty or single operation of the mind being found 
 to be possessed by animals, the circumstance of their 
 not possessing the compound exclusively, or several 
 combined, or a successive operation of different facul- 
 ties, is no proof against their having the simple ones. 
 Thus, if they have no fancy, it is no proof that they 
 have no memory or judgment ; because they may have 
 these without having abstraction, which is one of the 
 faculties that go to make the imaginative process. But 
 it is also no proof of their being without abstraction, 
 and all the other simple or single faculties ; for it only 
 proves that they have not the power of using these 
 faculties together, or rather in quick succession, and 
 for the same joint purpose. And should they have the 
 simple or single, without having the compound faculties 
 or processes, this would again argue no specific diff"er- 
 ence, but rather a diversity of degree. 
 
 A. I think these preliminary positions not only have 
 cleared the ground for us, but helped us a good way
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE THEORY. 293 
 
 Oil our journey. There appears hardly much more to 
 reason about now. The subject has been a good deal 
 enveloped in mist and smoke, from confusion of ideas, 
 and from prejudice and high feeling. These being 
 blown away, it seems pretty clear what the structure is 
 that we are to examine. 
 
 B. Before o-oino- to the brute faculties, let us just 
 cast a glance over the faculties which have been enu- 
 merated as belonging to ourselves, and see if they 
 should not be a little simpUfied — Sensation, Perception, 
 Consciousness, Memory, Abstraction, Imagination, Judg- 
 ment, Reasoning, to which have been added Taste and 
 the Moral Sense; and Mr. Stewart thinks these not 
 enough, adding among others, the power of connecting 
 general or abstract signs with the things signified. Now 
 suppose we admit the correctness of calling a state of 
 mind in which it is purely passive an active power or 
 faculty, as Sensation, which is merely the effect pro- 
 duced upon the mind by the operation of the senses, 
 and involves nothing like an exertion of the mind itself, 
 any more than receiving a hurt or a gratification pas- 
 sively is any exertion of the body, although the opera- 
 tion whereby that reaches the mind may be termed 
 bodily exertion ; then it will follow, and not otherwise, 
 that Sensation is a faculty. But Perception is no doubt 
 an active exertion of the mind. Memory differs from 
 Recollection as Sensation does from Perception. The 
 state of mind in which one idea calls up another, or a 
 present state of mind influenced by a past state, is 
 Memory. The exertion by which the mind voluntarily 
 induces the present state from the past, is Recollection. 
 The one is the sensation, the other the perception of the 
 past, as sensation and perception are of the present. 
 
 A. Is not Perception an inference from Sensation ? 
 I have the sensation of solidity or of smell, and I per- 
 (■(Tive either the solid, resisting body, and the odorous 
 body, or I perceive the solid or odoi-ous (piality, that 
 Is, i infer a being from the sensation, or I infer a
 
 294 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 quality ; the former seems a simple inference, the latter 
 an inference coupled with an abstraction. 
 
 B. I do not incline altogether to this opinion ; but 
 at any rate it will not apply to Memory and Recollec- 
 tion ; for Recollection is not an inference from Memory ; 
 it is an effort by which the mind throws itself into the 
 state into which it might have been brought by the 
 former ideas recurring of themselves. In Perception 
 we do not voluntarily throw the mind into the state of 
 Sensation; we draw an inference from that sensation 
 according to your theor3^ But I think it pretty clear 
 that there is something between the sensation and the 
 inference — the simple apprehension and the conclusion 
 drawn. The latter is clearly an inference that an 
 < external being exists which created the sensation and 
 tlie perception. But I think there is also a perception 
 upon the sensation, and which cannot certainly exist 
 without it. However, be this as it may, to our present 
 purpose it makes no difference, except as far as there 
 can be no doubt of the mind being in a much more 
 passive state in the two conditions of feeling and re- 
 membering than in the other two of recollecting and 
 perceiving. 
 
 A. Then of Imagination we have already disposed. 
 It consists of the successive, though rapidly succeeding 
 operations of other faculties whereby we create or 
 combine new ideas that had no previous existence, 
 abstracting the qualities of one object to clothe another 
 with them. But Abstraction we may allow to be a 
 simple operation and one of the most important. What 
 do you make of two that I do not remember you to 
 have named, Attention and Conception ? 
 
 B. I omitted them purposely. I can see really 
 nothing in Attention but the deo-ree in which certain 
 other faculties operate. It is only the intensity with 
 which I perceive. Possibly there may be some good 
 from considering it as the difference between Percep- 
 tion and Sensation ; in the latter case the mind pas-
 
 ANENIAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 295 
 
 sively receives the impression of the senses; in the 
 former it fixes itself steadily upon those impressions, 
 so as to feel them by a voluntary effort more acutely. 
 As for Conception, which used formerly to be called 
 Simple Apprehension, it is only the forming ideas of 
 objects neither presented by the senses nor by the 
 imagination ; and I am unable to separate it from 
 JMemory and from Abstraction — from memory as far 
 as it deals with former ideas, from abstraction as far 
 as it deals with quality apart from the objects remem- 
 bered or imagined. 
 
 A. Then Judgment being the comparison of ideas, 
 and Reasoning the comparison of judgments, that is, 
 of the ideas arising from the former comparison, may 
 1)6 set down as one faculty — that of Comparing — and 
 I conclude you make quick work with Taste and the 
 Moral Sense, of which the one gives us preferences 
 among objects of mental gratification, and the other 
 among objects of moral approbation? 
 
 B. They are both evidently exercises of the judging 
 and reasoning powers — say the comparing powers, 
 according to two standards, — the one the sense of 
 beauty or fitness, of what is pleasing or agreeable: 
 the oUier, the sense of what is just and right. But 
 whether this last sense is natural or acquired, and how 
 acquired, is a question that has long divided philo- 
 sophers, and which will very certainly never be deter- 
 mined. JSTor is it more easy to determine the other, 
 which is quite a kindred one, how it is that our taste 
 is formed, and whether it be natural or acquired. All 
 tliat we can say on this subject is, to remark the little 
 practical importance which belongs to either question, 
 and to state that, as far as our present discussion is 
 concerned, the only faculty involved in either the one 
 or the other is that by which we compare different 
 ideas. 
 
 A. Our enumeration then of mental faculties seems 
 to resolve into Perception, active or passive ; Memoi-y,
 
 296 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 active or passive ; Consciousness, Abstraction, and 
 Comparison ; then how do we place animals as to the 
 first? 
 
 B. Clearly no animal, nothing having life, can be 
 conceived to exist, without Passive Perception at aJl 
 events, and hardly any without Active Perception also. 
 Consciousness too seems a necessary quality of every 
 mind ; it is the knowing one's own existence ; so 
 Memory of the passive kind must exist in every mind ; 
 without Consciousness and Memory no animal could 
 know its own personal identity ; and no acts could be 
 done by it upon the supposition of that identity. With 
 respect to Active Memory and Conception, if this is to 
 be held a separate faculty, it is implied in Comparison, 
 or in judgment and reasoning ; so that our inquiries 
 come to be confined within sufficiently narrow limits. 
 Do the lower animals possess Abstraction and Com- 
 parison? I will at once begin with Abstraction, be- 
 cause it is the power most generally denied to brutes ; 
 and this arises, as I conceive, from an ill-grounded 
 notion of its nature, and from a supposition that it is a 
 faculty of a far more refined nature, subservient to 
 operations of a much more difficult kind, than the 
 truth will warrant us in affirming. The truth appears 
 to be, that there are, if not two kinds of Abstraction, 
 an active and a passive, yet certainly some degrees of 
 Abstraction so easy and even unavoidable, that we can 
 hardly conceive almost any mind incapable of forming 
 them. But on the other hand, the very highest and 
 most difficultly attained reach of human thought is 
 connected Avith Abstraction. Observing this, philo- 
 sophers have passed all under one name, and because 
 the brutes could not conduct algebraical investigations 
 or metaphysical reasonings, have denied them all power 
 whatever of forming abstract ideas. 
 
 ^. To a certain decree this is no doubt true. Tlie 
 abstraction by which we reason upon m and n ov x as 
 only numbers; deal with x the unknown quantity.
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE THEORY. 297 
 
 multiplying it and speaking of m times x, or dividing 
 it and speaking of one n"^ part of x, is no doubt a liigli 
 and refined reach of thouoht : but so is the Ibrmino- to 
 ourselves an idea of abstract qualities ; indeed I know 
 not if, when we reason about tn and x, we do more 
 than mechanically deal with the letters ; whereas in 
 reasoning of colour or smell as abstracted from tlie 
 rose with which we always have seen them conjoined, 
 and formino; to ourselves the idea of somethino- in the 
 abstract which we have only ever seen in the concrete, 
 — of some ideal existence of which in actual existence 
 we have never known anything, nor can know, — we 
 really appear to go a step further. Now do you 
 maintain that Abstraction is ever otherwise than a 
 difficult and painful operation ? 
 
 B. First of all be pleased to observe that many 
 philosophers altogether deny, even to man, the power 
 of forming abstract ideas. The dispute of the Nom- 
 inalists and Realists, so well ridiculed by Swift, or 
 rather bv Arbuthnot in Scriblerus, is as old as mcta- 
 physical inquiries, under one name or another. They 
 consider it impossible for us really to form these 
 abstractions, and hold that we only are using words 
 and not dealing with ideas, just as you seem to think 
 we do in algebraical language. Mr. Stewart is among 
 those who conceive that we think in language. My 
 opinion, if against such venerable authority I may 
 venture to hold one, is different. I think we have 
 ideas independent of language, and I do not see how 
 otherwise a person born deaf and dumb and blind can 
 have ideas at all ; which I know they have, because I 
 carefully examined the one of whom Mr. Stewart has 
 given so interesting an account. Indeed he has re- 
 corded the experiment of the musical snuff-box which 
 I then made upon this unhappy but singular boy. lint 
 next I am to show you that a1)straction independent 
 of algebra, or metaphysical reasoning altogether', is 
 neither difficult nor painful. AVithout Abstraction we
 
 298 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 cannot classify in any way, or make any approach to 
 classification. Now I venture to say that no human 
 being, be he ever so stupid, is without some power of 
 classification, nay, that he is constantly exercising it 
 xf'ith great care, and almost unavoidably, and acting 
 upon the inferences to which it leads. He can tell a 
 man from a horse. How? By attending to those 
 things in which they difl:er. But he can also tell a 
 stone from both, ancl he knows that the stone is dif- 
 ferent from both. How ? By attending to those things 
 in which the two animals agree, and to those things in 
 which they differ from the stone. So every person 
 having accurate eyes and the use of speech can call a 
 sheet of paper and a patch of snow both white ; a piece 
 of hot iron and of hot brick both hot. He has there- 
 fore the idea in his mind of colour and of heat in these 
 several cases, independent of other qualities, that is, 
 abstracted from other qualities ; he classifies the white 
 bodies together, independent of their differences ; the 
 hot bodies, independent of theirs ; and he contrasts the 
 white metal with the white snow, because they differ 
 in temperature, without regarding their agreeing to- 
 gether in colour. All this is Abstraction, and all this 
 is quite level to the meanest capacity of men. But is 
 it not also level to brute intellect ? Unquestionably all 
 animals know their mates and their own kind. A doe; 
 knows his master, knows that he is not a dog, and that 
 he differs from other men. In these very ordinary 
 operations we see the animal mind at one time passing 
 over certain resemblances and fixing on differences ; at 
 another time disregarding differences and fixing only 
 on resemblances. Nay, go lower in the scale. A bull 
 is enraged by a red colour, be the form of the body 
 what you please. A fish is caught by means of a light, 
 be it of any size or any form. 
 
 A . These things which you last mention are mere 
 sensations. The red light or the flame impresses 
 the retina and affects the animal's sensorium, his
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY 299 
 
 brain — irritating the quadruped and attracting the 
 fish. 
 
 B. What then ? Other sensations pass to his mind 
 through his senses at the same time. He has the 
 sensation of form as well as colour; yet he passes this 
 entirely over, and only considers the colour. However, 
 take those cases in which animals are attracted to cer- 
 tain places. They are hungry and go to a certain field 
 to eat, without the least regard to its position or its 
 shape ; because it agrees ^ath other fields in bearing 
 the food which the beast is in quest of. Fhes approach 
 the hght because they believe it to be the open air 
 where they wish to go. So the bird never throws 
 stones into a river or puddle to raise the water; but it 
 does throw them into the ewer. It abstracts water 
 from the thing containing it; and could not reason 
 upon the effects of the operation without a process of 
 Abstraction. Indeed, upon the footing on which you 
 would put it, I know not that all our own abstract ideas 
 may not in the end be resolved into sensations and their 
 immediate consequences. I know of no evidence that 
 you have of our abstract ideas being formed in any 
 other way, except on our consciousness, and our con- 
 tinual communication of ideas and experience through 
 speech. In the case of the brute we have all the same 
 phenomena, and, excluding the operation of bhnd In- 
 stinct, we are forced to the hke conclusions. 
 
 A. I think we may go a step farther; have not ani- 
 mals some kind of language? At all events they 
 understand ours. A horse knows the encouraging or 
 chiding sound of voice and whip, and moves or stops 
 accordingly. Whoever uses the sound, and in what- 
 ever key or loudness, the horse acts alike. But they seem 
 also to have some knowledo-e of conventional si"-ns. If 
 I am to teach a dog or a pig to do certain things on a 
 given signal, the process I take to be this. I connect 
 his obedience with reward, his disobedience with pun- 
 ishment. But this only gives him the motive to obey,
 
 300 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 the fear of disobeyino-. It in no way can give him th^-;- 
 means of connecting the act with the sign. Now, con- 
 nectinjj the two too-ether, whatever be the manner in 
 which the sign is made, is Abstraction ; but it is more, 
 it is the very kind of Abstraction in which all language 
 has its orio;in — the connectino- the sio;n with the thing 
 signified; for the sign is purely arbitrary in this case as 
 much as in human language. 
 
 B. ^lay Ave not add that they have some conven- 
 tional signs among themselves? How else are we to 
 explain their calls ? The cock grouse calls the hen : 
 the male the female of many animals. The pigeon 
 and the fieldfare and the crow make signals; and the 
 wild horse is a clear case of signals. All this implies 
 not only Abstraction, but that very kind of Abstraction 
 which gives us our language. It is in fact a language 
 which they possess, though simple and hmited in its 
 rano-e. 
 
 A. As to the power of comparing, what is commonly 
 called Reason, 2^<^ii'' excellence, comprising Judgment 
 and Reasoning, this needs not detain us very long. 
 The facts here are not well liable to dispute. There 
 is no possibility of explaining the many cases which 
 we began by going over without allowing this power. 
 The}^ all prove it in some degree. Several of them 
 show it to exist in a very considerable degree. The 
 acts of some birds and monkeys cannot be accounted 
 for by Instinct ; for they are the result of experience ; 
 and they are performed with a perfect knowledge of 
 the end in view ; they are directed pecuharly to that 
 end ; they vary according as the circumstances in which 
 they are performed alter, and the alteration made is 
 alv/ays so contrived as to suit the variation in the cir- 
 cumstances. Some of these acts show more sagacity, 
 according to Mr. Locke's observation, than is possessed 
 by many men. The existence of a comparing and con- 
 triving power is therefore plain enough. And on the 
 M'hole I conceive that a rational mind cannot be denied
 
 AXIJIAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 301 
 
 to the animals, however inferior in degree their faculties 
 may be to our own. 
 
 B. That inferiority is manifestly the cause why they 
 have made so little progress, or rather have hardly 
 made any at all. Some little is proved by such facts as 
 Mr. Knight has collected, but they are only exceptions 
 to the rule which has doomed them to a stationary ex- 
 istence. This diifcrence, however, is merely the result 
 of the inferior degree of their mental powers, as well 
 as the different construction of their bodily powers. 
 The want of fingers endowed with a nice sense of 
 touch is an obstruction to the progress of all, or almost 
 all, the lower animals. The elephant's trunk is no 
 doubt a partial exception, and accordingly his sagacity 
 is greater than that of almost any other beast. The 
 monkey would have a better chance of learning the 
 nature of external objects if his thumb were not on 
 the same side of his hand with his fingers, whereby he 
 cannot handle and measure objects as we do, Avhose 
 chief knowledge of size and form is derived from the 
 goniometer of the finger and thumb, the moveable 
 angle which their motion and position give us. Insects 
 work with infinite nicety by means of their antennae ; 
 when these are removed they cease to work at all, as 
 Huber clearly proved. Clearly this different external 
 conformation, together with their inferior degree of 
 reason, is sufficient to account for brutes having been 
 stationary, and for their being subdued to our use, as 
 the Deity intended they should, when He appointed 
 this difference. To argue from the complex effect of 
 all the faculties, bodily and mental, in giving difVcicnt 
 progress or power to our race and to theirs, and to 
 infer from this difference that there is an essential and 
 specific diversity in our mental structure, nay that they 
 have not one single faculty the same with ours in kind, 
 is hic'ldy unphilosopjiical. It is indeed contrary to one 
 of the fundamental rules of philosoj)liizing, that which 
 forbids us needlessly to multiply causes. For we are
 
 302 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 thus driven to suppose two kinds of Intelligence, human 
 and brutal, and two sets of faculties, a Memory and a 
 Quasi Memory, as the lawyers would have it — an Ab- 
 straction and Reasoning, properly so called, and some- 
 thing in the nature of Abstraction and Reasoning, but, 
 though like, yet not the same. 
 
 A . There is one matter to which we have not as yet 
 adverted, but, after having considered the intelligent 
 as well as instinctive powers, we may now as well do 
 so. I mean the diversity in the operations of the latter, 
 and the perfect sameness of the former — a sameness in 
 all the operations of any given individual animal, and 
 likewise of each of the species. 
 
 B. This is well worthy of consideration. When trying 
 to explain instinctive operations upon the hypothesis of 
 an intelligent principle acting under the impulse of sen- 
 sations, I found in this perfect sameness and regularity 
 of its operation a considerable difficulty, though not 
 perhaps an insuperable one, not certainly so great a 
 difficulty as those we have considered. 
 
 A. How did you endeavour to explain, on that hypo- 
 thesis, the regularity of Reason or Intelligence ? 
 
 B. The absolute sameness of moral and intellectual 
 character, and the limited sphere of ideas and events. 
 Avill account for much. We see far less diversity of 
 action and speech among peasants of a very confined 
 knowledge and very limited range of pursuits, than 
 among persons of a higher degree of education and 
 superior station in life. But still there is a great 
 diversity. Taking, however, two men of most perfect 
 resemblance in all their faculties, and all their feelings, 
 similarly constituted in both body and mind, they would 
 probably act nearly if not entirely alike. Whatevei- 
 made one do a thing would make the other, and we 
 must suppose them to be placed in perfectly similar 
 circumstances, so that the same things would happen 
 to both. Chance is here to be put out of view ; because 
 it only means ignorance of motives and circumstances,
 
 ANniAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 803 
 
 and assumes a diversity in these unknown to us, which 
 by the supposition is here exchided. Suppose these 
 two individuals thus placed in like circumstances as to 
 food and building materials, why should they eat dif- 
 ferently, or make different habitations ? What is there 
 to make the one choose a plant which the other does 
 not choose ? or form a hut in any particular different 
 from the other ? If one kind of food was nearer the 
 one, and another nearer the other individual, they 
 might choose differently ; but this assumes that both 
 kinds are agreeable to the constitution of their palates. 
 
 A. As long as provichng for merely physical wants 
 was their whole occupation, it is probable that both 
 would act alike, except that, if any difficulty occurred 
 to be vanquished, I am not at all sure of their adopting 
 the very same means to overcome it. One might break 
 a nut with his teeth, another with a stone, or by bruis- 
 ing two nuts together. But there is the same diversity 
 in the conduct of animals where they act by intelligent 
 principles. The general resemblance of their proceed- 
 ings is explained by the consideration you are stating 
 in the case you put of the boys. Their instinctive 
 operations would never vary in the least particular. 
 When they came to reason, or speculate, or converse, 
 the sameness would probably cease. It seems incon- 
 sistent with imagination and with free will ; yet of this 
 I speak doubtingly, considering the hypothesis you 
 have made of faculties and feelings perfectly alike in 
 all respects. 
 
 B. Certainly, you ought to speak doubtingly, when 
 such is the hypothesis that is now binding us. I do 
 not see how, even in reasoning, anything should ever 
 come into the mind of the one that did not suo-ijest itself 
 to the other. But our hypothesis is not easy to remain 
 under. Suppose, to make the case like instinct, two 
 untaught oliildren in different parts of the country, viz., 
 one in China and the other here, to be placed in a 
 situation where the same kinds of food and building
 
 304 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 materials were placed, and a variety of each, we may 
 assume that similar tastes and constitution of mind and 
 body would make them eat the same things, perhaps 
 choose to Sielter themselves by building rather than 
 by going into caves, possibly to build with the same 
 materials selected out of a number ; but it is much to 
 say that they would exactly preserve the same figure 
 and size and proportions in the huts they made. Each 
 would certainly make blunders, and work inartificially ; 
 and it is difficult to fancy them exactly making the same 
 blunders, deviating from the straight line or the circle 
 by the same quantity of aberration, and from the per- 
 pendicular by the same angle : yet the bee in China 
 and in England makes the same angles, and forms 
 cells with the same proportions, and raises the grub 
 the same height from the liquor provided for its nutri- 
 ment, so as to let it have access to the liquor without 
 incommoding or drowning it. 
 
 A. When instinct is interfered with by obstacles 
 interposed, the animal's intelligent powers are brought 
 into action, and then the uniformity and perfect regu- 
 larity ceases. This seems to present under this head, 
 as well as the other head of knowledge and design or 
 intention, a sufficiently marked distinction. 
 
 B. Certainly ; and it is to be observed that the 
 more sagacious any animal is, the greater variety is 
 perceived in his actions and habits. Thus the elephant 
 and the dog present general resemblances throughout 
 each species ; but the instances of sagacity or reason 
 which the different individuals exhibit are sufficiently 
 various : whereas there is no more diversity in the 
 ordinary working of the bee, than in the operations 
 of crystallization, or the secretion of the sanguiferous 
 or the lacteal system. In truth, we may compare the 
 two cases together. Instinct seems to hold the same 
 place in the mental which secretion and absorption do 
 in the physical system. Intelligence or reason will 
 sometimes interfere with Instinct, as our voluntary
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE — THEORY. 305 
 
 actions will interfere with the involuntary operations 
 of secretion. But the instinctive operation proceeds 
 whether the animal wills or no — proceeds without his 
 knowledge, and beyond liis design — as secretion goes 
 on in our sleep without our knowledge and without any 
 intention on our part. So as secretion goes on without 
 any help from us, or any direct co-operation, Instinct 
 works without any aid from Intelligence. But there 
 is this difference in the connexion of will or Intelligence 
 with Instinct, and the connexion of voluntary action 
 with secretion — that the Instinct seems subservient to 
 the intelhgent will far more than the secreting power 
 is to the voluntary action. The bee, when obstructed, 
 apphes his Instinct, as it were, to overcome the obstacle, 
 whereas we cannot alter at will the course of secretion ; 
 we have some du'ect power over it, but very httle. 
 
 A. One thing seems quite clear, that upon any view 
 of this great question, whatever theory we adopt, all 
 leaves the inference of design untouched ; nay, the 
 more we inquire, the more we perceive that all in- 
 vestigation only places in a stronger light the conclu- 
 sion from the facts to a superintending Intelhgence. 
 
 B. Beyond all doubt it is so. The whole question 
 is one of relations and connexions. Adaptation — ad- 
 justment — mutual dependence of parts — conformity of 
 arrangement — balance — and compensation — every- 
 where appear pervading the whole system, and conspi- 
 cuous in all its parts. It signifies not in tliis view 
 whether we regard Instinct as the result of the animal's 
 faculties actuated by the impressions of his senses — or 
 as the faint glimmerings of Intelligence working by the 
 same rules which guide the operations of more deve- 
 loped reason — or as a peculiar faculty differing in kind 
 from those with which man is endowed — or as the im- 
 mediate and direct operation of the Great i\Iind which 
 created and which upholds the universe. If the last 
 be indeed the true theory, then we have additional 
 reason for devoutly admiring the spectacle which this 
 
 VOL. VL X
 
 306 DIALOGUES ON INSTINCT. 
 
 department of the creation hourly offers to the contem- 
 plative mind. But the same conclusion of a present 
 and pervading Intelligence flows from all the other 
 doctrines, and equally flows from them all. If the 
 Senses so move the animal's mind as to produce the 
 perfect result which we witness, those senses have been 
 framed and that mind has been constituted, in strict 
 harmony with each other, and their combined and 
 mutual action has been adjusted to the regular per- 
 formance of the work spread out before our eyes, the 
 subject of just wonder. If it is Reason like our own 
 which moves the animal mechanism, its modification to 
 suit that physical structure and to work those effects 
 which we are unable to accomplish, commands again 
 our humble admiration, Avliile the excellence of the 
 workmanship performed by so mean an agent impresses 
 us with ideas yet more awful of the Being who formed 
 and who taught it. If to the bodily structure of these 
 creatures there has been given a Mind wholly different 
 from our own, yet it has been most nicely adapted to 
 its material abode, and to the corporeal tools wherewith 
 it works ; so that while a new variety strikes us in the 
 infinite resources of creative skill, our admiration is still 
 raised as before by the manifestation of contrivance and 
 of expertness which everywhere speaks of the govern- 
 ing power, the directing skill, the plastic hand. Nor 
 is there upon any of these hypotheses room for doubt- 
 ing the identity of the Great Artificer of nature. The 
 same peculiarity everywhere is seen to mark the whole 
 workmanship. All comes from a Supreme Intelhgence ; 
 that intelligence, though variously diversified, preserves 
 its characteristic features, and ever shines another and 
 the same.
 
 307 
 
 NOTE TO THE DIALOGUES. 
 
 In Dialogue I. the Instinct of the duckling hatched under the hen and 
 of the chicken in the oven is mentioned. The two following facts have 
 occurred since that discussion was ended. 
 
 When a sow fan-ows, the pigs are expelled with some force, and to a 
 little distance, by the action of the uterus and abdominal muscles. Each 
 pig instantly runs up to one of the teats, which he ever after regards ;is 
 his own peculiar property; and when more pigs than teats are produced, 
 the latter ones run to the tail of some of the others, and suck till they die 
 of inanition, 
 
 Mr. Davy in his account of Ceylon mentions a remarkable Instinct of 
 the alligator. He saw an egg in the sand just ready to crack, and broke 
 it with his stick. The animal came out, and made at once for the river. Ho 
 held his stick before it, and immediately the reptile put itself in a posture 
 of defence, as an adult alligator would have done in like circumstances. 
 
 In Dialogue III. there is some doubt expressed as to the water-moth 
 loading its case, if too light in the water, with a kind of ballast. The larvai 
 of the Phrrjganea are stated by Mr. Lyell to do this habitually, and to use 
 fresh-water shells for their ballast. This gives rise to many masses of 
 calcareous matter in the tertiary formations. As many as 100 small shells 
 are found surrounding one tube.* 
 
 In Dialogue IV. some remarks are made upon Hereditary Instincts. 
 Mr. Roullin has related a similar instance of such Instinct in the hunting 
 dogs of ^Mexico. Were they to attack the deer in front, whose weight 
 exceeds their own si.xfold, they would be destroyed and have their backs 
 broken, as happens to other dogs ignorant of the nianauvre, which con- 
 sists in attacking from behind or laterally, and seizing the very moment 
 wlien the deer, in running, rests upon two legs. The dog then takes hold 
 of him by the belly and throws him over. The dog of pure breed inherits 
 this stratagem and never attacks otherwise. Should the deer come ui>on 
 liim unawares (from not scci)ig him), he steps aside and makes his attack 
 at the proper time in tiie animal's flank ; other dogs, however superior iu 
 sagacity and strength, make the attack in front, and have their necks 
 broken by tlie deer. So too some of our English miners carried out grey- 
 hounds to hunt the hares in Mexico. The air on that elevated platform, 
 
 • Principles of Geolopj', vol. ii., p. 1'32.
 
 308 NOTE TO THE DIALOGUES. 
 
 9,000 feet above the level of the sea, is so rare that the mercury stands at 
 19 inches generally, and the dogs were soon exhausted with running in 
 such an atmosphere ; but their whelps are not at all incommoded by it, 
 and hunt as easily as the dogs of the country. 
 
 Respecting the elephant, extraordinary accounts are told by military 
 men who were in the Burmese war. They relate that when any extra 
 task is to be performed by them, some favourite dainty is held up before- 
 hand, and the sagacious animal, comprehending the promise of reward 
 thus implied, exerts himself to earn it. This comes to the principle of 
 barter as near as may be.
 
 309 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. 
 
 ON THE GLOW-WOEM. 
 
 The facts relating to the light of this and other similar insects 
 are by no means accurately known ; and upon some material 
 points able observers differ widely. Thus it was deemed very 
 natural to suspect that some inflammable matter in a state of 
 slow combustion caused the luminous appearance, the rather as 
 it bears a striking resemblance to the light emitted by phospho- 
 rescent bodies. Accordingly the ob\dous course was pursued by 
 different experimenters, of exposing the insects to heat and to 
 oxvgen gas, to see if the light was increased; and exposing 
 them to carbonic acid and hydrogen gases, to see if the light 
 was then extinguished. Forster and Spallanzani affirm that 
 they have tried this experiment, and found the result to accord 
 with the theory ; they assert distinctly that in oxygen gas, and 
 on the application also of heat, the light is more brilliant, and 
 that none is given out in hydrogen and carbonic acid gases. But 
 Sir H. Da\'>- found that the light continued in the latter gases 
 not sensibly diminished, and that oxygen did not increase its 
 brightness ;* jMr. INIacartney observed the light in vacuo and 
 under water,! while Dr. Hulme found that it was extinguished 
 in hvdrogen, carbonic acid, and nitrous gases, although he could 
 not "perceive that oxygen gas increased. J There seems reason 
 to suspect that these able men made their experiments on dif- 
 ferent species of the insect, and that the animal or vital powers 
 which regulate the secretion, or the use of tlic lumuious matter, 
 were affected by the gases applied. For it is admitted on all 
 hands that the living insect has a power of extinguishing the 
 light independent of any mechanical operation by which it may 
 cover over the shining part ; and although the, fire-fly has that 
 part usually covered with its wings, and tlicrefbre only shines 
 when flying, the glow-worm's light is constant, unless she re- 
 strains or extinguishes it by a voluntary act. 
 
 That some luminous matter is secreted by the insect there can 
 be no doubt. The fact that boys in South America rub their 
 
 • riiil. Trans., 1810, p. 287. t lb., 1801. J lb,, 1810.
 
 310 APPENDIX. 
 
 faces wltli bruised fire-flies, to make tlaem shine, is asserted by 
 travellers ; and this seems to render it probable that the glow- 
 worm likewise secretes such an oU. But the experiments of an 
 able chemist, Mr. Murray, have set this question at rest. He 
 examined a box in which glow-worms had been kept, and found 
 several luminous specks which they had left behind them. Some 
 of these jielded a steady light for five or six hours. Mr. Murray 
 says that the luminous matter is enclosed in a capsule of a trans- 
 parent substance, which, when ruptured, lets out the matter in 
 a liquid form of the consistency of cream. A French naturalist, 
 M. Macaire, made some experiments upon this matter, the re- 
 sult of which differed materially in one respect from that of either 
 Spallanzani, Davy, or Hulme ; for he is said to have found that 
 the presence of oxygen in the air prevents it from shining, a 
 position not reconcUeable with the worm shining in the atmo- 
 sphere. But some of this author's experiments seem to furnish 
 a solution of many difficulties ; for their results refer the appear- 
 ance to the annual functions. He found that the luminous 
 matter is chieffy composed of albumen, and that any body which 
 coagulates albumen destroys the shining quaUty ; which it pro- 
 bably does by altering the albummous state of the fluid. He 
 also observed, that though a certain degree of temperature is 
 necessary for it, a higher degree destroys it altogether ; and also 
 that common electricity has no effect in excitmg it, but that vol- 
 taic electricity or galvanism does excite it. These observations, 
 if accurate, are the most important that have been made upon 
 this subject. They seem to indicate an immediate connexion 
 between the vital powers of the insect and its luminous quality ; 
 and they account satisfactorily for the diversity in the results of 
 former observers, who operated upon the anunal apparently 
 without taking its \ital functions into the account. 
 
 The glow-worm (Lampyris Noctiluca) is not the only luminous 
 insect. Tliere are several other kinds both winged and apterous. 
 Of these the fire-fly, a species of the Elater and of the beetle 
 tribe, has already been mentioned. Indeed all the species of the 
 Lampyris genus are supposed to be more or less luminous. 
 Several other species of the Elater, as well as the fire-fly, are 
 also luminous. Some species of the Fulgaro (an hemipterous 
 insect) shine so bright that they are called lantern flies. Of 
 these the Fulgora Candelaria Is a native of China, and the F. 
 Lanternaria, which is two or three inches long. Is a native of 
 South America. The shining matter m these, and all others of 
 the genus that shine at all, is confined in a transparent bulb pro- 
 jecting from the head.* Two species of centlpes, the Geophllus 
 
 • Kirby and Spence, ii., 413.
 
 THE GLOW-WORM. 311 
 
 Electricus and G. Phosphoreiis, also shine ; the former is a native 
 of this country, the hitter of Asia. 
 
 Several theories have been formed to explain the use of this 
 luminous quality. It is observable that some of the insects 
 which have it are apterous in one sex while the other is winged — 
 as the jjlow-worm. the male of which is a fly, the female being a 
 cateq^illar. In others both male and female are winged. Again, 
 some have the light always in front, and it seems not to vary iu 
 brightness, as the Fulgora. Naturalists have supposed that in 
 these it is serviceable in discovermg their prey. But it has also 
 been suggested that defensive or protective purposes may be the 
 final cause of the light. Insects wliich prey on caterpillars have 
 been observed running round the Geophilus Electricus as if 
 afraid to approach it.* But there is one peculiarity in the glow- 
 worm's light which seems to sanction the commonly recei%'cd 
 opinion of its use being chiefly, if not entirely, to attract and 
 direct the approach of the male. Not only has the latter wings, 
 and thus is by his habits little likely to be found near the un- 
 winged female — there is also found to be much less light emitted 
 by the male ; insomuch that at one time the female alone was 
 believed to shine at all, until Ray corrected this error. It is 
 also remarked that the lijiht is the stron<jest when the two are 
 together, and that in some, if not all the species, the lummous 
 quality is confined to the time when they are destined to meet. 
 Xor is De Geer's objection, founded on the observation that the 
 chrysalis and larva of the species have somewhat of the same 
 luminous quality, of much force. For as the very learned ento- 
 mologists just cited, Messrs. Kirby and Spence, have well ob- 
 served, this instance may easily be set down with the analogous 
 case of males ha^ing a kind of lacteal system in some animals, 
 including our o^vn species. It deserves further to be remarked, 
 that in Brazil there is a glow-worm which is winged, both male 
 and female, and the light given by this insect is not steady like 
 that of our glow-worm, but sparkles or intermits. On the other 
 hand, the fire-fly of Brazil is said to give a constant light. f 
 But this may be owing to the greater luminousness of the 
 tubercles in the thorax, which in the European fire-fly give so 
 little light compared with the patches concealed by the cases 
 (cl^-tra) of the wmgs, that they seem only to shine when flying. 
 
 • Kirby and Spence, ii., 225. f Kirby, Bridgewater Treatise, ii., 3G6.
 
 312 APPENDIX. 
 
 ir. 
 
 OBSERVATIOXS, DEMONSTRATIONS, AND EXPERIMENTS 
 UPON THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 
 
 The principal use of the cells in the comb is to provide places 
 where the eggs may be deposited, the worms hatched, the pupse 
 or chrysalides formed, and the bees afterwards produced. The 
 cells are also used for storing the bee's bread and the honey. 
 But, to whatever use they are applied, it is of importance that 
 in their construction the greatest possible saving should be 
 made, both of b"pace, of wax, and of labour. 
 
 The importance of saving room is obvious, quite indepen- 
 dently of that saving conducing to an economy of wax and of 
 labour, in the construction of the cells ; for the whole hive may 
 thus be made in places Avhich would otherwise be too confined ; 
 the heat necessary to the health of the bees, to the process 
 of hatching, and to the preservation of the honey, is thus 
 economized; the labour of the bees in moving about the 
 combs to superintend the Aarious operations after the build- 
 ings are finished is materially abridged ; the more compact 
 each comb is, the stronger it will prove ; and the fewer the 
 interstices are, whether between the diflferent combs, or be- 
 tween the cells of each, the greater will be the security against 
 intruders. 
 
 The saving of wax is equally, perhaps more, important. That 
 material is not abundant. It nowhere exists in nature ; but is 
 elaborated by the bees themselves. This capital discovery we 
 owe to John Hunter and to Huber ; but the step was princi- 
 pally made by the former. He found* that small rings or films 
 of wax are protruded through the scales of the bee's belly ; and 
 Huber afterwards showed that this is secreted in the stomach, 
 Avhen the bee feeds either upon honey or other saccharine 
 matter. But, beside the limited amount of such matter, the 
 process of secretion appears to be one of time and difficulty, 
 requiring the animal to be at rest, and in certain attitudes. 
 Moreover it is only one class of the hive that can produce wax 
 at all. Nor is the wax when secreted in the stomach and given 
 out through the scales in a state fit for use. It undergoes 
 another process by the work of the bee, who moistens it witli 
 saliva, kneading it and working it, to give it the ductility, 
 consistence, and opacity required. The building or sculpturing 
 
 • Phil. Trans., 1792
 
 THE STRUCTUEE OP THE CELLS OF BEES. 313 
 
 bee is observed to take into her mouth part of the scale fur- 
 nished by the wax-worker (or bee producing wax), to work it 
 about in her mouth, and to bring it out in the foi-m of a long 
 and slender thread or ribbon, which she coils and turns, and 
 again and again passes through the mouth, until it is quite fit 
 for building with. The limited supply, therefore, of this sub- 
 stance, as well as the labour required to prepare it for use, 
 renders the economical emploTOient of it a matter of great 
 moment. 
 
 Lastly; it is evident that, although the saAang of room and of 
 wax were immaterial — supposing, for example, the saving of 
 heat and increased strength or solidity not to be required, and 
 a supply of wax ready for use A\'ithout any labovu* in preparing 
 it to be unlimited — stiU the construction would be the most 
 advantageous which required least work, and enabled the bees 
 to perform the operations allotted to them, of building, storing, 
 and breeding, within the season to which their acti\ity is con- 
 fined. Tliis sa\Tng is probably the most important of the whole ; 
 because the possibility of continuing the species may depend 
 upon it. The two other saAongs, of room and of wax, conduce 
 materially to this saving of work ; but work may also be saved, 
 independently of those two other saAings, by the form and 
 arrangements of the structure. 
 
 The mutual connexions of these three sawigs, as well as their 
 possible independence of each other, may be illustrated by sup- 
 posing a house with so many, say three, rooms requu-ed to be 
 built, where land is dear, roofing materials scarce, and labourers 
 few, or the time for finishing limited. Build the three rooms 
 all on the ground floor, and you require more land, and more 
 roof, and more labour than is necessary. Build them one 
 above another, and you save in all the three particulars. But 
 though there were no want of land, or of roofing materials, but 
 only of workmen, or of time, build the three rooms on the 
 ground, and at a distance from one another, and you lose un- 
 necessarily work and time. 
 
 If we now conceive a given space which is to be used by the 
 bee, and consider in what way the cells must be disposed in 
 order to bring the greatest number jjossible within it, and 
 iiot interrupt the operations of the animal, we shall be able 
 to perceive the arrangement best suited to effect a saving of 
 room. 
 
 Tlic size of the cell, both as to length and breadth, must be 
 determined by the dimensions of the young insect in its last 
 stage before coming out a perfect bee, though no doubt the cells 
 used for storing honey and bees' bread may be larger or smaller. 
 'Hie manner in which the cells must be disposed is in some
 
 314 APPENDIX, 
 
 measure also determined by the length ; for one of the ends 
 must be left open, and there is no necessity for the other being 
 open ; on the contrary, its being closed accommodates and pro- 
 tects the egg when deposited there, and the worm when first 
 hatched. Therefore the cells should be arranged in double 
 rows, with their ends in contact on one side and open on the 
 other. This is the only disposition of them by whicla an inter- 
 val between the two rows can be saved, and therefore the 
 Avhole number of cells which are to be made in the given 
 space must be disposed in double sets or rows, the cells on 
 each side or face abutting on those of the other. Between 
 each row or set — say comb — and the next, a space must be 
 left sufficient for the bees to pass and repass ; and to avoid 
 the necessity of their going round in order to get from one 
 vacant space or street to another several openings must be 
 made in each comb, as it were cross streets, leading from 
 one to the other mam street. This is a sacrifice of room to 
 save labour and time. 
 
 But in what way must the cells be made so as to place the 
 greatest number in each set or comb ? This leads us to con- 
 sider the form of the cell, which must be such as both to accom- 
 modate the insect and to leave no interval between cell and celL 
 The form must correspond as nearly as possible with that of the 
 insect, wliich both in the grub and perfect state approaches to 
 cylindrical. But if the cells were cylindrical, there would neces- 
 sarily be interstices. If it is required to fill any given space* 
 with a number of equal and similar figures disposed In the same 
 way, and each circumscribing a cylinder, there are only four 
 which can be formed without leaving any interstices — the prism 
 whose section is a parallelogram ; the prism whose section is an 
 equilateral triangle ; the cube or parallelopiped, whose section 
 is a square, and the hexagonal prism. If the mscribed cylinders 
 are requu-ed to touch one another in foiu- points, the fii'st kind 
 of prism must be rejected.t Let us take the sections only, for 
 
 * The proposition must be limited in some such way as this. Nothing 
 can be more incon-ect than the usual statement of it, that the equilateral tri- 
 angle, square, and hexagon, are the only figures which will fill space, unless 
 it be meant of regular figures, that is, figures inscribed in a circle. But 
 then the circumscribed circle is immaterial, and so is the equality of sides. 
 The question is as to the circle inscribed. If the condition that the solid be 
 one circumscribing a cylinder is not added, then equal and similar hexaedral 
 pyramids, or frusta of these, would answer the condition of filling the space 
 without lea\'ing interstices, and we shall see that there are instances of a 
 stnicture approaching to this in the wasp's nest. 
 
 f There would also be no limits to the loss of space internally so formed, 
 nor to a certain loss of space externally, viz., at the edges or outward boun- 
 dary of the given space ; but if the figures are to be ranged round a given
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 315 
 
 ■whatever is true as to the surface of the section must be true 
 as to the solid contents generated by apposition or by motion of 
 tliat surface. The square, the equilateral triangle, and the hexa- 
 gon, are therefore the three figures which answer the condition 
 of leading no space unemployed. 
 
 But if the square or the triangle were chosen, though no space 
 would be lost on the outside of the comb, and between the ditllr- 
 ent cells, space would be lost on the inside of each cell, because 
 the cu'cular form of the insect would leave the angles emptv. 
 There would be more space thus lost in the triangle than in the 
 s(piare, and more in the square than in the hexagon. The 
 radius of the cu'cle representing the insect or grub being r, the 
 space lost in the triangle would be 3 V3~;-2 — C ; in the square 
 
 6 r" 
 4 r2 — C ; in the hexagon —^ — C ; C being the area of the 
 
 V 3 
 
 circle. Consequently the triangle would occasion more space 
 
 to be lost than the square by the amount of (3 V 3 — i) r-, and 
 
 than the hexagon by the amount of VSt^, while the square 
 
 itself, though occasioning less loss than the triangle, would occa- 
 
 4 Vif— 6 
 
 sion more than the hexagon by the amount of — X r^. 
 
 v 3 
 
 If r be taken equal to unity, the loss of the triangle compared with 
 the square would be about 1'19, and compared with the hexagon 
 about r73, and the loss by the square compared with that by 
 the hexagon would be about '53. So that suppose a comb a 
 foot square, and containing, both sides included, 4,608 cells, 
 allo-vving a quarter of an inch for the breadth of each, and one- 
 eighth of an inch for the radius of the circle (or insect), the loss 
 of the triangle compared with the square would be above 85 
 square inches, or the room for 1,360 bees; the loss of the tri- 
 angle compared with the hexagon would be 124 square inches, 
 or room for 1,984 bees ; and the loss even by the square com- 
 pared with the hexagon would be above 38 square inches, or 
 room for more than 608 bees.* The loss of space upon a whole 
 hive of a cubic foot, supposing the combs an inch thick, and tlie 
 interstices between them half an inch, would of course be eight 
 times as much ; so that such a hive would have more space by 
 
 point, such parallelograms would certainly answer the conditions. Trian- 
 gular prisms would also fill the space, but then they could not, to do so, be 
 all disposed in the same manner. 
 
 * Upon the supjiosition of the cells heing a (juartcr of an inch in hreadth, 
 and consequently the radius of the circle one-eighth, in any plane containing 
 the comb, the loss of space in each cell, if triangular, would be about -^^ of 
 an inch square ; if square -^'j ; and if hexagonal, only -,^^g , or a ninth of the 
 lo.ss by the triangle, and two-fifths of the loss by the squari'.
 
 316 APPENDIX. 
 
 992 cubic inclics, and room for above 15,800 more bees, if the 
 cells were hexagonal, than if they were trianaular, and more 
 space by 304 cubic inches, and room for above 4,864 more bees, 
 than if they were square. But as these calculations pi'oceed 
 upon the supposition of the same number of cells being crowded 
 into the space, whatever be their form, we may only take the sup- 
 position, which would certainly be more correct, of different num- 
 bers bemg crowded according to the form; viz., for the triangle 
 3,546, the square 4,608, and the hexagon 5,320. This would 
 make the loss in the three figm-es, respectively, for the whole 
 comb, 113, 61, and 26 square inches, being accommodation for 
 2,326, 1,260, and 543 bees respectively; or the loss on the tri- 
 angle, as compared with the hexagon, 1,783 bees, and on the 
 square, 717. 
 
 Xor are these computations confined to the case of the gi*ub 
 or the insect being regular cylindrical bodies. They only 
 assume that the cell is to be of such a diameter as to contain 
 the animal ; and therefore that in some one part of the prism or 
 parallelopiped tJie circular section of the animal touches the 
 sides. The result of the computation is the same as to the space 
 lost, whatever form the rest of the animal may have. Indeed, 
 as C (the area) vanishes from the equation, the section of the 
 animal needs not be circular,* so that there is room for its 
 greater axis ; only the whole reasoning rests upon the supposi- 
 tion of the given space being di\'ided into figures within which 
 a circle may be inscribed touching each side. If the insect were 
 of an oval form, and especially one of great eccentricity, the 
 most economical division of the space would be Into paraUelo- 
 pipeds, whose sides were tangents to the eUipse. 
 
 It Is equally clear that If the cells were formed cylindrically, 
 although there would be no loss of space In the inside, sujiposing 
 the insect cylindrical, and that the loss would be the less the 
 nearer its shape approached to the cylinder; yet the space be- 
 tween the cells would be a loss. Suppose they were aiTanged 
 as close as possible, and so as to make the Interstices the small- 
 est possible, they must be placed around one in the centre, and 
 touching it and each other. Therefore their tangents would 
 form hexagons. Then the interstices or circular triangles would 
 be space lost. This loss would (taking the surfiice as before) 
 be between the cell in the centre, and the surrounding six, 
 
 equal to {-^ — C jx 3 or V3-6 ? 2_3 C equalto 1-02 /-^ 
 
 • This is only applicable to the calculation in the text ; the computation 
 in the last note giving not the relative but absolute loss of space, proceeds 
 upon the supposition of a circular area.
 
 THE STRUCTURE OP THE CELLS OF BEES. 317 
 
 nearly; between every four cells tlie interstices would be 'oi r^, 
 and between every three • 17 J'^ ; and the space in the first 
 mentioned interstices would be -^-^ square inch, on the former 
 supposition of the radius being -J- inch ; in the second mentioned 
 interstices ^J^, and in the third -^jj. square inch. The whole 
 loss of space on a comb of 4,608 cells would be -1,607 times the 
 space lost between any three cells — that is about 783 r- — or 
 (on the former supposition of r = ^) about 12^ square inches, 
 beside the loss on the outer edge, which would depend on the 
 form of the boundary line of the comb. In any other disposi- 
 tion of the cylindi-ical cells the space lost would be much greater, 
 and it could not be made less than this by any arrangement.* 
 
 It is e\'ident that the sa\4ng of space by leaving no interstices 
 between the cells is material, whatever use may be made of those 
 cells. But the saving of space within each cell is only material 
 where the cell is to be used for the lodging of the insect or its 
 brood. ^\Tiere it is to be used for storing honey or bee's bread, 
 as these fill it, the form becomes immaterial. Therefore trian- 
 gular or square cells, exhausting the whole space, and leaving 
 no interstices, would have been as economical an arrangement 
 as hexagonal ones for the cells used to store provisions. They 
 would, however, have had no advantage for this purpose over the 
 hexagonal ones ; indeed there would, especially in the triangular 
 ones, have been some inconvenience in depositing the stores, 
 because the bee could not so easily have reached every part of 
 the cell. It thus appears that, supposing there were no con- 
 sideration to enter the calculation except the saving of space, the 
 hexagonal form is the best of any. But the saving of materials 
 and of labour leads to the same conclusion still more strongly. 
 
 Suppose, now, therefore, that the space is of no moment, and 
 that sa\ing room is immaterial, and consider only the savuig of 
 wax. If the form of the cell were circular, or of any other 
 curve, it is manifest that each cell must have its separate walls, 
 as the neighbouring cells could only touch m one point each ; 
 and if the figure were rectilinear, but such as to leave interstices, 
 the cells must have separate walls wherever these interstices 
 occurred. ilie only figures which could enable each cell to 
 afford walls for the contiguous ones, and thus to make each 
 wall serve for two cells, are those which fill up the space with- 
 out intervals, that is, the triangle, square, and hexagon. But 
 it has been shown that in any given space more hexagonal cells 
 tliaii square or triangular cells can be placed. But let the pro- 
 portions of the peripheries of these cells be considered, and we 
 shall see more clearly the saving of wax and work ellected by 
 the hexagonal form. The triangular cell (it is immaterial 
 
 • See note at end of volume.
 
 318 APPENDIX. 
 
 whetlier we take the plane or the solid figures in stating the 
 
 18 7- 
 proportions) has a periphery of /o" ' ^ being the radius of the 
 
 insect or inscribed circle — the square 8 r and the hexagon 
 
 ■ T= r — consequently these figures requu'e materials and 
 
 labour to form them capable of containing the same kind of insect 
 in the proportions of 10 * 4, 8, and 6*9; and the saving by the 
 hexagonal form is therefore above one-eighth, compared with 
 the square ; and one-third as compared with the triangular form. 
 It is true that the circular form ujion a single cell would save 
 even as compared with the hexagon — -just as it would save room 
 inside. The periphery would be about 6 • 28, or about a tenth 
 less than the hexagons. But then the loss on several cells would 
 be very great, because each cell must have separate walls ; and 
 we shall presently see in what proportion that would increase 
 the expenditure of materials and labour. It may be sufficient 
 hei'e to observe, that suppose a circular (or cylindri al) cell 
 surrounded by six others ; the walls of the whole seven would 
 be about 44 r. Whereas if a hexagon cell is surrounded by 
 six others, there are only 30 sides wanted instead of 42, and the 
 whole amount is something less than 35 r, or a saving of one- 
 sixth. 
 
 It thus is demonstrated, that supposing the combs to be con- 
 structed of double sets of cells, each set open at one end, as they 
 must be for the purposes of the bees, and that all the cells are 
 of the same form, there is no form which could be chosen and 
 no arrangement of the cells which could be made to save so 
 much room, wax, and work as the hexagon form, and the dis- 
 position of the cells, as to make each wall serve for two. It is 
 also clear that, if they are to be entu'ely of one form, and that 
 the hexagonal, the gi-eatest saving will be effected by making 
 their common junction, that is where the closed ends meet, one 
 plane, so that the same hexagonal bottom shall serve for the 
 opposite cells. But a much more refined contrivance is found 
 in this part of the structure, and one better suited to the pur- 
 poses of the animal, by which a considerable additional saving 
 is made both of space, materials, and labour, and a considerable 
 gain effected in solidity and strength. The hexagonal form, so 
 well fitted for all the rest of the cell, is not the best adapted for 
 its bottom ; and the form of a prism, which the cell has in the 
 greater part of its length, is changed when we approach the 
 bottom. Let us now consider the use to which the bottom is 
 applied, in what manner that purpose can best be answered by 
 the form, and how that form can be best made to suit the pur-
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 319 
 
 poses of the strict economy which is consulted throughout the 
 whole structure. 
 
 For storing honey and bees' bread it is plainly immaterial 
 how the space contained in the two opposite hexagonal prisms 
 is di^dded ; and a plane cutting them across, that is, giving to 
 each cell a hexagonal bottom, and making that common to both, 
 would afford the same room lor the stores with any other con- 
 struction. But it is not so with the other uses of the cells. 
 The egg first deposited, and the worm in its earlier stage, re- 
 quire only a narrow space ; and even when it has grown to its 
 full size, from its tapering form it can easily be accommodated 
 in a cell with extremities considerably narrower than the rest of 
 the space. This is especially the case Avith the tail part, which 
 is at the bottom of the cell ; it is much more taper than the 
 rest of the body, and considei'al)ly more so than the head, both 
 in the grub and fly. If then the hexagonal form were preserved 
 throughout, there would be a considerable waste of room towards 
 the bottom. Suppose we had to pack two sets of parcels to- 
 gether each opposite to the other ; if they were equally thick 
 or broad throughout their whole length, as, for example, Stilton 
 cheeses, we should place them one set upon or against the other, 
 and could lose no space by this arrangement, nor gain any by 
 another arrangement. But suppose each parcel tapered towards 
 one end, like pears, or like wedges cut out of the cheeses ; we 
 should then lose room by placing the narrow ends opposite each 
 other, and should save considerably by inserting the tapering 
 ends of the one set of parcels in the vacant spaces left by the 
 tapering of the other. The nan'ow end of each parcel would 
 thus be inserted between the narrow ends of two others ; and 
 the whole space in wliich all the parcels could be packed would 
 be shortened by the length of the centre line or axis of the 
 jiurcels, reckoned from the part where the tapering begins to 
 the narrow extremity. This is exactly what is done in the 
 comb ; each cell, from being a prism, becomes at the closed end 
 a pjTamid, terminating in a point ; and the narrow end of the 
 animal is thus placed between the narrow ends of these on the 
 opposite side of the comb, so as to enable all of them to have 
 the room required by their shape and size, with cells shorter 
 than they must have been had each cell abutted on the single 
 one opposite to it, and not been inserted, as it were, between 
 several opposite ones. 
 
 But a further contrivance is necessary that no space may be 
 lost between those oppsite cells, and that the same bottoms may 
 serve for both the opposite sets, else the hexagon common to 
 both >Nould have been more economical as to work and mate- 
 rials. The pjTamids must be so formed as that each of its sides
 
 S20 APPENDIX. 
 
 I 
 
 shall be one side of the opposite cell's p^Tamid. This is accom- 
 plished by the pjTamId being trihedral, or composed of three 
 planes, each of four sides. But if these three planes ai-e inserted 
 in the prism, they must cut oif a portion of each of its walls ; 
 and it will depend upon the amount of this portion how far the 
 surface of the whole pj-ramid shall be greater or less than the 
 hexagonal bottom would have been. If a pjTamid were raised 
 upon the extremity of the walls of the cell to serve instead of 
 the hexagonal bottom, its surface would manifestly be greater 
 than that hexagonal bottom ; but it is evident that, by inserting 
 the pyramid partly in the angles of the hexagon, so much of the 
 walls may be cut off as will make the whole surface that is left, 
 walls and pjTamid together, no greater than the whole walls 
 and the hexagonal bottom would have been. But it is proved 
 that so much of the walls may be thus cut off as to make the 
 pjTamid, together with what is left of the prism, have a smaller 
 surface than the whole walls of the prism together with the 
 hexagonal bottom. 
 
 Thus if this construction be adopted, each cell will be opposite 
 to three others ; its pp-amidal bottom will consist of three plates 
 or sides, each of which is the side of an opposite p}Tamidal 
 bottom ; the pyramid therefore furnishes on the one side the 
 whole bottom of one cell, and on the opposite side it furnishes 
 one-thu'd of the pyramidal bottom of three other cells ; where- 
 fore it serves for as much bottom (for the bottoms of as many 
 cells) as the hexagonal bottom could have done ; and while 
 room is saved by the cells being shortened as much as the height 
 of the pjTamid above the original prism, or half the whole height 
 of that pjTamid, wax and work are saved by the whole surface 
 of the ceil being less than it would have been had each cell been 
 a prism terminating in an hexagonal plane. As for the solid 
 space contained in the figure formed by the remaining part of 
 the prisms and the pyramidal bottom, that will be exactly equal 
 to the space contained m the prism terminated by the hexagonal 
 plane, and before any part was cut off by the pjTamidal sides ; 
 for the space contained in the whole pjTamid is exactly equal to 
 what is cut off from the prism together with the part of the 
 prism which is left in the pjTamid. AU this is clear fi'om the 
 nature of the hexagonal prism and of the trihedi'al pjTamid ; 
 and it also follows ft-om the nature of those figures that each of 
 the three sides or planes of the pyramid must be a rhomboid or 
 figure of four equal sides ; ft)r the side of the pjTamid must be 
 inserted in the angle of the hexagon, whose sides being equal, 
 so must the two sides of the p}Taimdal side insei'ted ; and in 
 order that the apex of the pyramid may be in the axis of the 
 prism, which is necessary to make the opposite pyramids coincide,
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 321 
 
 and the same sides serve for both the sets, the other two 
 sides of the p^Tamidal side must be inserted in the opposite and 
 equal hexagonal prisms, and must therefore be equal to the 
 sides inserted in the first prism. 
 
 But we have not yet found what must be the altitude of this 
 pyramid ; or, which is the same thing, at what points the sides 
 of the prism must be cut in order to form the bottom of the 
 cell ; or, which is the same thing, what must be the angle of the 
 rhombus forming the pjTamid's sides, regard being had to the 
 proportion, which will make the whole" surface the smallest. 
 Thus if the top of the pyramid is a very little above the hexa- 
 gonal bottom of the prism, the whole surface of the pjTamid 
 will be somewhat less than the whole surface of the hexagonal 
 bottoms, together with the six triangles cut otl' from the vs'alls ; 
 if the top is a little higher, the dillerence will be somewhat 
 greater. But increase tlie height, and that difference wiU begin 
 to lessen tiU it vanishes altogether, and at that point there will 
 be no sa\-ing of surface, the p}Tamid being equal to the hexa- 
 gonal bottom together with the six triangles cut off. Raise it 
 higher still, and there will be a loss. Consequently, there is a 
 pomt at which the saving will be the greatest possible. We 
 may either inquire what that point is, in other words, what the 
 altitude must be of the pyramid — or we may inquire what pro- 
 portion the side of the rhombus must have to the side of the 
 hexagon — or what must be the angles of the rhombus — or at 
 what angle the rhombus must cut the sides of the prism — or 
 at what angle the rhombuses must meet each other — or what 
 must be the breadth of the rhombuses. Any one of these things 
 being found, all the rest are determined. 
 
 The investigation gives the following result. The breadth of the 
 rhombus — that is, a line drawn from any of the angles perpen- 
 dicular to the opposite side — must be equal to the side of the 
 hexagon ; and it will follow from this, one of the diagonals of 
 the rhombus being the diagonal joining the alternate angles of 
 the hexagon, that the rhombuses are inclined to one another at 
 angles of 120", being the angles of the hexagon, in other words, 
 the rhombuses must be a continuation of the hexagonal sides, and 
 their angle a continuation of the angle of those sides. Hence, 
 too, it will also follow that the side of the rhombus must be 
 to that of the hexagon as 3 to 2 V 2 ; the rhombus cuts the 
 prism at a distance from the upper part of the prism equal to 
 
 1 . . . 1 
 
 ^ of the hexagon's side ; the altitude of the pjTamid is — ^ 
 
 2 V 2 v 2 
 
 of that side ; or that altitude is to the side in the proportion of 
 the side of a s(iuare to its diagonal ; and, iinally, it also fullows, 
 VOU VI. Y
 
 322 APPENDIX. 
 
 that the obtuse angle of the rhombus is 109° 28', and the acute 
 angle 70° 32'. 
 
 Let us now look to the fact, and observe whether or not the 
 combs are constructed according to what the mathematical 
 reasoning proves to be the best possible plan for saving suri'ace 
 in the cells. 
 
 In the first place, the cells are obviously fitted into each other 
 as the theory requires ; for the prismatic foi m is not continued 
 to the end, but each has a pyramidal bottom or base, and that 
 base is composed of thi-ee planes, each of which forms one side 
 of the bases of three opposite cells, so that one set of those 
 planes serves for the opposite pyramids ; each cell is over against 
 three cells on the opposite comb, and each cell has its base 
 common to itself and those three opposite cells. The length of 
 each cell is thus shortened without lessening the accommodation 
 of the grub, or pupa, or bee ; for in each of those states the 
 pyramid is large enough, considering the tapering of the animal's 
 form, and any wider space at the tail part, which is always in- 
 serted in the pp'amid, would be so much room thrown away. 
 Secondly; the form of the pp'amid is that which the theory re- 
 quires, in order that there may be no interstices, and that the 
 pyramids may fit the hexagonal prism exactly: — the sides of 
 each pyramid are three equal rhombuses. Lastly ; each rhom- 
 bus has the precise angles, and, consequently, as it is inserted 
 in the hexagon, the precise length of sides also, which the theory 
 requires in order to effect the greatest saving of surface in the 
 work. For M. Maraldi, having measured the angles of the 
 rhombus, found them to be 109° 28' and 70° 32', respectively. 
 Therefore the other proportions must foUow, and the precise 
 point of the maximum is obtained by the bees ; or they con- 
 struct the bottoms of the cells in the form and of the propor- 
 tions which enable them to gain the most space, and to save the 
 most wax and work, of any forms and any proportions that 
 could be imagined. 
 
 This eminent person, however, was not aware that those con- 
 ditions had been fulfilled, and this result obtamed by the bees. 
 He saw that the pyramidal form of the base, and the fitting of 
 the opposite rhombuses, saved both space and material in a con- 
 siderable degree. He could not doubt that in order to fill the 
 space, and make one set of p}Tamids serve for the opposite sets 
 of cells, it would be necessary that the section of each pyramid 
 should be an equilateral triangle, and consequently that the sides 
 of each pyramid should be three in number, and equal to each 
 other. Nor could he tail to perceive that the hexagonal figure 
 of the cell, into which those sides were to fit, requii-ed that each 
 should be a rhombus. But the three equal rhombuses might
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 323 
 
 liave an infinite variety in their angles ; their sides might have pro- 
 portions infinitely varying to the sides of the hexagon ; and tlie 
 ])}ramid formed by them might have infinitely various altitudes ; 
 and yet the same general structure might be preserved. The 
 reason for the precise angles and ])roportions observed by M. 
 Maraldi was not perceived by this distinguished mathematician. 
 Though upon the verge of making the discovery, he contented 
 himself with observing the angles, and did not ascertain that 
 they were precisely such as made the sa\'ing the greatest possible. 
 This was reserved for a subsequent period ; when M. Reau- 
 mur having considered the structure and the measurement of 
 the angles, with the sagacity which peculiarly marked that great 
 man, conjectured that this maximum point had been attained 
 by the bees ; but as no investigation of the question had ever 
 been undertaken, it was only a conjecture. However, he soon 
 took steps for changing it into a certainty. He proposed to M. 
 Koenig, an expert analyst, pupil of the celebrated BernouUli's, 
 the solution of the problem — To find the construction of a hex- 
 agonal prism terminated by a pjTamid composed of three equal 
 and similar rhombuses (and the whole of given capacity), such 
 that the solid may be made with the least possible quantity of 
 materials — which, in other words, was asking him to determine 
 the angles of the rhombuses that should cut the hexagonal 
 ])rism so as to form with it the figure of the least possible sur- 
 iace, since the hexagon being given this decided both their 
 dimensions and their intersections with the sides of the cell. 
 He did not inform M. Koenig of MarakU's measurement until 
 alter he had solved the problem, and had assigned 109° 28' and 
 70" 34' as the angles, when he sent him the 'Memoirs of the 
 Academy of Sciences' for 1712, containing M. Maraldi's paper, 
 and M. Koenig was equally surprised and pleased to find how 
 nearly the actual measurement agreed with the result of his in- 
 vestigation. The difference was only two minutes ; and it has 
 generally been supposed since then either that M. Maraldi's 
 measurement was erroneous, or that the bees failed by that 
 small quantity to attain the point of the minimum. There is, 
 however, no ff)undation for either supposition ; the measure- 
 ment of Maraldi is coi-rect, as we have every reason to believe, 
 and the bees have with rigorous accuracy solved the problem ; 
 for the error turns out to be in M. Koenig's solution. The steps 
 of his process are not given by M. Kciiumiir, nor am I aware 
 wh(fre tliey are to be found. Possibly it is in the h)garithnis 
 that he has, by neglecting some decimal places, gonci wrong. 
 This much is certain, that the true solution is not 10!)" 2f)' and 
 70" 34', but 109" 28' and 70" 32', exactly as M. Maraldi iound 
 the angles to be by his measurement. That there may be no
 
 324 APPENDIX. 
 
 doubt respecting this matter, Mr. Maclaurin's subsequent solu- 
 tion* having been geometrical, while M. Koenig's is stated to 
 have been by the diiFerential calculus, I investigated the pro- 
 blem by that calculus in two several ways, and desired a learned 
 and skilful mathematician f to investigate it in his own way, 
 which turned out to be different from both mine. The result 
 of the three methods was the same, and coincided not with 
 M. Koenig's result, but with M. Maraldi's measurement. It 
 is also to be observed that, for the purpose of avoiding all 
 doubt that might arise from the logarithms, one of my solu- 
 tions is purposely addressed, not to the angles of the rhombus, 
 but to the angle which Is made by the planes of the two 
 rhombuses, because, that being an angle of 120", is found with- 
 out any fraction or approximation. It may further be observed 
 that the precise length of the perpendicular from the angle of 
 the rhombus to the opposite side, that is, the breadth of the 
 rhombus, being the side of the hexagon, as found in that solu- 
 tion, at once indicates the exact angles ; for no other angle than 
 120°, formed by the two rhombuses inserted in a hexagonal 
 prism, could give this exact breadth. This angle being a con- 
 tinuation of the hexagonal angle is a clear proof that the angles, 
 as measured and actually made, are those given by the mvesti- 
 gation ; for no difference could on this part of the reasoning be 
 introduced by the logarithmic approximations. 
 
 The construction of the cells, then, is demonstrated to be such 
 that no other which could be conceived would take so little 
 material and labour, to afford the same room. In order to 
 ascertain how great a saving is effected by this construction, it 
 is necessary to compare it with some other, and the one which 
 most naturally suggests itself is that which of all others comes 
 nearest to this, namely, the hexagonal prism terminating in & 
 hexagonal bottom. For we have already seen that this is con 
 siderably more economical than the only other figures which fill 
 up any given space, those whose sections are a square and an equi- 
 lateral triangle. Compared then with such a prism, the cell which 
 tenninates in a pyramid whose angles are those formed by 
 
 • It is singular that so learned a mathematician as Dr. Reid should have 
 given so en'oneous an account of the history of this discovery. He describes 
 Mr. Maclaurin as having resolved the problem " by a fluxionary calculation," 
 in the Philosophical Transactions, whereas his investigation there is purely 
 geometrical, and intended to show the power of the ancient analysis. Dr. 
 Reid also represents him as having ascertained the angles " by the most 
 exact mensuration the subject would admit," whereas the measui-ement had 
 been made thii-ty years before, and was never repeated by him at all. — 
 Efsm/s, vol. iii. 
 
 t My worthy friend and neighbour, Jlr. Slee, of Tiirell (Westmoreland), 
 well known to those who pursue their studies at Cambridge.
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 325 
 
 = I s'^ 
 
 V'8 / 
 
 oi" .-, ( v'S — -v^ 2 ) *'^» 5 being equal to the side of the hexagon. 
 
 12 
 The sa-ving then is — of s^ nearly, and taking s = 1-387 of a 
 
 23 
 line is about ^r of a line square, the whole surface of the bottom 
 
 being about 8 square lines ; taking the average of the working 
 bees' cells s = 1-38, (1'387), and the height = 5, the saving is 
 •91 square line upon a work of 8'1, or equal to between an 
 eighth and a ninth of the work on the base ; and on the whole 
 
 work, (45 -68), nearly — . But this is in truth (though coin- 
 
 (•ithng exactly with the amount of saving deduced from ]\Iac- 
 laurln"s solution) much under the real saving effected upon the 
 whole — for this supposes the length of the cell to be given, pro- 
 ceeds upon that, and only compares the saving upon the bottom 
 of the cells. But as a certain length of cell is required for the 
 bee, if the cells were not fitted into each other by the pyramidal 
 I'orm, but were opposite to each other, and joined by the com- 
 mon hexagonal plane, each cell must be lengthened by a line 
 equal to the height of the apex of the pyramid above the plane 
 of the hexagon ; consequently the two opposite cells, or the 
 whole prism composed of these cells, must be lengthened by 
 the whole altitude of the pyramid, the whole surface of the 
 bottom being nearly 12 ; and this will make the cUfference be- 
 tween the surface of each two cells having a common hexagonal 
 bottom, and the surface of the two cells with pjTamidal bottoms 
 
 but fitting into each other and to a third cell, equal to v — — 
 
 V 8 
 s2 ; or 1-53 of s* ; and taking s = 1-38 line as before, 2-94 
 sfjuare lines upon a work of about 85 square lines, supposing 
 the length of the cell from the acute angle of the rhombus to be 
 5 lines, that is a saving of nearly one twenty-eighth on the 
 whole of both sides of the comb. The saving of room in the 
 hive by this shortening of the cells is also very considerable. It 
 
 s 
 is equal to in each comb : if then there are ten combs it 
 
 amounts to above 3^ .s, or if s be taken at 1-38, to above 44_ 
 lines ; and if the depth of the cells is 5, to near a twentietli of 
 tlie whole space occupied by the combs. 
 
 This saving is effected, however, not merely by the angles of
 
 326 APPENDIX. 
 
 the rhombus being of the size pointed out, but also by the fit- 
 ting of the opposite cells. Part of the saving therefore is owing 
 to this, and part owing to the minimum proportion of the angles 
 of the rhombs. If they only liave one of their diagonals equal to 
 the diagonal of the hexagon (VsOi t^^y ^'i^l At each other and 
 effect the saving in the length of the cell. But unless they 
 also have the angles of a certain proportion, there may be a 
 loss on the whole as compared with the hexagonal prism ; and 
 unless they be of the given proportion, there cannot be the great- 
 est possible saving as compared with that prism. 
 
 The comparisons hitherto made have all proceeded upon the 
 supposition that the cells must have not only a given capacity, 
 but a given length. It is manifest that if they were only used 
 for storing honey and bees' bread, the capacity alone would be 
 material; the length is rendered material by the necessity of 
 room being provided for the insect, and especially for the 
 young bees. If the cells were not required to have more than 
 a given capacity, a greater saving could be effected by a 
 construction which should vary the proportions of their width 
 and depth, leaving their capacity the same. By the same 
 kind of investigation, which leads to ascertaining the form of 
 the base most conducive to saving wax and labour, we find 
 that the proportions between the hexagon's side and depth of 
 the cells must be 2 to v'2 + 'V's, or about 2 to 3"14, the breadth 
 and depth of the cells nearly equal, and the rhomboidal base 
 cutting the plane of the walls at somewhat more than three- 
 fourths from the open end. The saving effected by this con- 
 struction as compared with the one actually employed by the 
 bees, supposing stiU the sides of the hexagons actually made by 
 them to be 1 -387, and the depth 5 lines, would be 7 '41 square lines 
 upon a work of 38"28, or nearly a fifth of the work and wax, 
 or if we include the outer base in both cases, the saving would 
 be 3 "8 upon 46*88, or above a twelfth upon a single cell.* If 
 then the only object for which the cells are made, were the 
 storing of bees' bread and honey, supposing that so shallow and 
 wide a cell could equally serve these purposes with a deeper 
 and narrower one, there would, tij)07i a single cell, be a waste of 
 
 * M. L'Huillier (^Berlin Mem., 1781, p. 280) states that P. Boscovich's 
 solution agrees with Maclaurin's in the Philosophical Transactions, 1743 ; 
 and yet he seems never to have seen Maclaurin's ; for he says, " All these 
 mathematicians have considered this matter as beyond the powers of ele- 
 mentary geometry, and as requiring of necessity the application of the gene- 
 ral principles of maximum and minimum founded on the differential calculus 
 or on the limits of ratios ;" and he seems to think himself the first who has 
 shown that the problem could be resolved by elementary geometry whereas 
 Maclaurin's solution is by purely elementary geometry.
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 327 
 
 materials in the construction employed by the bees as compared 
 ■w'ith that which we are considering. But the objection is mani- 
 fest to an arranjrement which woidd make the whole weight oi 
 the fluid in the case of the honey, press upon so wide a surface 
 as between 8 and 9 square lines of the wax with which the outer 
 orifice is closed, instead of somewhat less than 5 square lines, 
 the average size of the present orifice in the common cells. The 
 filui of wax now sufficient to contain the honey would no longer 
 be enough, and a surface of 8^ lines at least would be required, 
 which could probably not be applied after the cell had been 
 filled Avith honey, certainly not unless the honey was extremely 
 viscid. But the other use of the cell, and the more material 
 one, of breeding, is also to be considered. The worm would be 
 deposited in the large p}Tamidal base instead of the one adapted 
 to its size, and when it grew there woidd be no room for the 
 length of it, or of the ynipa and bee after its transformation, the 
 whole depth of the cell from the apex being only about 3^ lines. 
 But there would be no support for it unless it moved out of the 
 base on the side, and then it could only be supported in one 
 angle of the prism, for it would be too small to fill the whole ; 
 so that the line which it would have for its length would be 
 little more than two lines, while all the width of the cell would 
 be lost. In this position the worm could not be reared, and it 
 could never spin its cocoon. But it will be afterwards clearly 
 shown that if the whole structure of the comb is considered, 
 whatever may be the relative saving of wax and work upon a 
 single cell by taking the greatest width and the depth nearly 
 erjual, as in the above construction, there would be a consider- 
 able loss upon the whole structure, and that the actual propor- 
 tions adopted by the bee are more economical. 
 
 The saving of materials effected by giving the cells such a 
 form as enables each wall and each base to serve for two cells 
 is obviously the greatest saving of all ; and we have already 
 adverted to it. But doubts have been of late years entertained 
 how far the walls and bottoms are common to more cells tlian 
 one ; this part of the sulyect therefore requires further illus- 
 tration, before we proceed to consider upon what those doubts 
 rest. 
 
 Suppose we take any number of equal hexagonal cells, 
 wlicther terminating in pjTamids or in the combs, or formed 
 as hexagonal prisms, and place them round one cell so that 
 their sides touch ; and suppose we i)lace in the like manner an 
 equal number of such cells in a second set or tier, so that their 
 bases touch those of fh(! first tier— it is manifest that the number 
 of bases required will be double that whicli would be recpiired 
 if the bases of one tier served for the cells of the other, and
 
 328 APPENDIX 
 
 that double tbe number of walls will also be required if we only 
 reckon those walls which touch each other. But as there are 
 the outer walls of each tier to be added, the whole proportioK 
 of difference occasioned by the cells being separate, and having 
 each its own walls, will not be that of 2 to 1. K there are 14 
 cells in all, that is 6 placed round one on each tier, or each face 
 of the comb, then if the cells are separate there will be required 
 14 bottoms instead of 7, and 84 walls instead of 60, or in the 
 proportion of 2 to 1 as to the bottoms, and 7 to 5 as to the 
 walls. If instead of two sets, that is one set of 6 round a cell, 
 there are any number n of sets, includhig the first cell as one 
 set, then the number of walls saved on each tier (or face of the 
 comb) will be equal to 9 n"^ — 15 n -f- 6, and the expense of 
 labour and materials occasioned by each cell having separate 
 walls will be in the proportion of 2 (3 n^ — 3 n + 1) to 3 n^ — n. 
 Suppose the sides of the cells as before 1'387 line, their depth 
 8 lines, and that there is a square foot of comb ; this will make 
 the breadth of the cells about 2*77 lines, and n will be between 
 27 and 28 ; but take it at 28, the waste will be in the propor- 
 tion of about 110 to 56, or somewhat less than 29 to 15 on the 
 walls, and exactly 2 to 1 on the bottoms, and on the whole work 
 about 51 to 26. The number of square inches of wax required 
 for the comb, if each cell were separate, would be 3,115 ; if the 
 walls and bottoms of one serve for those of the other, only 1,588 
 would be wanted ; so that nearly double the amount of labour 
 and materials would be required if the cells were separate, and 
 bad each a base and walls of its own. If the walls only of each 
 cell are separate, and the bases are common to the opposite 
 cells, the waste would be somewhat less in proportion, but would 
 still be very great — it would be 1,366 square inches of wax upon 
 a work of 1,428. 
 
 Now we must admit that this renders it extremely improbable 
 that such should be the structure of the comb, especially when 
 we perceive the extraordinary refinement of the contrivance 
 resorted to by the bees for the purpose of efiecting a much less 
 considerable saving in the construction of the bases, a saving of 
 only one-tenth of the whole labour and materials employed. 
 Nevertheless, if the fact is otherwise, the argument from proba- 
 bility must of course go for nothing. Let us therefore now ex- 
 amine the fact. 
 
 The statement rests upon a paper of the late Dr. Barclay, of 
 Edinburgh, published in the ' Transactions of the Wemerian 
 Natural History Society' (vol. ii.) He sends to that body some 
 pieces of honeycomb in which young bees had been reared, and 
 observes, that the partitions between the cells at the sides and 
 base are all double ; that each cell is a distinct, separate, and
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 329 
 
 *' in some measure an independent structure agglutinated only 
 to the neighbouring cells ; and that Avhen the agglutinating 
 substance is destroyed, each cell may be entirely separated from 
 the rest." He makes the same observation upon the cells of 
 wasps, and adds, that the agglutinating substance is more easily 
 destroyed in them. From" a very allowable deference to the 
 authority of this distinguished anatomist, and possibly from re- 
 collecting how much this branch of natural history owed to the 
 discoveries of a great physiologist,* naturalists appear to have 
 at once adopted his proposition, and they speak of it as "Dr. 
 Barclay's discoA'ery," without considering that it rests upon a 
 single observation of one kind of cells, namely, those in which 
 bees had been bred, and that it is wholly irreconclleable with 
 the observations of Reaumur, Maraldi, and above all of Huber. 
 That some had denied it, however, and upon this ground, 
 appears from a note in Kirby and Spence ('Introduction to 
 Entomology,' vol. i., p. 485), although those eminent naturalists, 
 in the text both of that and other passages (as p. 502), lay down 
 the position as admitted that the cells are double. Nothing, 
 certainly, could be more unaccountable than that such a thing 
 should have escaped the most laborious and accurate of observers, 
 those illustrious foreigners whose names have just been men- 
 tioned. _ But that is not all ; for if the position be true, the 
 description of the process of the bees in making their cells, as 
 given by Huber, must be wholly incoiTect. The two accounts 
 cannot possibly stand together. But there can be no doubt 
 whatever that Dr. Barclay was misled by the cocoons of the 
 chr}-salis, the only cells which he examined ha\-ing, by his own 
 account, been those in which young bees had been hatched ; 
 and he ha\dng taken no step for ascertainmg whether what he 
 took for a second wall and base was made of wax or of silk. 
 My reasons for stating this so confidently are as follows : but 
 the experiments made and related hereafter complete the proof, 
 and show how Dr. Barclay was deceived. 
 
 1. I have examined minutely a great number of combs with 
 the help of powerful microscopes, as well as by the naked eye, 
 and I never have been able to find the least appearance of a 
 double wall, or double base. On the contrary, the sections of 
 the wax, in what way soever they are nuule, phunly show that 
 the plate is single in every instance. Combs have been thus 
 examined of every kind, both those in which honey and liees' 
 bread had been stored ; those which were new made and had 
 never received any stores ; and those which having been lilkd 
 with honey had been robbed by wasps. It was only cells where 
 bees had been reared, and where the silk cocoon had been left, 
 
 • J. Hunter, Phil. Trans., 17U2.
 
 330 APPENDIX. 
 
 that presented anything like the appearance of a double plate. 
 Nor can there be a doubt that this is always found in such cells. 
 The exuviae of the larvaj, with the filth, are well known to be 
 always removed ; but the silken lining spun by the larva previous 
 to taking the chrysalis, still are expressly said by all naturalists* 
 to be suffered to remain as strengthening the cell. They are 
 not waxen of course, but sUken, and form a lining to the waxen 
 plates, assuming their shape exactly ; and in old cells, where 
 many successions of bees have been bred, the space is visibly 
 contracted by the cocoons remaining ; and these may be taken 
 out, leaving the wax entire, with its plates all single. The 
 cocoons come out of the shape of the cells. 
 
 2. I have communicated with other observers upon this 
 subject, and having set them upon examining the facts, I find 
 that none of them can discover for Dr. Barclay's hypothesis any 
 other foundation than the conformity of the cocoon in shape 
 with the wax plates. 
 
 3. Not only are the accounts given by former observers, as 
 Reaumur, and especially Huber, quite inconsistent with the 
 h}'potheses of double walls ; it seems hardly conceivable that 
 these should be made of wax with agglutinating matter between 
 the plates. The wax contains none of this matter in itself; and 
 it is inconceivable that the bees should be able to insert it be- 
 tween the plates, as indeed it is that the bee should make two 
 plates in the manner of its working, which consists either in 
 first raising a thick wall and then drawing it out, or in placing 
 new wax upon it, but in either case in scraping it thinner and 
 polishing it, and making it plainer as well as thinner after it has 
 been first raised. How could it get between the two plates to 
 scrape and plane them ? and yet it is not pretended that each 
 plate is not as plane on one side as on the other — as plane on 
 the side, which by the supposition is the inside, or the side 
 covered by the other plate, as on the side exposed to the air, 
 and to the scraping and polishing operation of the bee. As for 
 the agglutinating material, either it may be in the silk, or it 
 may be only the adhesion of that to the wax. 
 
 4. The examination of wasps' nests confirms the same opinion, 
 and shows how Dr. Barclay has been misled. Indeed he has 
 remarked, that in those nests the agglutinating material of which 
 he speaks is less adhesive, and that the double walls are there 
 more easily observed. If a wasp's comb, in which young 
 have not been hatched, is examined, the cells will be found 
 single like the bees' cells. But where the larvae have spun 
 their cocoons it is found that each cell has a lining. While 
 recent, the lining is moist and can be more easily extracted ; 
 
 • Reaumur, v. GOO. Kirby and Spence, vol. ii., 197
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 331 
 
 but even -nhen dry it can be taken out. It Is grepsh or white, 
 like fine cambric paper, and serai-transparent ; the cell itself 
 being brownish, like coarse paper, less tough than the white, 
 but thicker and much more opaque. The white lining takes 
 the hexagonal form of the cell exactly, and retains it if extracted 
 when moist. The white cells thus formed by the cocoons which 
 the larvfe spin are quite unconnected ; and when removed leave 
 the comb entire of brown paper hexagons. The walls of these 
 cannot be spht into two lamina'. But when they are lined with 
 the white paper and you try to tear them asunder, you can easily 
 do so ; and the same wall appears so split in two ; but one side 
 only of the rent is brown, the other is white. So when the two 
 papers adhere so closely that you cannot separate them entirely, 
 some part of the white cell taken off will appear to be browii ; 
 but then there is a con-esponding hole opposite in the brown 
 cell from which it was taken, or'if that cell is still lined with 
 white paper, the white paper appears through it, at the vacancy 
 where the brown was torn off. In short, nothing can be more 
 clear than that the cells are originally made single, and that the 
 apparently double wall is the Uning of another material spun by 
 the larvffi.^ It must, however, be observed that the economy of 
 the material is not so great in the wasps' as in the bees' comb ; 
 the bro'Nvn paper apparently being much more abundant than 
 tlie wax, or we ought rather to say the material (filings of wood) 
 from which it is made by the wasp being more easity procured 
 than that from which wax is secreted by the bee (sugar). The 
 hexagonal form is, therefore, chiefly important to "save space 
 and labour. The double wall would greatly increase the demand 
 lor the latter. 
 
 After all, it is possible that this white paper lining may be 
 made by the wasp after the original brown cell has been formed. 
 The necessity of economizing the material does not exist, and 
 the labour of the wasp is much gi-eater than that of the bee ; 
 for a single wasp makes the first portion of a comb without any 
 assistance. It is impossible to compare the two kinds of paper 
 together and not be satisfied that they are made by perfectly 
 different processes. The brown may be made by kneading to- 
 gether the fragments of scraped wood and moistening them ; 
 but the perfectly uniform texture of the white plainly shows 
 that it is the result of a secretion. No paper that we manufac- 
 ture is more fine and perfect in its structure. It must have 
 come from some pulp, the result of a chemical process and not 
 of any mechanical operation, whether it be secreted in the body 
 of the larva and spun by him, or secreted by the wasp and plas- 
 tered upon the coarser brown material. 
 
 Having then ascertained the facts with respect to the form
 
 332 APPENDIX. 
 
 and position of the bees' cell, the nature and amount of the 
 saving in room, in work, and in materials, which their structure 
 effects, and the precise manner in which that saving is made by 
 the structure, we proceed to inquire how the insect works in 
 order to form it ; and here several explanations that have been 
 given, founded for the most part upon an eri'oneous conception 
 cf the facts, must be first of all considered. 
 
 1. Buffon's is the most supei'ficial, and, we may add, the most 
 absurd of these ; it has been universally given up, and yet the 
 mistake upon which it rests has been at the bottom of some 
 later theories. This will oblige us to consider it more at large 
 than its own merits would require. He supposes that the cells 
 by pressing upon each other take the hexagonal form, in like 
 manner as soap bubbles blown together in a heap are observed 
 to do. That an appearance of hexagons would be exhibited by 
 such bubbles from their apparent intersections is possible. No 
 hexagonal prisms, however, are really so formed. But let us 
 admit that he takes the bubbles only as a familiar illustration, 
 and means to speak of a congeries of cylinders, if bubbles could 
 be so blown ; and let us also admit that he means to reason 
 upon sujch cylinders disposed in sets, beginning with a set of six 
 round one cylinder in their centre. This is the only way in 
 which anything like the result could be obtained, and it is a 
 perfectly gratuitous supposition ; but let us grant it for argu- 
 ment's sake. Now, if the cylinders are so disposed, it is certain 
 that the planes passing through their lines of contact will form 
 hexagonal prisms ; consequently it may be contended that if 
 each cylinder is pressed upon those surrounding it, the curve 
 surfaces will become planes, and hexagonal prisms be formed ; 
 and as of all the cylinders placed in juxtaposition each will be 
 the centre of six others, it may be further said that the whole 
 must become hexagonal prisms. But after making every such 
 admission, there remain two requisities which cannot be admitted, 
 because both are contrary to the facts. In order that the 
 prisms may be thus formed there must be cylinders first formed 
 touching each other, and then these must be pressed against one 
 another so as to bring their sides into the form of planes instead 
 of curve surfaces, and the pressure must be the same throughout 
 the whole number, In order that all may be equally brought 
 into the prismatic shape. But neither the separate existence of 
 the cylinders, nor the pressure, exists at all in the structure of 
 the comb. The cells are not first made cylindrical and then 
 pressed together. They are seen by observers to be formed 
 originally In planes, with the exception of the first excavation In 
 the cake of wax, which is a cylindrical groove, and is immediately 
 made plane. It Is made plane, too, before any of the six opposed
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 333 
 
 cells are formed, and when there are at the utmost only one on 
 one side of the cake, and two on the other ; but, in fact, the 
 plane form is given to the curve surface when there are not 
 three cylindei's or parts of cylinders made contiguous to each 
 Dther, but when there are three grooves in one cake of wax, 
 
 and the bees on the opposite sides are working at the grooves 
 respectively. It is not that a b c, d g e, and e h f, are first 
 made and press against each other at their lines of contact, but 
 that in the cake l m there is a groove A b c made, and on the 
 other side two gi-ooves, d G E, e h F, and by eating away and 
 plastering on c b a the planes c B and ba are foi'med on one 
 side the cake, while by the Uke process on the other side, and, 
 if not at the same time, immediately after, the opposite gi'ooves 
 D G E and E H F are made planes, and planes coinciding with 
 c B and b a. Then these planes are not the six walls of the 
 prism at all, but only the three rhomboidal bottoms ; and upon 
 the edges of those bottoms the walls are afterwards raised, and 
 are plane fi'om the very first, and perpendicular to the plane in 
 which the cylindrical grooves are formed. Nothing, therefore, 
 can be more unconnected with any curve surface than the walls 
 are in every stage of their progress. The first requisite then is 
 entirely wanting, that of separate cylinders to press agamst each 
 other. 
 
 The pressure is equally wanting. That could only be given 
 in one of two ways. Supposing, contrary to the fact, that there 
 were a congeries of cylinders formed and touching each other, 
 either these cylinders might by their gra\ity (which seems to l)e 
 BufFon's hj-jjothesis) press on each other, or the insect, by its 
 growth or other elforts, might press from the inside of each cell. 
 But the pressure of gravity, supposing there were no other 
 objection to its operation, would not be ecjual ; it would make 
 the cells all of a different form according as tliey were lower or 
 higher on the comb, while the upper ones of all sustaining no 
 pressure would be cylindrical ; besides that, a pressure suflicient 
 to alter the form of the lower cylinders would be sufficient to 
 tear the walls from the basis of the cells. The su])position of 
 any expansion or motion of the insect, independent of other 
 manifest objections, is precluded by the fact that the cells are as 
 perfectly liexagonal in which no bees have been bred as those 
 whicli have had yrnuig ; and suppose it were admitted that the 
 v/orking bees could by internal exertion in the cells press them
 
 334 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 against each other, still this all rests upon a merely gratuitous 
 assumption, verified by no observations, but contradicted by all 
 observation ; for no one ever has seen the cells in the supposed 
 state of cylinders ; on the contrary, all observers have found 
 them in their progi'ess of formation as prisms, and some have 
 seen the very process of formation. Nothing therefore can be 
 conceived more groundless than this hj^othesis of pressure. 
 
 2. A much more ingenious and plausible theory has been in 
 later times advanced, but founded in a gi'eat measure upon the 
 same fallacy of supposing separate cylinders, although not upon 
 the other fallacy respecting pressure. It is maintained with 
 great ability in the article Bee, of the ' Penny Cyclopedia,' by 
 a distinguished naturalist. It is supposed that the bee first 
 makes cylindrical excavations, which are separated from each 
 other at their contact by the thickness of the wall intended to 
 be formed, and then cuts away so as to make the cylinders 
 hexagonal prisms, the walls being of that thickness. Thus A F 
 and B E being sections of two cells, which In their nearest parts 
 are at the distance A B, the thickness of the intended wall ; the 
 bees are supposed to excavate in all parts of A c f and b d e, 
 so much as always to leave a part a b equal to a b ; and as the 
 
 planes o v thus formed are tangents to the cylinders they will 
 form hexagonal prisms. But an additional hj-pothesis Is re- 
 quisite for this theory; and accordingly It Is supposed that the 
 bee has a peculiar Instinct, which Impels It to excavate In the 
 direction of a B and c d, but prevents It from ever going so 
 far as not to leave the requisite thickness a b, a ft. It Is then 
 said that this instinct, together with the fact gratuitously as- 
 sumed of the excavations being at fii'st cylindrical with spherical
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OP BEES. 335 
 
 bottoms, will of necessity lead to the formation of hexagonal 
 prisms, with pyramidal bases composed of three rhombuses ; in 
 proof of -which the intersections are given of three cu'cles with a 
 fourth from the centre of which the tangents di-awn to the points 
 of contact of the other three will no doubt form three i-hombuses 
 with the lines drawn parallel to these tangents, as A G, A v and 
 
 AD. A little examination will show the entire fallacy of all 
 this in every particular. 
 
 The assumption of the peculiar instinct respecting the thick- 
 ness of the wax is only gratuitous, and it cannot of course be 
 disproved. But the assumption of the cylindrical excavations 
 is contrary to the known facts. The groove, or tluting, first 
 made in the cake is no doubt, at first, not only cylindrical in th(> 
 direction transverse to the axis of the cake (that is, the direction 
 across the cake), but also in the direction of the axis (that is, 
 
 along the cake, as at c) ; and if the excavation were made deep 
 like the cell, walls as well as base, and in the form a b d, and 
 the next cells in the form of g, there might be some ground for 
 the hypothesis. But we know that the groove a b d is only made 
 deep enough to form the base, and that its outline is changed into 
 straight linos before any of the wall is raised, the walls of tlio 
 cell being made, not, as the hypothesis assumes, by a cylindrical 
 excavation, but by raising planes on the outline of the base. 
 But admitting this excavation, contrary to the fact, the sup- 
 posed instinct would not account for the formation of the plane, 
 sides out of the curve surfaces. If the bees excavate; in the 
 direction A B (p. 334), and then in lines parallel to that, sup- 
 posing them to have found that line by the instinct showing 
 them the thinnest place, they would go on till they got to st,
 
 33G 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 the tangent of tlie two circles on the one side, and to y z, the 
 tangent on the other side, making a plane of the thickness A b, 
 and of the length t s. But that is not what is wanted to make 
 the side of a hexagonal prism ; they must stop at q and at /v, 
 the points where the tangents m r and vi c mtersect the tan- 
 gent o P. So that there must be another mstuict, wholly un- 
 connected with the thickness of the plate, to prevent them from 
 carrying the working beyond a certain length. Nor can this 
 difficulty be supplied by supposing two bees to work, one from 
 the thinnest part B, and the other from the thinnest part rf, for 
 the cell can only contam oiie bee. The supposition then must 
 be an instinct to work a certain length and in a certain direc- 
 tion ; but that is, in other words, an instinct to work a hexagon, 
 which, therefore, is assuming the very matter in question. 
 
 Nor is this all. The instinct respectmg the thickness of the 
 plate will not advance us even the first step, that is, the for- 
 mation of the plane o p of parallel sides aad equal thickness 
 (the purpose of supposing it), unless at the same Instant we 
 suppose two bees at work, one in each cell, one working from A 
 and c towards B and d, and another from b and D towards A and 
 c ; for if one bee only is at work from c towards D she will go 
 through, beyond A, till she gets within less than the given dis- 
 tance A B of the surface at D, and conse- 
 quently will make a curve surface, and not 
 a plane. Indeed all the cakes on which 
 the bees actually work are unequal, having 
 on each side convexities, concavities, and 
 planes ; so that a section of the cake is as 
 in figure, which represents all the possible 
 combinations of those Inequalities. If one 
 bee works alone, d being the given distance 
 or thickness at which the mstinctlve fear of 
 perforating acts and stops the excavation, 
 d B being taken equal to d, she would 
 penetrate from A to d, and in like manner 
 fi'om A' to f/', and from a to 3, b' B', b 5 
 &c. being always equal to d ; consequently 
 the line d d' S would be parallel to B B' 
 hf N, and no plane could be formed. The 
 length of the lines A f/, A ' fZ', and S a being 
 by the h}']3othesls immaterial, the surface 
 formed would therefore be parallel to the 
 O2:)posite side of the cake, whatever might 
 be the inequalities on either side, and a plane sm'face could 
 only be formed in the one case of the side b b' & being Itself 
 a plane surface, in which case the instinct Is not wanted. 
 
 B d
 
 THE STRUCTURE OP THE CELLS OP BEES. 337 
 
 there being a plane surface formed already. The h^-po- 
 thesis must therefore be, that while one bee is workinnf from 
 A towards d, another is working from B to c/; and that the 
 instinct operating as soon as the one arrives at d and the 
 other at e, each retreats and excavates in the next line parallel 
 
 to A B or a & ; A e being equal to e d and each equal to —/ 
 
 But the two working together could only form a plane in the 
 case of the axis of the cake e G being the axis of the opposite 
 surfaces ; that is, in the case of the opposite sides A a' a and 
 B B' 6 being exactly similar ; for if they are not (which is the 
 case in nature), in order to form a plane by the supposed in- 
 stinctive fear of perforating, the bee woi'king on the side a A' a 
 must work with the same velocity as the other from A to a' \ 
 with a smaller velocity fi'om a to ^, with a greater velocity fi'om 
 g to Z, the velocity of the other bee being accelerated from h to _/, 
 and retarded from/ to N ; and these accelerations and retarda- 
 tions must vary according to the form of the two surfaces. 
 
 If, however, the cylindrical excavations are supposed to be 
 perfectly smooth, and of equal curvature, still the two bees must 
 work with exactly the same velocity in order to form a plane, 
 and must begin working at the same instant ; and must each 
 have the same instinct of stopping at the same point (p. 334) q 
 and 6 ; and then a third bee must begin to work in the cylinder 
 p .9 towards the tangent c ?n, and the bee in f r must work 
 towards x 7, while a fourth bee works in o t. Suppose it could 
 be an-anged among them that each should be ready to begin 
 working in one line at the very moment the other had finished 
 working on another, yet no bee ever works long on any part of 
 the comb, but is relieved by a succession of workers ; and there- 
 fore this succession must also be so ari'anged that each shall be 
 relieved exactly at the time when a line has been finished, 
 and before another is begun upon. Then suppose a bee comes 
 to the point q wliere she is to stop, and begins on the other line 
 q M ; when she is in tlu; angle at r/, she must work through, and 
 indeed all along the line q x, because at that point q she has 
 opposed to her not the thickness of the wax bounded by the 
 cu-cle e ?, but the whole wax from q along towards x. '^I'he 
 supposed instinct therefore would never stop her in that direc- 
 tion, there being no vacant space nearer than the circle x M. 
 Indeed the theor}' wholly falls to provide for the excavation of 
 the six angles of each licxagon, for the bee must work in lines 
 parallel to the shortest line i K, i k (p. 338) which alone the 
 supposed instinct sliows her ; that instmct giving her no otlier 
 indication of any direction. When she comes to ^" 3' therefore, 
 VOL. vr. ' Z
 
 338 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 or to q" p" and slops, she must go in the direction q' i, in 
 lines q" q' or q" p" parallel to i k or i k respec- 
 tively ; and must therefore leave the wax in the 
 space q" p" q' untouched. This wax can onh 
 be excavated by changing the dbection of the 
 working ; as either by changing from the parallel 
 lines when the bee comes to 9" or by all along 
 working in the direction of the radius of the 
 cylinder, and not in parallel lines. But she can 
 neither make that change, nor find the direc- 
 tion of the radius by merely knowing the direc- 
 tion of the lines i K, the thinnest part, and the supposed instinct 
 shows her nothing beyond this hue i k. 
 
 But again when we speak of the bees working towards one 
 another in the lines A b, c d (p. Soi), we are supposing them 
 to excavate each with perfect equality, and to penetrate in that 
 du'ection in precisely the same time. Now this implies that 
 they must each not only work in the very direction to make 
 them meet, but that each must remove the same mass of wax 
 in the same time ; that each must every instant take exactly 
 equal particles of the wax away ; and the whole 
 hyjjothesis rests upon their working in lines ii\ 
 IV, till by meeting at the given distance they 
 leave the plane of the given thickness ; and not 
 upon theu- ever cleai'ing away the wax in the 
 direction v z, after once reaching from w to c ; 
 "^^^^^^1^ for if they are to do so, they must be able to draw 
 
 that line v z, and this requires another instinct to 
 
 be supposed. Now the moving from 10 to v, and 
 throwing back the particles excavated, and then going back 
 again to iv and so on again towards v z, is one of the most diffi- 
 cult operations that can be conceived, especially when it must be 
 performed in exactly equal times by the bees on the opposite 
 sides ; and after they have gone through this operation along 
 the whole line iv v, only one laj'er is excavated, and the same 
 operation has to be performed on the next, and so on until the 
 whole depth of the cylinder is thus excavated. And if in the. 
 whole of these hundreds of perforations or punctures one bee 
 makes one single movement different as to the time or the 
 direction she takes from the movement made by the opposite 
 bee, there will be an inequality, or a hole in the wall. 
 
 But lastly, how was the original cylinder formed which this 
 theory assumes? Is it at all easier for the bee to make an ex- 
 act cylinder with a smooth curve surface, than to make a hexa- 
 gonal prism? Apparently not. Then why assume the bee to 
 have the power of doing that without an}' peculiar instinct, and 
 
 w- 
 
 w ■ 
 w- 
 w- 
 
 w ■ 
 
 w ■
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OP BEES. 339 
 
 suppose tbe instinct about tlie fear of perforation, in order to 
 explain the making of tbe plane sides of tbe bexagon '? The 
 theory clearly is- defective on this if on no other ground, and it 
 either supposes unnecessarily a principle not wanted for ex- 
 plammg tbe phenomena, or it leaves the phenomena unex- 
 plained for want of a necessary principle. 
 
 But if all that has been stated were left out of consideration 
 as regards the hexagonal walls of the cells, tbe theory would 
 still tail completely as to the rbomboidal bases. It is an entire 
 fallacy to suppose that the intersections exist as in p. 335, even 
 upon tbe hj-jDOtbesis of cylinders, and it is an equal fallacy to 
 suppose that, if they existed, they would form the three rhom- 
 buses as they are found in tbe comb. Tbe circle from which 
 these intersections are supposed to arise, is merely ideal ; admit- 
 ting the three cylinders to be exactly as given in tbe figure, 
 tbe fourth circle cannot possibly be part of any cylinder ; 
 for none of tbe cylinders by tbe bj'potbesis intersects three 
 others. But if it did, it would not make tbe rhombuses re- 
 quired. Three rhombuses are no doubt formed by tbe inter- 
 sections of four circles, as described in the figure ; but their 
 angles are 120° and 60° respectively. Now the angles of the 
 rhombuses in tbe comb are according to tbe measurement 
 109'28' and 70"32'; and these are the angles given by the solu- 
 tion of the problem of maxima and minima^ as has been already 
 shown. The mistake of supposing that because three rhombuses 
 are formed by tbe cu'cles intersecting, therefore this bj-potbesis 
 tallies with tbe construction of tbe bottoms of tbe cells, appears 
 to have been the chief reason for adopting the theory ; and yet 
 it is clear that the entire difference of those rhombuses, and this 
 diiference too m the most artificial and singular part of tbe 
 whole structure, at once shows the necessity of rejecting tbe 
 bj-potbesis, supposing there bad been no other proof of its in- 
 applicability. 
 
 3. Tbe attempts that have been made to explain the construc- 
 tion of tbe cells by a reference to tbe form of the insect's body 
 are equally unsuccessful, and proceed, indeed, upon an obvious 
 fallacy. For unless it can be shown that there ai-e some |)art3 
 of her body of the very size as well as shape of the hexagon 
 and the rhombus, nay, imless it can be shown that these parts 
 are placed at tbe same inclination to each other as the rhom- 
 buses are to the- walls and to one another, tbe argument would 
 not be at all advanced. Tbe consideration oi'this will render it 
 unnecessary to show in detail that the mere ])ossession of the 
 parts which the bee has, and with which slu; works as with tools, 
 cannot enaVjle her, without more, to form the cells. 
 
 Suppose then it were found that there is in some part of the
 
 340 APPENDIX. 
 
 bee a completely formed hexagon, but much smaller than the 
 cell ; and also in some other part a rhombus of the angles 109'28 
 and 70"32 respectively; but also much smaller than the plates 
 of the base — First, how would this lead her to form either the 
 walls or the base ? There is no reason for her making them ot 
 those shapes, merely because she has the model in one part ot 
 her body, any more than of the shape of her other members. 
 But next ; supposing all her members were hexagonal or 
 rhomboidal, why should she make the cell hexagonal and the 
 base rhomboidal ? Again ; suppose that difficulty got over, 
 why should she take any part of her body for a model ? All 
 these objections apply to her intention, her choice of the design. 
 But there remains an equally insuperable objection as to her 
 power of working, supposing her selection of the design to be 
 made ; for the having one of her parts hexagonal does not en- 
 able her to make a hexagon of a larger size. If an artificer has 
 a model, he can only work according to it either by having 
 acquired great skill fi'om experience, and thus possessing a prac- 
 tised eye and the requisite sleight of hand — or by using instru- 
 ments which enable him to follow the model without having so 
 much practical skill of eye and hand ; for some such skill he 
 must have, even to follow a model by means of instruments. 
 But the insect has no mstruments ; and even if we suppose that 
 her lunbs would turn out to be instruments did we thoroughly 
 understand them, she stUl, without being taught, has the power 
 of working by means of them to a model exactly as men learn 
 by experience to do. But this is a violent supposition ; for it is 
 plain that she works without any instruments to guide her. 
 Then granting her to have a hexagon and rhombus in her posses- 
 sion, nay, supposing them laid down before her, at the very 
 least she is able to draw lines parallel to then' sides. Now to 
 do this with never-failing accuracy demands gi'eat skill, not 
 much less than to make a hexagon and rhomb without any 
 model at all. 
 
 It is, however, said that the bee may have not models merely 
 in her own members, but tools which can at once make the angles 
 requu'ed. This, if it be not another form of the same hypo- 
 thesis, is certainly open to the same answer. For suppose we 
 should find some limb of the insect having a part with an angle 
 of 120, and others with angles of 109-28 and 70-32, which are 
 the three angles formed in the cells ; and suppose we get over 
 the first difficulty as before — why should she use those parts in 
 making angles, and not only so, but use the proper parts in 
 making the proper angles in the cell and base severally? The 
 natural tools might enable her to make the angles, but they never 
 could enable her to make them at the proper places ; that is,
 
 THE STRUCTURE OP THE CELLS OP BEES. 341 
 
 the angles of 120°, for example, at equal distances from the 
 centre which she has not found, of a circle which she has not 
 described, and also at equal distances from each other, or to 
 join the angles by straight lines ; that is, to contmue the lines 
 forming each angle and joui them with the lines forming the two 
 adjoinmg angles. In truth, no hj'pothesis of this description 
 will account for the phenomena, unless it should be assumed, 
 contrary to the known and manifest fact, that the insect has 
 some limb of the size and shape of the whole cell, and is endowed 
 with the power of forcing It into a cake of wax, or that the in- 
 sect's body, when coiled, is of the size and shape of the cell, rhom- 
 bus as well as hexagon, and has the power of so forcmg itself 
 into the wax. This would account for the form of the hollow, 
 and then there would still be left to explain how she is enabled 
 to place her limb or her body so as exactly to foi'm the con- 
 tiguous cells, leading evei'where the same thickness of wall, 
 and not only making the wall of each cell of the same thickness 
 in all its parts by forcing in the precise direction required, but 
 making all the walls of all the cells equally thick (which implies 
 the having found the centres of the circles), and making all the 
 cells of exactly the same depth ; operations not much less diffi- 
 cult than forming the hexagon and rhombuses themselves with- 
 out any model or tool. No such hypothesis, then, would 
 advance the question, even If the facts bore It out, and If the 
 bee was found not only to possess the form required, but actu- 
 ally to make the cells In the way supposed, and had some method 
 hardly to be conceived of disposing of the wax forced out of its 
 jjlace, instead of working, as she does, by digging, scraping, and 
 moulding. These facts, did they exist, would deserve our atten- 
 tion no doubt ; but they would not explain the whole pheno- 
 mena, nor would they deserve our attention more than the facts 
 which are found to exist. 
 
 That no such facts exist as we have last supposed Is admitted , 
 but not even any of those first supposed exist, as limbs or other 
 parts having the angles required. Mr. Huber examuied all the 
 parts of the insect with the utmost care, and could detect nothing 
 of the kind. The teeth, feet, and antennas, present no appear- 
 ance of angles, and the head has an acute angle, whicli, sup- 
 posing it to be that of the rhombus, would leave unexplained its 
 obtuse angle as well as the angle of 120", at which all the jjlates 
 of the wall are Inclined to each other and those of the base to 
 the walls. But it Is with the teeth, feet, and antenna;, that the 
 Insect Is, by actual observation of the same naturalist, known to 
 work ; and these present no appearance even reseml)]iMg any 
 ])ortion of the structure, though they are most curiously con- 
 trived for enabling the operation of moulding to be performed
 
 342 APPENDIX. 
 
 with delicacy. The antennas, in particular, composed of twelve 
 pieces, cylindi'ical, globular, and conical, are plainly so contrived 
 as to have every possible flexil^ility, in order that they may 
 move easily in all directions, being the feelers by which the 
 work is guided, the sight of the insect not being used. 
 
 4. It was at one time supposed that the thickness of the walls 
 was determined for the bee by that of the scales of wax which 
 are secreted ; and J. Hunter, finding that the thickness of the 
 rhomboidal plates composing the base does not materially differ 
 from that of the scales, concluded that those scales were used 
 at once in the construction, and formed parts of the cell, as it 
 Avere, ready made. But not to mention that the walls are less 
 thick, Huber found that the bee works at the cell differently, 
 and not at all by juxtaposition of scales ; nay, that the wax of 
 which the cells are made is a material diiferent from that of the 
 scales, having undergone a process which the bee is observed 
 to perform, and offering results to chemical analysis, which the 
 scales do not give, the latter being entirely and readily soluble, 
 for example, in alcohol, whereas there are considerable parts 
 of the wax altogether or all but insoluble. As for the shape 
 of the laminaj which are secreted, it agrees with no part of the 
 structure, being an irregular pentagon. 
 
 5. The discovery of Swammerdam, that the cornea of the 
 bee's eyes is composed of hexagonal plates, or fixcettes, has been 
 supposed by some to account for the form of the cells. But 
 this is, if possible, a wilder h^ypothesis than any we have been 
 considering. Indeed Swammerdam's answer to it is sufficient, 
 that it might as well be supposed that men should build round 
 houses because the pupil of the human eye is circular. In ti'uth, 
 the shape of these plates must be wholly unknown to the insect. 
 They only transmit the light which is made to converge to a 
 focus on the retina wholly independent of the form of the in- 
 numerable sides of the cornea ; not to mention that the bee 
 works in the dark by aid of the antenna^, and that if she did 
 not, and if she saw the hexagonal form of the plates constantly 
 before her, this, though it might suggest, as a model would, the 
 form of the cell, could give her no kind of aid in making the 
 wax of that figure. 
 
 All the theories to which we have been adverting admit the 
 construction of the ceils to be efiectual for securing the saving 
 of room and wax ; and I am not aware that any one has ever 
 denied this generally and absolutely. But some opinions have 
 been given questionhig the amount of the saving m the most 
 extraordinary part of the structure, the form of the base, in so 
 far at least as that concerns the wax. The advantages of this 
 construction have not been denied ; but it has been supposed to
 
 THE STEUCTUEE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 343 
 
 effect so little sa^-ing of wax that tlils could not be tlie purpose 
 of the arrangement. Of those M'ho have held this doctrine 
 it is sufficient to specify M. L'Huillier as the person who has 
 brought the most mathematical learnmg to the discussion of the 
 subject. 
 
 In his paper already refciTed to (' Mem. Acad., Berlin,' 1781), 
 atler giving a geometrical investigation of the question of maxima 
 and minima, he adds some general reflections ; and though these 
 are expressed with gi-eat doubt, and in language of becoming 
 I'everence, they certainly contain an indication that the author 
 considered the saving of wax ascribed to the construction as a 
 mistaken and fanciful ^'iew of the Final Cause, and as an abuse 
 of that delicate speculation. For he thinks he has shown that 
 only ^' J- part of the wax is saved, and that one-ninth might have 
 been saved if the dimensions of the cell had been those of what 
 he terms the minimum miniinorum, that is, if the proportions of 
 depth and width had been such as to save most wax, among all 
 the cells having the same form and containing the same space. 
 He suggests, therefore, that this saving cannot be the object in 
 view; but that there is either some other object, and he men- 
 tions none, or that this object of saving wax is modified by 
 another, and he mentions as such the rearing of the young. As 
 there can be no doubt that this latter view is the correct one, 
 for the reason which I have assigned in treating of the amount 
 of sa%'ing, there would have been no occasion to dwell further 
 upon M. L'Huillier's doctrine, had it rested there. But he pro- 
 ceeds to say, that there is reason to suppose the saving of wax 
 does not enter at all into the question, and that it may depend 
 upon, or be a necessary consequence of the other arrangement, 
 that, namely, for the care of the young. " On est mcme tente 
 lie soup^onner que ce dernier (/.e. le but d'economie) pourroit 
 n'entrer pour rien dans la composition des alveoles, lorsqu'on 
 fait attention, qu'il pent etre regarde comme une dependance 
 du premier, (i.e. le but de I'emplacement des germes le plus 
 sur. et la propagation de I'espece)." And he adds, that tlie 
 solidity of the structure requiring the contiguous cells to leave no 
 space unoccupied, and the opposite cells to fit into one another, 
 this condition is " tres-heureusement reniplic^ par des prisnies 
 hexagonaux termines par des fonds, tels que ceux (jue la theorie 
 et I'observation s'accordent a peu pres a assignor aux alveoles." 
 (P. 292.) 
 
 If, however, any doubt remained with regard to the meaning 
 and drift of these observations, and of the whole paper, it would 
 be removed by the introductory matter prefixed, of which M. 
 Castillon is the author, as he Is of some admeasurements of the 
 cells subjoined to the paper and forming its conclusion. M
 
 344 APPENDIX. 
 
 L'HuIllier of course adopted this introduction, in Avliich the 
 pui'pose of his paper is set forth, and the accomplishment of 
 that purpose described with some satisfaction. After a warrr 
 and just panegp'ic upon the doctrine of Final Causes, upon 
 the services which it has rendered to Natural Religion, and 
 upon Natural Religion itself, M. Castillon proceeds to lament 
 that this doctrine has been abused, not only by writers who 
 expressly treat of it, but by philosophers to whose physical in- 
 quiries the speculation is incidental. " Telle est notre foiblesse, 
 nous abusons de tout. Nous tirons quelquefois de la riche mine 
 des causes finales des decombres au lieu d'or. Notre esprit 
 borne se lalsse quelquefois eblouir par des fausses lueurs et crolt 
 voir des causes finales qui n'existent point." The example he 
 gives is the Base of the Cells. " Par example, on a dit que le 
 fond pyramidal qui termlne les cellules des abeUles est destine 
 a procurer le maximum de I'epargne de la cire. Ceux qui ont 
 advance cette proposition ont-ils ete guides par la lumiere ou par 
 ime fausse lueur ?" His answer to this question Is the ' Memoire.' 
 " C'est-ce que M. L'HuIllier examine dans un memoire qu'U m'a 
 transmis pour etre presente a cette savante compagnie." — "J'y 
 al trouve de belles recherches sur le minimum de surface des 
 solldes qui ont meme capaclte," &c. (P. 277.) 
 
 M. L'HuUlier has not proved what M. Castillon and he sup- 
 pose ; and a little attention to the preceding statement of the 
 former will show this. The supposed proof rests upon three 
 grounds. — Firsts that the saving is only about /j- of the wax 
 employed. — Secondly, that a much greater saving might have 
 been effected by another construction, had economy of wax been 
 the object. — T/iirdly, that the object is the solidity of the struc- 
 ture by the opposite cells fitting into each other, and leaving no 
 intervals. 
 
 1. It is extremely erroneous to represent the saving as only 
 ■g\ part ; for suppose we lay entirely out of view the shortening 
 of the cells, and merely consider the saving of the rhomboldal 
 base as compared with the hexagonal one, the proportion Is that 
 
 1 / -\ 2s^ 
 
 *^^ 2 \ VS+'V^^ j s^ to —7^ (the whole rhomboldal base com- 
 posed of the three rhombuses and the six triangles, s being the 
 hexagonal side), or as 1-12 to 1. There Is about one-ninth 
 part therefore saved of the wax required for making the base. 
 The proportion of g'-j- Is obtained by comparing the saving upon 
 the base with the whole wax of the cell. Including the walls ; 
 and supposing the height of the wall to be to the sides of the 
 hexagon as 5 to 1-387. But why Is the wax of the wall to be 
 imported into the calculation, with which It has nothing to do ?
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 345 
 
 Tlie question is between two forms of the bottom, not of the 
 whole cell. Suppose two kinds of roof for a house were to be 
 compared in order to choose the one that required least timber ; 
 though the house might be all made of wood we should onlv 
 compare the expense of the roofs, and leave out the walls, which 
 would be common to both plans ; otherwise the relative amount 
 of the saving would depend on the height of the house as well 
 as the shape of the roof This becomes the more evident in 
 the case of the cells, from the circumstance of their depth vary- 
 ing in the same comb, and for the same kind of bee, according 
 to many accidental circumstances, as the abundance of wax, the 
 use to be made of the cell, the part of the comb where it is 
 placed, and the obstacles in the way of the building ; insomuch 
 that I have seen in one comb cells ten and eleven lines in depth ; 
 others of the ordinary depth of Avorking bee cells, five lines ; and 
 some hardly, if at all, deeper than the bottom, that is terminat- 
 ing nearly at where the rhomboidal plate begins. But in none 
 of these various cells is any difference to be found in the propor- 
 tions of the rhomboidal sides to the hexagonal side s, or in the 
 depth of the bottom. The side of the hexagons is always the 
 same for the same kind of bee ; the depth of the pp-ainid is 
 
 s S s 
 
 alwaj-s —7-' and the side of the rhombus ■ —' The saving 
 
 therefore Is somewhere about a ninth, and not somewhat less 
 than a fifty-first part. 
 
 But there is another consideration which shows still more 
 strikingly the fallacy of the argument derived from taking he 
 whole walls of the cell into calculation. The thickness of the 
 wax is very diflerent in different parts of the cell, being much 
 greater in the base, that is in the rhomboidal plates, and the 
 part of the walls adjoining, the six small triangles, which are 
 formed by a line drawn parallel to the base through the points 
 where the rhomboidal plates cut the walls. This is manifest 
 upon inspection ; and I have tried it by weighing equal parts, 
 in superficial extent, as far as it was possible, of the base and of 
 tlie sides, and uniformly found the latter sensibly lighter. It 
 did not seem that the proportion was always the same, but I 
 never found the difference less than in the proportion of 3 to 2. 
 The thickness of the walls varies much more than that of the 
 base in different combs. But any considerable difference be- 
 tween the two portions at once destroys the argument of M. 
 LTIuiUler. If It is as 3 to 2, then the saving is nearly an eighth 
 upon the thicker part, and consequently about ^\ instead of ;\ 
 of the whole. 
 
 2. It is very inaccurate to say that because another form
 
 34:6 APPENDIX. 
 
 would have saved more wax, if that had been the object, there- 
 fore it is not the object at all, as M. L'Huillier ultimately con- 
 tends, after at first stating much less inaccurately, that the 
 saving is one object subordinate to another. But even this is 
 not altogether correct. It is an object, bnt taken in conjunction 
 with another object ; that is to say, the purpose is not to make 
 the cell of a given capacity with the smallest quantity of wax, 
 but of a given capacity and capable of holding insects of a given 
 length and lluids of a given consistency and weight. It no 
 more follows that saving of wax is not a part of the design be- 
 cause another object is accomplished at the same time, and 
 which prevents the sa\'ing of wax being greater, than it follows 
 that each of the two conditions in any question of maxima and 
 minima is not attended to, because both are attended to. Thus, 
 to take a very simple instance, if it is required to dispose a given 
 surface in a rectangle so that both the sides taken together shall 
 be the shortest possible ; we know these must be equal, and 
 the figure be a square. By making the figure twice as long 
 as it is broad, the breadth would be saved, but the whole peri- 
 phery would be much increased. Would anybody contend that 
 no regard is paid to a saving of the breadth, merely because 
 the saving of the length is also taken into the account ? 
 
 But is it true that, supposing the object had been saving of 
 wax alone, and the problem solved had no other condition to 
 qualify that one, any other form would have more effectually 
 accomplished the single purpose ? AVe are of course always to 
 assume that no interstices shall be left between the cells. If 
 but a single cell is in question, there exists no dispute that 
 another form would have given the same capacity with less sur- 
 face than the hexagonal prism with a three-sided pyi'amidal 
 base. But to state this is extremely superfluous, not to say 
 puerile, and proves less than nothing ; for if there is to be but 
 one oblong cell, a cylinder would save most surface of all the 
 regular oblong figures, and if it is not to be oblong, a sphere 
 of all figures whatever would save most surface. Nor does M. 
 L'Huillier's prism at all advance the argument ; because, if he 
 takes into the account the juxtaposition of the cells, he must also 
 consider the opposite sides of the comb ; and then he admits that 
 his figure will not answer, for space would be lost and wax also. 
 
 But, suppose a cell must be chosen of the given shape, and 
 which leaves no interstices, his argunient is, that another pro- 
 I)ortion of the depth and width would have saved more wax. 
 Now this, upon examination, turns out not to be true. We 
 shall first suppose all the parts to be of equal thickness, and the 
 walls no thinner than the base. 
 
 It is observable that he leaves entirely out of his computation
 
 THE STRUCTUKE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 347 
 
 the mouth of the cell and its hexajronal covering. lie supposes 
 the case of a cell open at that end and shaped according to hi^ 
 proportion, the length of the -svall being to the width as 1 to v'6 
 one Tray, and 1 to VS the other ; and he compares it with the 
 cell actually made by the bees, also supposed to be open at the 
 end. By thus leaving out the hexagon formed at the end or 
 mouth of the cell, he makes it appear that there is a waste of 
 wax in the cell made by the bees. But why is that hexagon to 
 be left out ? It is made of wax, like the rest of the cell ; in- 
 deed, of thicker wax than the walls are made of. It is abso- 
 lutely necessary for preserving the hone}' , and, if it is not re- 
 quired for the breeding-cells (which is by no means clear, for 
 the grubs are covered over in general), still those could not, 
 without deranging the whole structure of the comb, be of 
 flifferent dimensions from the cells used for storing honey, and 
 ■\vithout making it indeed necessary to have one comb for the 
 one purpose, and another for the other, thus losing the gi'eat 
 convenience of the cells being used indifferently for all pui-poses. 
 
 Now, taking the case of a single cell, it will be found that the 
 solution of M. L'Huillier's problem gives a proportion by which, 
 instead of any saving there is a loss, though to a ti'illing amount. 
 The wax required for this constructi on exceeds that required in 
 the cells actually formed by about -j^ of a square line, taking into 
 the account the hexagonal plate required to close up the end of 
 the cell. But, if this saving is trifling on one cell, it is very con- 
 siderable indeed on the comb. In a hive of a cubic foot, the 
 total loss would be nearly eighteen scpiare feet of wax ; because, 
 in.stead of nine combs, with an interval of five lines between 
 each, there must be 26i with the same interval. A waste, 
 therefore, of between one-fifth and one-sixth of the whole wax 
 required would be occasioned, instead of any saving. This, of 
 course, supposes all the cells to be used for storing ; but the 
 argument applies, though in a diminished proportion, if we 
 deduct the breetling cells. 
 
 The only reason that I can assign for M. L'HuUlier having 
 made this extraordinary omission of the hexagonal plate at the 
 end or mouth of the cell is that, in the investigation of the pro- 
 blem originally proposed by Reaunmr to Ka-nig, that hexagon 
 does not enter. But in that problem it could have no place. 
 The side being a constant quantity, so is of course the hexagon. 
 It would have dropt out of the diflerential e(juation, and could 
 not aflect the result required ; namely, the value obtained tor 
 the side of the rhombus, or for its angles. But then, ]\I. 
 L'Huillier ouglit to have considered that it did enter into llie 
 investigation of A/.s problem very materially ; and, liad lie s(jlved 
 that problerp by the calculus instead of geometrically, he would
 
 348 APPENDIX. 
 
 have found that the hexagon is not a constant quantity, and 
 must have afiected the result. 
 
 In truth, if the problem had been stated as it ought, it would 
 have been this : — ^To find the proportions which would give the 
 whole surface, of the cell (including the hexagon plate), a mini-. 
 
 mum. The result is not that of the wall, being -p- of the side or 
 
 T/-^ and T7^* of the width, but that of the wall being to the 
 
 side as V2 + V3 to 2, or the depth to the greatest width as 
 28 to 29 nearly ; or (taking the solid content of the common 
 bee's cell), instead of M. L'Huillier's proportion, of the depth 
 to the greatest width as 2'53 to 4*75, it is that of 3"5 Unes to 
 3*64. This is in reality the proportion in which, if the cell be 
 constructed, there will be the greatest saving possible of wax 
 and work — a saving on one cell of about 3'805 square lines, or 
 nearly one-twelfth part — instead of a waste, as we have seen M. 
 L'Huillier's proportion would occasion. 
 
 It may then be asked whether the argument of M. L'Huillier 
 is not thus revived, though placed upon a new grovmd, and re- 
 ferred to the cell of these proportions now determined, and why 
 those proportions do not justify the inference which he drew 
 from his erroneous solution, and which that solution could not 
 support ? But the solution which I have given, though it proves 
 a saving in a single cell, and though it shows a loss of much less 
 than M. L'Huillier's, still leaves a loss upon the whole comb. 
 A comb of a foot square made of cells, whose width was to their 
 depth as in the above minimum ratio, would take about 3^3 
 more wax than one whose cells were of the construction 
 actually used by the bees ; and there would be a waste of y J, 5 
 upon a hive of 15f combs, which would be the number required 
 to give as many cells as nine combs of the ordinary structure. 
 But it must further be considered that the wax of which the 
 bottom is made being thicker than that of the walls, and the 
 bottom beai'ing a smaller proportion to the walls in the cells of 
 the form actually employed by the bees, than in the form which 
 saves the greatest extent of surface, an additional saving is made 
 by the proportions actually used. 
 
 This leads us to consider what form of cell will give the 
 largest proportions of the walls, and the smallest of the rhom- 
 
 • According as the greater or lesser breadth of the hexagon is taken. 
 
 s 
 The whole depth of cell is always 5~r^ more than the length of the wall ; 
 
 whicli seems to be overlooked by M. L'Huillier.
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 349 
 
 boidal base. This problem, like that of the minimum of surface, 
 may be considered in two ways ; first, as regards the angles of 
 the rhombus; and next, as regards the proportion of the depth 
 to the width of the cell, the angles of the rhomlnis being given. 
 The second of these problems admits of no solution, there being 
 no limit to the disproportion between the base and the walls, if 
 no limits ai-e assigned to the depth of the cell. But the first 
 problem may be solved ; and it gives clearly the hexagonal 
 prism as the form in which the base bears the smallest propor- 
 tion to the walls. But there would be an obvious disadvantage 
 in this form ; because a loss of surface would be occasioned by 
 de^^ating from the angles which give the minimum of surface, 
 and this would not be counterbalanced by the small saving in 
 the proportion of the thicker parts of the work to the thinner. 
 
 There is, however, an impoi'tant circumstance to be regarded, 
 beside the extent of the plates and their thickness. The angles 
 formed by the plates are apparently the most difficult part of 
 the work ; they appear to be laboured with the greatest care ; 
 and they are the parts where the wax is thickest — the solidity 
 of the structure depending mainly on them. Now the saving of 
 these solid angles becomes on this account very material, and 
 we may inquire as before, first, what must be the angles of the 
 rhombus in order to make the length of the soHd, or dihedral, 
 angles the smallest possible; and, secondly, supposing those 
 angles to be given, what must be the proportion of the depth to 
 the width of the cell, which makes the length of the solid angles 
 the smallest. Both problems admit of a determinate solution. 
 In the first it is found that the angles of the rhombus must be 
 109' 28' and 70° 32', being the same form which saves the most 
 surface. In the second it is found that of all cells with such 
 p^Ta^udal base, that has the smallest length of solid angle in 
 which the length of the wall is to the hexagon side as V2 -{- 1 
 to 1, or the whole depth to the greatest width, as 5 -j- 2 V2, to 
 4 V2, that is as 39 to 28 nearly. But If we only regard the mini- 
 mum of the solid angles of the base and walls without consider- 
 ing the angles at the hexagonal openuig, then the form is that 
 of the wall being to the hexagon side as 1 to V2, being M. 
 L'Huillier's minimum minimorum. 
 
 From hence it is evident that this kind of fine and difficult 
 workmanship is saved by the angles of the cell being such as 
 they are rather than such as would efiect the greatest saving in 
 the proportion of the bottom, or thick plates, to the walls or 
 thin plates. This, therefore, is an additional economy and an 
 additional reason, beside tiiose already given, against the fbnu 
 which gives that proportion as a minimum. But it also appears
 
 350 APPENDIX. 
 
 that retaining tliis form, the proportion of depth to width, which 
 gives the minimum of solid angle, could only be adopted at an 
 expense of surface. For if the angles round the hexagonal 
 plate are left out of the consideration, then the form is svich as 
 has been already shown to lose somewhat upon a single cell, and 
 upon the comb a great proportion ; and if the angles round that 
 plate are taken into consideration, though on a single cell there 
 is a saving, there is a loss upon the whole comb, as compared 
 with the common cell. All this is merely with regard to the 
 saving of wax and work, supposing the breeding out of the 
 question, and independent of the reasons against the shallower 
 and wider cell derived from the form of the insect. 
 
 We may therefore conclude, from the fullest examination of 
 the question, that it is an error to suppose any saving could be 
 effected by varjing the form of the cell in any of the ways pro- 
 posed ; and therefore that, supposing there were nothing taken 
 into consideration except the economy of labour and materials, 
 the form adopted by the insect is the most conducive of all 
 possible forms to that object. It follows consequently that the 
 position is wholly unsupported which represents this saving as 
 not being one of the objects of the pai'ticular structure adopted, 
 
 3. The third ground of the doubt raised by the Berlin 
 Academicians is founded upon the proposition that the object 
 in view is the solidity of the structure, and that the saving of 
 the wax is only incidental to this main object. The language 
 used is not marked by the precision which might be expected 
 in a mathematical discussion. After stating that the safety of 
 the eggs and the process of breeding generally seems to be the 
 object in view and not the saving of wax ; it is added that the 
 solidity of the structure so necessary for that object, appears to 
 require that there should be no interstices between the cells, 
 and that the opposite cells should, " if possible^ fit into one 
 another — conditions fulfilled by hexagonal prisms with bases, 
 such as the theory and observation nearly agree in giving to 
 the cells." The "nearly" is quite incorrect ; there is an absolute 
 and ])erfect agreement between the theory and the observation. 
 But it is still more inaccurate to represent the actual structure 
 of the prisms and base as necessary for the fulfilment of the 
 conditions stated. Any hexagonal prism terminating in pyra- 
 mids of three rhombuses would fulfil the conditions of leaving 
 no interstices, and of having the opposite bases fitting into one 
 another, whatever the angles of the rhombuses were. There is 
 something, indeed, vague in the expression " conditions which 
 are fulfilled ; " and it may be said not to mean that the actual 
 structure is the only one which fulfils those conditions. But 
 then if that is not the meaning, the observation has no bearing
 
 THE STRrCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 351 
 
 upon tlie question ; for tlie purpose in hand is to sliow tluit tlie 
 structure such as we find it to be, is intended to fulfil the con- 
 dition of the cells fitting, and this can only be answered by 
 proving that structure necessary to the cells fitting, which it 
 plainly is not. This thii'd ground, therefore, fails as signally as 
 the others. 
 
 31. Castillon has recourse to an argument of a perfectly 
 difierent kind with a view to displacing the doctrine upon this 
 subject. He calls in question the facts. Father Boscovich had 
 supposed that the admeasurement of the angles was too nice to be 
 accurately performed, and that the coincidence of M. Maraldi's 
 measures with the theory could only arise fi'om his assuming 
 that the angle of inclination of the rhomboidal plane was the 
 same with that of the hexagon, viz., 120°, fi'om which, no doubt, 
 it would follow that the angles of the rhombuses should be 109'28 
 and 70"32 respectively. M. Castillon and 31. L'Huillier seem 
 to adopt this supposition with some alacrity, and the former 
 adds some measurements of his own in confirmation of it. 
 
 Admitting the profound respect which is due to any opinion 
 or even conjecture of so great a man as Father Boscovich, it 
 must at the same time be remarked, that we cannot adopt his 
 opinion without imputing a very great fault to another great 
 man — Maraldi. If, instead of measuring the angles of the 
 rhombuses, he supposed the other angles were the same with 
 those of the hexagon, and then calculated the angles of the rhom- 
 bus, and stated that he had found them to be so in fact, he unques- 
 tionably stated what was not true, and pretended to have made 
 an experiment when he only made a supposition and deduced 
 an estimate from it. If, indeed, he actually measured the angles 
 which the rhombuses make with the sides or with one another, 
 and found that angle to be the same with the angles of the hex- 
 agon (120"), he had a perfect right to state the angles of the 
 rhombus to be 109 28 and 70'32, because that followed from 
 his actual measurement of the other angle. But then that is 
 just as good a measurement of the angles of the rhombus as if 
 these angles had themselves been the subject of the observation; 
 and no doubt this is an easier way of measuring the angles i>f 
 the rhombus than a direct measurement of those angles. For 
 take the two rhombuses which are a continuation of the dihedral 
 angle of the prism and apjdy them to tliat angle, if the walls 
 and the rhombuses accurately coincide, it sliows the angles of 
 inclination to be the same in ^he walls and in the rhombuses, and 
 all the rest follows. Another measurement is also practicable 
 without the operation, confessed to be of extreme nicety, of 
 measuring the angles themselves of tlie rhondius. 'Ihe breadlli 
 of these rhombuses — the line di-awn from any part m one of the
 
 352 APPENDIX. 
 
 sides perpendicular to the opposite side — may be compared with 
 the side of the hexagon ; and if it is found equal to that side, 
 all the rest follows ; each rhombus makes with the other two 
 and with the walls angles of 120°, and each rhombus has its two 
 angles 109'28 and 70o2 respectively. This is the necessary 
 consequence of the rhomboidal breadth being equal to the side 
 of the hexagon. Now such a comparison is not very difficult to 
 make, either by instruments or by placing the rhombuses over 
 the walls, laying each, when separated, flat on a plane. 
 
 But M. Castillon's measurements, which are intended to 
 confirm Father Boscovich's conjectirre, and cast a doubt on 
 Maraldi's statement, really deserve little attention, and yet they 
 alford an unexpected confirmation of the latter, and not of the 
 former. 
 
 They deserve little attention, because they are so few in 
 number. There are five measurements of the whole depths of 
 the cells ; but that is immaterial to the question ; and there are 
 only two of the length of the longer solid angle of the prism as 
 compared -n-ith that of its shorter soHd angle. It does not 
 appear that M. Castillon was aware of this proportion deter- 
 mining the angles ; but he apparently gives his measures in 
 order to show that they vary considerably, and that such obser- 
 vations cannot be relied upon. Now two such observations, 
 differing fi-om one another, would prove Httle or nothmg ; but 
 it does so happen that one of the two agrees sufficiently well 
 with Maraldi's. The first measures which he gives make the 
 one length 4*622, and the other 4-14.4. Now the theory is not 
 very different from this ; for if the angles are as measured by 
 Maraldi, and found by the calculations, supposing also the ordi- 
 nary measure of the proportions between the width of the cells 
 and length of the walls to be accurate, the proportion of the 
 longer and shorter solid angle is that of 4"622 to 4"168, or within 
 yij of a line, the same as M. Castillon found it to be. 
 
 The examination of the question into which we have been 
 drawn has extended to a great length, and has been very 
 minute ; biit it has not been supei-fluous, because the doubts 
 raised b}- the Berlin Academicians have had considerable influ- 
 ence in shaking men's opinions upon the subject ; and a dispo- 
 sition to suppose the whole doctrine respecting the structure 
 of the cells erroneous, and the inferences connected with it 
 fanciftJ, may be traced to the Memoir which we have been 
 considering, although many who have treated the opinions of 
 Maraldi and Reaumur as disproved by subsequent inquiry, have 
 probably not looked at the work upon which this notion rests. 
 The subject, too, is of the gi'eatest importance ; for it is by far 
 the most remarkable, as it certainly is the most celebrated, of
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OP BEES. 353 
 
 tbe operations of animal instinct ; and if it had proved to be a 
 mere groundless imagination, the whole of our opinions upon 
 other less striking illustrations of the same views would have 
 been very naturally unsettled. A full investigation, however, 
 has proved to what the error must be ascribed, and has shown 
 that the evidences of instinctive skill are in several material 
 particulars even more remarkable than they had been before 
 supposed to be. 
 
 ^Ve have hitherto been confining our attention to the struc- 
 ture of the cells as composed of wax, or wax and propolis, the 
 only materials to which the attention of naturalists and mathe- 
 maticians has been directed. As regards the cells only used 
 for storing, there is no material except these employed. But 
 the following observations and experiments seem to show that 
 it is otherwise in breeding cells. It was the examination of 
 these, with a view of satisfjing myself as to the origin of Dr. 
 Barclay's mistake, that led me to the more minute consideration 
 of this subject, to which it is a matter of much regret that 
 neither of those consummate observers, Reaumur and Iluber, 
 devoted sufficient attention. But it is to be hoped that others 
 better qualified to continue their researches than I can pretend 
 to be, Avill supply this defect ; and it is with a view to excite 
 their attention, rather than to aid their inquii-ies, that I venture 
 to add the result of my very imperfect trials. 
 
 A portion of comb was selected, one part of which had never 
 either been used for storing or for breeding, and the other had 
 had a single brood. The former part was perfectly white ; the 
 latter shghtly tinged with yellow or Hglit brown, and in several 
 places with the red streaks observed by Huber, and shown by 
 him to be a vegetable matter collected from trees, particularly 
 the poplar. The whole belonged to a comb made in a glass 
 hive by a very late swarm about the middle of August, and 
 taken soon after the middle of September. Indeed, that any 
 young had been bred in it I should not have supposed, if the 
 cocoons had not shown it — always supposing these to be the webs 
 spun by the pups, according to the prevailing opinion, which 
 is assumed in the remarks tliat follow to be correct, although 
 some may possibly think that the full grown working bee lias 
 something more to do with the cocoons than is generally supposed. 
 
 The piece of comb was placed in alcohol, and no part of it 
 much ailected until heat was ajiplied, when the Avhite part_ 
 speedily melted, and in part dissolved, no vestige of the form of 
 a cell, or even a plate, remaining. A good deal of wax also 
 ran melted from the other part, that in which bees had been 
 bred ; but it retained its form, and nearly its dimensions, not- 
 witlistanding the heat was continued for some time. When the 
 
 VOL. VL 2 A
 
 354 APPENDIX. 
 
 spirit was boiled, the latter, or part of the comb in which bees 
 had been bred, separated into parts ; but even then it required 
 being stirred to assist the separation and let the wax be com- 
 pletely melted. When another comb of an older hive was used, 
 the separation was very much more difficult ; but contmued 
 boiling in the alcohol, with stirring, effected it : and then each 
 cell was found entu'e and apart from the others, and, when the 
 liquor cooled, all were covered and filled with small wax glo- 
 bules, being that considerable portion of the wax which the 
 alcohol does not take up. The same experiment may be made 
 with boiling water, and the result is the same, only that the 
 water takes up none of the wax at all. If spirit of turpentine 
 is used, the experiment is more efiectually and easily made, the 
 wax being easily combined with the spirit ; but this form of the 
 experiment is not of course applicable where it is wished to 
 ascertain in what part of the cell the wax is formed. Sulphuric 
 ether crumbles down the wax, without dissolving any consider- 
 able part of it, and separates the cells after steeping some time. 
 The experiment was then made with pieces of old comb, in 
 which several broods of young had been reared The cells 
 were somewhat smaller in -^vidth, the walls considerably thicker, 
 and the colour much more dark, being a deep brown, in some 
 places almost black. 
 
 The cells separated by these processes were now examined. 
 Each was found to consist of a hexagonal prism, terminating in 
 a pjTamid of three equal rhombuses ; in short, each cell had 
 exactly the shape of the wax cells, but was formed of wholly 
 different materials. The walls and base were made entirely of 
 an extremely thin transparent or semi-transparent film, resem- 
 bling gold-beater's leaf, but without a wrinlde. The old cells 
 with thick walls kept the shape most distinctly. Indeed they 
 had angles and planes as well defined as those of wax in the 
 new comb. But they did not consist of a single film, like the 
 cells where apparently only one brood had been raised ; they 
 had one film ^vithin another, and could be separated, so that as 
 many as five or six could be extricated from the same cell ; each 
 of these had the hexagon form, and the first two, and sometimes 
 three, had the rhomboidal form of the base also ; but the inner- 
 most ones had the rhombuses less and less distinctly marked, 
 till the last one or two of all had spherical, instead of pyramidal, 
 bases. The hexagon's walls or the sides of the prism were in 
 all distinctly marked. The bases were so much the less distinct 
 after the first and second, in consequence of a much greati-r 
 quantity of the red matter being placed in the base than in any 
 part of the prism. In the prism it was generally traceable in 
 the angles, as a kind of lining or coating, and not always con-
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 355 
 
 tinuous, for sometimes it was interrupted ; and it seldom was of 
 equal amount the whole length of the solid angle. Sometimes 
 tliere was hardly any in these angles. In the base thei'e was 
 always a considerable quantity. The end or mouth of the cell 
 was always edged round with a rim composed chiefly of this 
 red matter, which I could not dissolve either in alcohol, spirit 
 of turpentine, sulphuric ether, or caustic alkaline ley — whether 
 these reagents were exhibited cold, and the cells with red matter 
 macerated in them, or were heated even to boiling, and the 
 cells with red matter stirred in them. 
 
 The first thing that was striking in these experiments was the 
 closeness -vvath which the film adhered to the wax. It defended 
 it from the action of the solvents, and even for a time from that 
 of the heat, at least it prevented the wax fi-om melting for a 
 considerable time ; and it thus happened that long after the 
 liquid had attained a temperature higher than that of melting wax 
 the comb retained its form, and the cells continued to adhere. 
 
 The 5eco/?fZ remarkable circumstance was the perfect stretching 
 of the film all round the wax cell of which it had assumed the 
 figure. There never was found the least wrinkle or laxity. 
 Each film was tensely stretched in all its parts. 
 
 Tldrdhj. There was no interval whatever in anjr part. The 
 whole of each cell was one entire piece of film, gomg all round 
 the prism, and all through the pjTamid, without any breach, 
 and without any suture or joining. At first it seemed possible 
 that the red matter might be a cement, or might cover the 
 joinings, or conceal an interval ; but on scraping it off", as well 
 as examining parts where it never had been, this suspicion was 
 ascertained to be groundless. 
 
 Fourthly. The red matter was not merely spread on the 
 first or innermost cell, the one next the wax, but was by innu- 
 merable trials found to be indifH-rcntly applied to all the films, as 
 well to the fifth and sixth as to the first and second. 
 
 Fiflhhj. The red matter always when examined appeared to 
 be on the outside of the film ; for there was constantly seen a film 
 on the concave side between the eye and the red matter. It 
 must therefore, have adhered to the film spun over it, and come 
 off from the one it was plastered on. 
 
 Sixthly. Th(! red matter, though very irregularly spread on tlii' 
 solid angles of the prism, and on the plates of the base, and on 
 the upper part especially of the solid angles, that is, at the mouth, 
 and near to and adjoining the dark coloured rim of tlie cell, 
 seemed in any given cell to be at the same parts of each of the 
 films which lined it. For when the side of a hexagon of many 
 films was cut through, so as to stretch out the sides of the prism 
 into one plane, the red matter was always observed in defined
 
 356 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 parts ; showing that where it was wanting in one film, it was 
 also wanting in the other six or seven. The appearance was 
 of this kind when the rim was cut off at the one end and the 
 rhomboidal base at the other. 
 
 The base seems on a superficial inspection an exception to 
 this observation, inasmuch as in cells which have had many 
 broods it is of a uniformly dark purple and almost black colour 
 on the outside and perfectly opaque, while each of the films of 
 which it is formed is transparent, except in certain parts, so that 
 it might be supposed that the dark parts of one were opposite 
 to the transparent parts of the others. But a closer examina- 
 tion shows that the red matter in these bases, as well as in the 
 walls, is distributed in the same manner in each of those of 
 which the whole mass is composed, and that it is the diminution 
 of their size which causes the appearance just adverted to. 
 Thus, the fiirst, or innermost, the one next the wax, has a con- 
 siderable space wholly free from red matter, but the dihedral 
 angles are more or less lined with it, and the breadth of the 
 red matter is greatest at the solid angle which the rhombuses 
 make with the walls of the cell, and is very scanty indeed at the 
 central trihedi'al angle made by the three rhombuses where it is 
 probably not spread at all on the same side, but has the appear- 
 ance of colour from the depth of that which is laid on the oppo- 
 site sides. There is, however, a sensible proportional increase 
 in the quantity of red in the smaller and inner- 
 most films. It probably increases gradually in 
 each after the first or waxen cell. It tapers in 
 this way. The other films are covered in the 
 same places ; but as the quantity of red matter 
 does not diminish, but rather increases, the whole 
 base is gradually contracted, till in the sixth or 
 seventh there is hardly any transparent part at all. But it 
 thus appears that the matter is appUed nearly alike in each. 
 
 Seventhly, The films are quite unaffected by maceration, or 
 even boihng in alcohol, oil of turpentine, ether, or caustic pot- 
 ash. But the j'ed matter seems to be more or less dissolved in 
 all these substances. By stirring in it, the dark coloured cells 
 give to spirit of turpentine a light yellow or golden tinge. By 
 longer maceration, and especially by boiling, alcohol and ether 
 are likewise tinged, though not so deeply. It is probable that 
 longer maceration and boiling in any of these liquids would
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 357 
 
 dissolve the whole colouring matter of the red substance. Boil- 
 ing in caustic potash converts it into a brown pigment, and 
 seems to act upon the substance itself, as well as the colourmg 
 matter ; but nothing affects the films. 
 
 Lastly. A film oV the same substance, transparent, but con- 
 siderably thicker, was found to line the cell of the queen bee. 
 The red' matter here was more equally diffused over its surface 
 in clouds and streaks, there being no angles at all to line with 
 it. The film assumed the pear or flask-like shape of the Avax ; 
 but a very remarkable fact was observed — the film was not 
 always in the inside ; it sometimes lay embedded in the wax, at 
 least a layer of wax was laid over it of a sensible thickness, in- 
 deed considerably thicker than some plates of the common cell, 
 and in one or two specimens it was much thicker. In case a 
 thinner layer of wax might be in like manner spread on each film 
 of the common cells as the red matter was, great pains were 
 taken to ascertain this by examining the older cells, which had 
 been separated by boiling in water so as not to dissolve the 
 wax ; and there seemed everj' reason for believing that no wax 
 existed between the eye and the film, that is on the inside of 
 the innermost film, in any but the cell of the queen bee. No 
 queen bee's cell was observed to have more than a single film 
 even in the oldest comb, where there were sLx and more succes- 
 sions of films in the other cells. But the examination of these 
 large cells should be more ftdly gone into, and they should be 
 compared as to their lining, with the cells, made out of three 
 common ones when a queen is lost and her place supplied. 
 
 The formation of these films is plainly deserving of much 
 greater attention than has ever been given to it. Neither the 
 observations of JMarahli, nor those of Reaumur, nor even of 
 Huber, are full and satisfactory upon this subject. They speak 
 of the worm lining and carpeting the cell in spinning, or rather 
 weaving, the cocoon, and yet they also speak of Its enclosing 
 itself in the cocoon, as if it spun and wove a web which covered 
 its body, and in the inside of which it underwent its transforma- 
 tion. But In the meantime there are certain things established 
 by the foregoing observations which seem to deserve attention. 
 
 The process must be conducted in one of two ways— either by 
 the worm formmg a cocoon round itself, and of an oblong figure 
 inside sufficient to contain it when it changes its position from a 
 coil perpendicular to the axis of the cell, into an oblong worm 
 placed in the axis — or by the worm lining the walls of the cell, 
 as Huber has In one or two places described It, though his de- 
 scription is Imperfect, and he does not seem to have Avatched 
 tlie whole operation. In the former case the cocoon, originally 
 made somewhat of the shape of the worm, must afterwards be
 
 358 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 applied by It or by the chrysalis so as to line and adhere to the 
 walls ; — in the latter case the walls are lined at fii'st by the act 
 of the weaving or spinning. Let us observe the difficulties 
 attending both these hypotheses, and the inferences to which 
 they lead — inferences, in either case, as extraordinary, to say 
 the least, as anything observed in the economy of this insect. 
 
 1. If the cocoon is formed loose and round, then when the trans- 
 formation takes place the pupa must press against every part ot 
 the cell, so as to apply the film all round, and equally in every 
 part. The wax may seize and retain the first film, which may 
 be originally moist ; or some propolis, being spread by the bees 
 over the walls, may, with the agglutinatmg substance of the 
 film itself, retam the film applied. That the immature animal 
 itself should be able to do this is not more extraordinary than 
 that it should be able to spin the film. 
 
 But the extraordinary part is the perfect adaptation of the 
 cocoon to the cell. There is no wrinkle whatever ; it fits exactly, 
 in every part, both the planes and the dihedral angles and the 
 trihedral angles. The extreme fineness of the texture may 
 faciUtate its fitting so many different shapes ; but how is the 
 size sufficient, and not at aU more than sufficient, in any one 
 place ? Let us consider what the size must be in order to fit 
 the different parts of the cell exactly. Take the base, and cut 
 it by a plane at right angles to the axis of the cell, and passing 
 through the acute angles of the rhombuses ; this will cut off" the 
 pyramidal part of the base, and leave the rest of it composed of 
 half the rhombuses and the six triangles. Then cut the prism by 
 another plane parallel to the former, and passing through the 
 obtuse angles of the rhombuses ; and cut the prism by a third 
 parallel plane, at the distance from the second of the altitude of 
 the pyramid above the extremity of the prism ; the three planes 
 are equidistant, and cut the cell so as to leave three equal 
 
 H, being the three planes, and o P 
 equal to the altitudes of the apex Q 
 above b a, q 5, the axis, is divided 
 into three equal parts by the planes 
 A B and E F. Observe, then, the 
 breadth which the cocoon must have 
 in the length, Q 0, fi-om its termi- 
 nation in the bottom of the cell Q. 
 The three intervals, or lengths, are 
 in the common cell about one-tenth 
 of the whole depth each. But the 
 surfaces of the cell comprehended 
 between the planes are of very different extents. The 
 pyramidal part, q r t, is 3 '03 square lines; the next part, 
 
 lengths 
 
 A B, E F, G
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 359 
 
 T c P d R, is 5'05 ; and the hexagonal part, c d e d, Is 4'04. 
 Yet the cocoon must have been so spun as to have the size 
 of the web vary in these proportions. For the lirst half line 
 wound along its axis the web must have been made so as to 
 liave six breadths to one length, for the next half line ten 
 breadths, and for the next half line eight breadths. Let any 
 one consider what diihculty there would be in making a bag of 
 cloth which should thus vary in its dimensions at different parts. 
 
 But that is the least part of the difficulty overcome by the 
 bee ; for the extent of the web which they make (that is, which 
 their grubs make) in projoortion to its length, does not vary at 
 definite points ; there are not, for example, two precise propoi'- 
 tlons, one for the part of the cocoon answering to the pp'amid 
 Q R T, and one for the part which is to line the other part of 
 the base between the pjTaniid and the prism, T c p f/ r. The 
 proportions vary at every one of the innumerable points between 
 the apex of the pyramid and the obtuse angle p of the rhombs 
 Avhere the hexagonal prism begins. At each pomt beginning 
 trom the apex, there is an increase in the extent of web required 
 until we reach the acute angles r and t of the rhombus. There 
 is then an increase from the acute angle till we reach the obtuse 
 angle p, when the extent of the web is the gi-eatest ; and diu-ing 
 all the rest of the web, which is to line d e rf c, its length round 
 the hexagon remains the same, that is, all throughout the hexa- 
 gonal prism. Moreover the inci'ease does not take place equally ; 
 the periphery of the cell to be lined does not inci'ease in the 
 proportion of the distance of each ring or mfinitely small section 
 of the surface from the apex Q along the axis of the cell. From 
 the apex q to the acute angles t, r, the periphery increases at 
 the distance along the axis fi-om the apex (being equal to 6 a/ 6 
 of that distance). But fi-om the acute to the obtuse angle it In- 
 creases much less rapidly, being equal to 3 (4 V 2 — 2 V 6) of 
 that distance along the axis, together with three times the longer 
 diagonal of the rhombs ; so that while the periphery Is Increasing 
 fourfold from t, half the distance between the apex and acute 
 angles to the acute angles, It is only increasing m the propor- 
 tion of five to two in an equal distance fi'om the acute to the 
 obtuse angle, that is, from tlie point u In the axis corresponding 
 with 0, to a point on that axis corresponding with p.* 
 
 If we only consider what extreme complicacy and difficulty 
 there would be in forming a cocoon which should thus intn-ease 
 at every bair'sbreadth, and increase in a ratio varying at difier- 
 eiit points, and should, on reaching its maximum size, continue 
 afterwards stationary in dimensions, we shall be convinced how 
 
 • Neither t nor u can be seen in the figure, being in the axis.
 
 360 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 insuperable the difSculties of the workmanship would be to any 
 artist ever so expert or eareM, But even this is not all — for 
 as the web is to be afterwards, by the supposition, applied to 
 the cii'cumscribed walls, the extent of the curved sui-face of the 
 
 Fig. 4. 
 
 Fig, 5. 
 
 cocoon inscribed, must be less than that of the surface which it 
 is afterwards tu line, if that curve is wholly concave to the axis, 
 in other words, if it have no points of contrary flexure. lu 
 order, therefore, that it may be exactly equal to the walls which 
 it is to fit exactly, the cocoon must be of a form wholly different 
 from that of the worm that made it. It must be concave at 
 some points and convex at others to the worm ; it must be 
 loose and bag, as it were, and the progress of its bagging or 
 being loose must vary at every point in order that, when applied 
 to the walls, it may exactly fit them at every part, from the apex 
 to the obtuse angles of the rhombus, and afterwards be uniibrm 
 to the end of the prism. Instead of being as in figure 4, where 
 the worm is represented under the bag by a vertical section, it 
 must be as in figure 5, where the shaded parts represent the 
 doubled parts answering to a and b of the transverse or horizon- 
 tal section (fig. 3), the circle being thus the insect, and the 
 line the web. The performance of such a work by the worm 
 appears scarcely conceivable. Astonishing as the known and 
 ascertained works of the perfect insect are, this would surpass 
 them in a proportion that might almost be called infinite. 
 
 2. These considerations, and the observations of naturalists, 
 as far as they go, lead us to adopt, almost of necessity, the
 
 THE STRrCTCRB OF THE CELLS OF BEES. 361 
 
 second inference, that the -worm applies the cocoon as it is made 
 directly to the -walls. In this case we get rid entirely of the 
 former difficulty, for the operation is certainly much more easy 
 of forming the' film upon the walls. That it is executed with 
 perfect nicety and precision, is, however, no less true. There 
 is never a break to be found, and there is no part thicker than 
 the rest ; so that but one layer is applied everj-where ; and the 
 worm knows so accurately where it has begun as always to leave 
 off on coming round to "that point, without ever going again 
 over the same ground for half a hair'sbreadth. The material 
 is also very remarkable. A very high magnifying power shows 
 no threads, or separate pieces of any kind ; in the great bulk of 
 the texture it is for the most part solid and perfectly transparent. 
 There are interspersed irregularly a few fibres, but it should 
 seem as if the whole was a mucilage spread over the walls, 
 rather then any web woven of threads. But though the diffi- 
 culties attending the other theory are not found in this, it has 
 difficulties of a different kind and exceedingly startling. 
 
 The first that strikes us immediately is the use of the cocoon 
 formed on the waxen walls. The cell was already made, and of 
 the required form and dimensions, in which the worm could be 
 lodged, and gi'ow, and undergo its transformation to the chry- 
 salis, or from the chrysalis to the bee. How was the lining it 
 with the film to assist the process ? If the cocoon had been of 
 another form, and >vi-apt round the worm, it might have served 
 some such purpose of covering or support as cocoons generally 
 do to the worm, and afterwards to the pupa; but here the 
 cocoon exactly fits the cell, and in nowise alters Its form ; and 
 by only an exceedingly small quantity its capacity. Still it is 
 possible that tlie fihn may better suit the worm than the walls, 
 or rather may better suit the worm when grown, and the chry- 
 salis, for the worm was on the bare wax during the first ten or 
 twelve days, and until it made the cocoon. But then, how are 
 tlie second, and the subsequent cocoons, to be accounted for? 
 The coll had been lined already completely with film, and the 
 additional lining could add nothing to the advantage, whatever 
 it was, which the first lining gave the worm and the chrysalis. 
 If two linings were necessary for the second worm and pu]»a, 
 how did the first do with one? and so of the third and all the 
 subsequent broods. Indeed, when many come to be accumu- 
 lated, there Is a positive detriment occasioned by the cells being 
 contracted. 
 
 Now this difficulty cannot be got over l)y saying that the same 
 kind of anomaly occurs in other cases; for it will be Umnd tliat 
 there has as yet been observed no second instance of it, and 
 t liat the resemblances are wholly imaginary. The only appear-
 
 362 APPENDIX. 
 
 ance of anytliing like this operation is in tliose cases where an 
 instinct manifestly given for the accomplishment of certain pur- 
 poses, leads to acts which are fruitless in consequence of some 
 apparent mistake on the part of the animal ; as where the fly, 
 mistaking the flower for carrion, lays its eggs in the folds of the 
 calyx whose smell had attracted it. But the case in hand is 
 very different ; for we have here not an accidental, but a con- 
 stant and regular action of the insect, and in the great majority 
 of cases, with a total failure, nay rather with inconvenient 
 results. For one film or cocoon that is spun to serve the pur- 
 pose of shielding the gTub from the wax of the cell, five or six 
 are spun one within the other to no kind of purpose, but rather 
 to the loss of space, and yet the instmct which leads to this 
 operation, is that of saving wax and work, because it is that 
 mstinct which makes the bees always prefer breeding in combs 
 already used, and therefore Hned with film wherever a brood 
 has been, to building new combs of virgin wax. Even if we 
 suppose there were only two broods on an average in each cell, 
 wliich is certainly much below the truth, the instinctive opera- 
 tion would be misplaced, and fail as often as it succeeded. This 
 is assuredly a strange kind of instinct, considering that certainty, 
 almost infallibility, is the characteristic of the operation in aU 
 other cases, and that wherever a failure is found, there seems 
 an exception to an otherwise general rule. No other operation 
 of any animal can be cited which fails as a general fact, either 
 oftener than it succeeds, or even as often. To make the thing 
 still more extraordinary, the fact is observed in the operations 
 of an animal the model of perfection beyond all others in its 
 instinctive faculties. 
 
 We are thus driven to the conclusion that some hidden use 
 exists to which the cocoon is subservient. ^V^hen the queen 
 bee finds a worm or an egg in any cell, she never lays another 
 egg there. Wlien the nursing bees find Hquor deposited in the 
 bottom round the egg, they pour in no more. AVliy should 
 the worm make a cocoon when it finds the cell already lined 
 with film ? Nor can any distinction be taken between the work 
 and the faculties of the worm and those of the grown insect ; 
 first, because the worm, on any supposition, is endowed with 
 perfect instinct ; and, next, because the adult bee aids in the 
 operation by lining the angles of the hexagon with the red 
 matter, and does so each time a film is spun. This difficulty is 
 at once got over if we suppose that, like other grubs, it spins 
 the cocoon round itself as a covering, and separate from the 
 walls of the cell. But then we get into all the extreme diffi- 
 oilties pointed out already as to the spinning a loose web which 
 shall fit every part of the cavity without a blank or a wrinkle.
 
 THE STRUCTURE OP THE CELLS OF BEES. 3G3 
 
 There seems then no way of avoiding both difficulties, except 
 by supposing that new made fihu has qualities ditFerent from 
 old, and that these are in some way genial to the worm and the 
 chrj'salis. This is barely supposable. We cannot suppose that 
 a contact with the red matter is necessary for the growth of the 
 grub ; for that matter being deposited on the inside of the 
 earher film, and adhering to the subsequent film, seems to coat 
 its outside, but in fact never can be in contact with either the 
 worm or the chrysalis, inasmuch as it never is laid on before the 
 bee is fully formed, and has left the cell. The supposition now 
 made of the peculiar qualities of new film is no doubt gratuitous, 
 l)ut there seems no other escape from the pressure of the diffi- 
 culty with which the facts surround us. 
 
 Tlie attention which has been paid at various times to the 
 structure and habits of the bee is one of the most remarkable 
 circumstances in the history of science. The ancients studied 
 it with unusual minuteness, although being, generally speaking, 
 indifferent observers of fact, they made but little progi-ess in 
 discovering the singular economy of this insect. Of the obser- 
 vations of Aristomachus, who spent sixty years, it is said, in 
 studying the subject, we know nothing, nor of those which were 
 made by Pliilissus, who passed his life in the woods for the pur- 
 pose of examming this insect's habits ; but Pliny informs us that 
 both of them wi'ote works upon it. Aristotle's three chapters 
 on bees and wasps* contain little more than the ordinary obser- 
 vations, mixed up with an unusual portion of vulgar and even 
 gross errors. How much he attended to the subject is, how- 
 ever, manifest from the extent of the fii'st of these chapters, 
 which is of great length. Some mathematical writers, particu- 
 larly Pappus, studied the form of the cells, and estabhshed one 
 or two of the fundamental propositions respecting the economy 
 of labour and wax resulting from the plan of the structure. 
 
 The application of modern naturalists to the inquiry is to be 
 dated from the beginning of the eighteenth century, when 
 Maraldi examined it with his accustomed care, and Kcaunuir 
 afterwards, as we have seen, carried his investin;ations much 
 farther. The interest of the subject seemed to increase with 
 the progress made in these inquiries ; and about the year 1765 
 a society was formed at Little Bautzen, in Upper Lusatia, whose 
 sole object was the study of bees. It was formed under the 
 patronage of the Elector of Saxony. 'J'he celebrated Scliiracli 
 was one of its original members ; and soon after its establish- 
 
 • Hist. An., lib. ix., cap. 40, 41, 42.
 
 364 APPENDIX. 
 
 ment lie made his famous discovery of the power which the 
 bees have to supply the loss of their queen by forming a large 
 cell out of three common ones, and feeding the grub of a worker 
 upon royal jelly; a discovery so startling to naturalists, that 
 Bonnet, in 1769, earnestly urged the Society not to lower its 
 creflit by countenancing such a wild error, which he regarded 
 as repugnant to all we know of the habits of insects ; admitting, 
 however, that he should not be so incredulous of any observa- 
 tions tending to prove the propagation of the race by the queen 
 bee without any co-operation of a male,* a notion since shown 
 by Huber to be wholly chimerical. In 1771 a second institu- 
 tion, with the same limited object, was founded at Lauter, 
 under the Elector Palatine's patronage, and of this Riem, 
 scarcely less known in this branch of science than Schirach, was 
 a member. 
 
 The greatest progress, however, was afterwards made by 
 Huber, whose discoveries, especially of the queen bee's mode of 
 impregnation, the slaughter of the drones or males, and the 
 mode of working, have justly gained him a very high place 
 among naturalists. Nor are his discoveries of the secretion of 
 wax from saccharine matter, the nature of propolis, and the 
 preparation of Avax for building, to be reckoned less important. 
 To these truths the way had been led by John Hunter, whose 
 vigorous and original genius never was directed to the cultiva- 
 tion of any subject without reaping a harvest of discovery. 
 Since the time of Hunter and Huber no progress has been made 
 in this branch of knowledge. For we have shown that the sup- 
 posed discovery of Barclay is wholly without foundation ; and 
 the attempts made by some mathematical reasoners to cast 
 doubt upon the result of former investigations have been also 
 proved to be signal failures. 
 
 • (Euvres, x., 100, 104.
 
 ANALYTICAL VIEW 
 
 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY, 
 
 AND 
 
 THEIR APrLICATION TO NATUEAL THEOLOGY.
 
 ANALYTICAL VIEW 
 
 OF THE 
 
 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY, 
 
 AND 
 
 THEIR APPLICATION TO NATURAL THEOLOGY, 
 
 FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 The great work of Cuvier stands among those rare 
 monuments of human genius and labour, of which each 
 department of exertion can scarcely ever furnish more 
 than one, eminent therefore above all the other efforts 
 made in the same kind. In the stricter sciences the 
 ' Principia' of Newton, and in later times its continua- 
 tion and extension in La Place's ' Mecanique Celeste,' 
 — in intellectual philosophy, Locke's celebrated work, — 
 in oratory, Demostlioncs, — in poetry. Homer,* — leave 
 all competitors behind by the common consent of man- 
 kind ; and Cuvier's ' Researches on Fossil Osteology ' 
 will probably be reckoned to prefer an equal claim to 
 distinction among the works on Comparative Anatomy. 
 That this great performance deserves to be attentively 
 studied there can be no doubt. But as its bulk, in 
 seven quarto volumes, may be apt to scare many 
 readers, there may be some use in giving a general 
 account of the progress of the author's inquiries, and of 
 
 • If English law were not a local learning merely, Fcarne's work on 
 Contingent Remainders would perhaps deserve to be thus ranked. In the 
 eloquence of the puljiit, Hall comes nearer Massillon than either Cicero 
 does, or iEschiues, to Demosthenes.
 
 368 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 the principal results to which they led him, and more 
 particularly in showing their application to Natural 
 Theology. 
 
 Long before his attention was called to the remains 
 of animals found in various strata of the earth, in more 
 superficial situations, in crevices of rocks, and in caves, 
 he had, fortunately for science, been a skilful proficient 
 in anatomy, both human and comparative. But the 
 first steps of his inquiries concerning those fossil remains 
 showed him how much he had yet to do before he could 
 implicitly trust the received accounts of the animal 
 structures. As regards the human subject, for obvious 
 reasons, the knowledge possessed, and which the ordi- 
 nary works of anatomy contain, is accurate enough and 
 sufficiently minute. But it is far otherwise with the 
 structure of other animals, and especially as regards 
 their Osteology. Of this Cuvier found so many in- 
 stances, that he began his investigations with examining 
 minutely and thoroughly the bones of all those species 
 which, or the resemblance of which, are supposed to 
 have furnished the materials of the great deposits of 
 fossil bones so abundant in almost every part of our 
 globe. This, then, was the course which he invariably 
 pursued; and he never attempted to draw any in- 
 ferences respecting the fossil annnal, until he had ac- 
 curately ascertained the whole Osteology of the living 
 species. There was obviously no other way of exclud- 
 ing mere fancy and gratuitous assumption from the 
 inquiry, and making the science, of which he was really 
 to lay the very foundation, one of pure reasoning 
 from actual observation, in other words, one of strict 
 induction. 
 
 In the course of his work there are to be found 
 striking examples of the mistakes into which former 
 inquirers had been led by neglecting this precaution. 
 Partly by relying on incorrect, though generally 
 received, descriptions, — partly by undervaluing the 
 requisite comparisons of the fossil with the known
 
 cuviER. 369 
 
 bones, — partly, no doubt, by giving loose to fancy, 
 observinp; the remains discovered with the bias of a 
 preconceived opinion, and makmg the fact bend to a 
 theory — authors had committed the most grievous 
 errors, hastened to conclusions wholly unwarranted by 
 the facts, and often drawn inferences which the facts 
 themselves negatived instead of supporting. Thus M. 
 Faujas de St. Fond, a geologist of great learning and 
 experience, but who had upon a very scanty foundation 
 erected a dogma, that all the fossil remains belongino- 
 to animals still found alive in different parts of the 
 earth, and set himself to deny the novelty of all the 
 fossil species of unknown animals, conceived that he 
 had at length himself found among those remains two 
 animals which, if they still existed at all, could only be 
 found in the interior and remote parts of India. Of 
 these supposed discoveries he published the drawings, 
 representing two fossil heads. But Cuvier, upon ex- 
 amination, found one of them to be exactly the auroch 
 or bison, and the other the common ox.* A more 
 skilful naturalist, Daubenton, describes tliree sets of 
 fossil teeth, in the King of France's cabinet, as belong- 
 ing to the hippopotamus ; and upon examination two 
 of these sets are found to be teeth of two new and un- 
 known animals,! and the third alone those of the river 
 horse ; and Camper, one of the greatest anatomists of 
 his age, fell into a similar error. Upon the discovery 
 of some fossil bones in the Duchy of Gotha, there was 
 a general belief tliat they were some lusus naturce, and 
 several medical men wrote tracts to prove it. But a 
 nearer inspection proved them to be elephant's boncs.| 
 The town of Lucern took in earlier times for the sup- 
 porters to its arms a giant, from the opinion pronounced 
 by a very celebrated physician (Felix Plata), that the 
 bones discovered in that canton were human and 
 gigantic, though Blumenbach afterwards examined 
 
 • Recherches, vol. iv., p. 108. t lb., vol. i., p. 305. 
 
 i lb., i>. 120. 
 VOL. VI. 2 B
 
 370 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 them, and found they belonged to the elephant. 
 Finally, Scheutzer maintained that there were remains 
 in different places of men who had perished in the 
 general deluge, and supported his opinion by several 
 instances to which he referred. Upon examination 
 these have proved to be none of them human bones ; 
 but one set are those of a water salamander, while 
 another belong to a newly discovered animal still 
 less resembling our species, being something between 
 a lizard and a fish.* When professional anatomists and 
 professed naturalists could fall into such mistakes as 
 these, there is httle wonder that a statesman like Mr, 
 Jefferson, however illustrious for higher qualities, should 
 commit a similar blunder. He drew from the fossil 
 bones discovered by General Washington near his seat 
 in Virginia, and to which his attention was directed by 
 that great man, the conclusion that they belonged to 
 an enormous carnivorous animal, which he named the 
 Megalonyx. Cuvier, from a more correct examination, 
 showed the creature to have been a sloth of large di- 
 mensions, and which fed wholly upon the roots of plants. 
 If these examples, and they might be very greatly 
 multiplied, evince the necessity of a cautious examina- 
 tion, and of a previous attention to the Osteology of 
 animals with which we are fully acquainted, the success 
 of Cuvier's inquiries also shows that, with due care and 
 circumspection, the reward of the inquirer is sure. The 
 connexion between the different parts of the animal 
 frame is so fixed and certain, and the species run so 
 little into one another, that it requires but a small por- 
 tion of any animal's remains to indicate its nature, and 
 ascertain the class to which it belongs. Each small 
 portion, so it be superficial, of bone — each httle bony 
 eminence — has its distinctive character in each species ; 
 and from one of these, or sometimes from a piece of 
 horn, or of hoof, or a tooth, the whole animal may be 
 
 * Eecherches, vol. v., pp. 433 and 4.bl,
 
 CUVIER. o71 
 
 determined. "If," says Cuvier, "you have but the 
 extremity of a bone well preserved, you may by atten- 
 tion, consideration, and the aid of the resources which 
 analoo-y furnishes to skill, determine all the rest quite 
 as well as if you had the entire skeleton submitted to 
 you."* Before placing entire reliance on such an in- 
 duction, this great observer tried many experiments on 
 fragments of the bones of known animals, and with a 
 success so unvaried as gave him naturally implicit con- 
 fidence in liis method when he came to examine Fossil 
 Remains. 
 
 Among those he discovered a number of animals 
 whollv unknown, and of which no individuals have ex- 
 isted since the period when the authentic history of our 
 globe and its inhabitants has been recorded. Out of 
 the 150 which he investigated about 90 were either 
 of new orders, or of new genera, or new species of 
 genera still living on the earth. Consider, in respect 
 to genera, there were in the 49 unknown species, 27 
 which belonged to unknown genera, and these genera 
 amounted to seven. Of the remaining 22, 16 belonged 
 to known genera, or sub-genera ; the total number of 
 genera and sub-genera, to which he could reduce the 
 whole of his fossil species, known or unknown, being 
 36. It must, however, be added, that it is very possible 
 the remaining 60 also may be of new species ; for as he 
 only had the bones to examine, it docs by no means 
 follow that the living animal did not differ as much from 
 the ones which have the same Osteology, as the mule, 
 or the ass, or the zebra do from the horse, the jackall 
 from the dog, or the Avolf from the fox ; for the skele- 
 tons of a zebra, an ass, and a horse, present the same 
 appearance to the osteologist ; so do those of the jack- 
 all, the dog, the fox, and the wolf; and yet the sanie 
 bones clothed with muscle, cartilage, skin, and h;iir, 
 are both to the common observer and to the naturalist 
 
 • Recherdie.% vol. i., p. 52. — We have used the expression skeleton ; the 
 author faiiys animal, but manifestly, from ■what follows, this is incorrect.
 
 372 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 animals of a different species or subdivision. This con- 
 sideration is to be taken into the account as a deduction 
 or abatement from the certainty which attends these 
 researches ; the certainty is only within certain limits ; 
 the fossil animals which now appear to resemble one 
 another, because their Osteology is the same, may have 
 differed widely when living ; those which appear to 
 have been of the same class with other animals that yet 
 people the earth, may yet have been extremely different ; 
 and those which now seem to be in certain particulars 
 different from any we or our predecessors have ever 
 known, may differ from all that live or have lived on 
 the earth we now inhabit, in many particulars far more 
 striking than the varieties which their bony remains 
 present to the osteologist's eye.* 
 
 The situations in which those remains were found, 
 and are still to be met with in greater or less abundance, 
 are various ; but they may be reduced to three classes 
 in one respect and to four in another : to three, if we 
 regard only the kind of place where the bones are 
 collected and found, in other words, their mineral 
 matrix ; to four, if we regard the periods at which the 
 earthy formations were effected, and the bones of 
 animals Hving then, or immediately before, were de- 
 posited. In the former point of view, the remains are 
 found either, first, imbedded in strata, at greater or 
 less depth, and of various kinds, and at various inclina- 
 tions ; — or, secondly, mixed together, and with earthy 
 matter, in caves, and in rents or fissures or breaches 
 formed in rocks ; — or, thirdly, scattered more spar- 
 ingly, and as it were soHtarily in alluvial soil or super- 
 ficial detritus, in portions of the earth, apparently while 
 it wore its present form, and was peopled by all or 
 most of its present inhabitants. In the latter, and the 
 more important point of view, those remains are either 
 found, first, in the beds which were deposited by the 
 
 * Mr. C. once or twice adverts to this consideration ; but he certainly does 
 not bring it so prominently forward as would have been desirable.
 
 CFV'IER. 373 
 
 •waters of a workl before the existence of either human 
 beings or the greater number of hving genera of 
 animals — as in the copper slate of Thuringia, the lias 
 of England, the clay of Honfleur, and the chalk — in 
 these strata the remains of reptiles are found with ex- 
 tinct species of marine shells, but no vertebrated animal 
 higher than fishes ; or, secondly, in the strata deposited 
 by the sea, after it had destroyed the first races, and 
 covered the land they lived upon, — and in these beds, 
 Avhich at Paris he on the chalk, are to be found only 
 animals now extinct, and of which most of the genera 
 and all the species differ from any we now see ; — or, 
 tliu'dhj, in the strata deposited by the sea, or in fresh 
 water lakes, — and in these later tertiary beds are to be 
 found animals now unknown, but resembling the present 
 races, being different species of the same genera, or 
 apparently of families still living, but not now inhabit- 
 ing the same countries, or hving under the same 
 climates ; — or, fourthly, in places where rivers, lakes, 
 morasses, turf-bogs, have buried the remains of existing 
 species ; and as these changes of a limited extent have 
 happened to the globe, constituted as it still is, those 
 animals appear to have been for the most part identical 
 with the animals which we still see alive in various parts 
 of the world, at least as far as their skeletons can tell. 
 Paris is the centre of a most extraordinary geological 
 district. It is a basin of twenty leagues, between fifty 
 and sixty English miles, in diameter, extending in a 
 very irregular form from the Oise near Compicgnc on 
 the north, to the Canal de Lory, beyond Fontaincbleau 
 on the south, and from Mantes on the Seine upon the 
 west, to Montmirail on the east ; comprehending within 
 its circuit the towns of Paris, Versailles, Fontaincbleau, 
 Estampes, Meaux, Melun, Senlis, Nangis, and coming 
 close to Soissons, Gisors, Beauvais, Montereau on the 
 Yonne, Nogent on the Seine, and Conde ; but not 
 being continuous within these limits, for it is frequently 
 cut oft' in islands, and everywhere towards the outline 

 
 374 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 deeply indented with bays. This vast basin consists of 
 six different formations, in part calcareous, but in some 
 of which gypsum is so plentiful, that the quarries dug 
 in it go by the common name of the Plaster of Paris 
 quarries, and indeed gypsum has derived its common 
 name from these. The lowest bed upon the chalk is 
 composed of plastic clay, and it has covered both the 
 ])lains and the caves of the district. This bed is full of 
 fossil remains, very many of them belonging to un- 
 known animals, and it also contains fragments of rock, 
 which have come from a great distance. Above this 
 bed is a layer of gritty limestone and shelly grit, of 
 salt-water formation. Then come in succession siliceous 
 limestone, fresh water gypsum, and sand and grit with- 
 out shells. The fourth formation is sandy, and of 
 marine origin. The fifth has fresh water remains and 
 animals. The disposition of the land around and form- 
 ing this basin wears in all respects the appearance 
 of having been broken in upon and hollowed out by 
 a prodigious irruption of water from the south-east. 
 Considerable corrections have since been made, espe- 
 cially as regards the second and third of these forma- 
 tions of Cuvier. 
 
 It appears that the base or bottom of the Paris 
 Basin must have been originally covered with the sea. 
 Different parts of the ground were then covered with 
 fresh water lakes, from which gypsum and marl were 
 deposited, filled with the bones of animals that lived on 
 their banks or in their islands, and died in the course 
 of nature. After this deposition, the sea again occupied 
 the ground, and deposited sand mixed with shells ; and 
 when it left the land dry for the last time, there were 
 for a long while ponds and marshes over the greater 
 part of the surface, which thus became covered with 
 strata containing fresh water shells, the base of those 
 strata consisting of a peculiar stone found in fresh 
 water, and occurring in many parts of France. The 
 fossil remains in this great basin exhibit Uttle variety
 
 cuviER, 375 
 
 of forailies ; and tlie vciretable remains show that the 
 plants were confined to palms and a few others now 
 unknown in Europe. As the great continents, which 
 offer a free communication throughout, are inhabited 
 hy a great variety of animals, while New Holland and 
 the other islands in the South Seas have only a very 
 few, and these almost all of the same family, we mav 
 conclude that the land forming the Paris Basin was 
 originally surrounded by the sea. 
 
 The deposits in the rents or fissures of the strata 
 may now be briefly mentioned, and they present a very 
 singular subject of contemplation. They are found all 
 around the Mechterranean, at Gibraltar, Cette, Antibes, 
 Nice, Pisa; in Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica; at the 
 extremity of the kingdom of Naples ; on the coast of 
 Dalmatia ; and in the island of Cerigo. The body of 
 the deposit is calcareous, and of the same kind in all 
 these gaps or fissures. The same, or nearly the same, 
 bones are everywhere found imbedded in it ; they are 
 chiefly the bones of ruminating animals ; and beside 
 those of oxen and deer, there are found those of 
 I'odents, a kind of tortoise, and two carnivorous animals. 
 In these fissures there are many land but no sea shells ; 
 and the matter that fills them is unconnected with other 
 strata. It follows from the first fact that they must 
 have been consolidated before, and at the time when, 
 the sea came over those countries and deposited shell- 
 fish in the other strata ; and from the second fact it 
 follows that they must have been formed when the 
 rocks, in the rents of which they are found, were 
 already formed and dry. Hence these fissure deposits 
 are modern compared to the strata which were formed 
 at the bottom of the sea and of lakes. Nor does any 
 operation now going on upon our globe bear the least 
 resemblance, in Cuvier's judgment, to that by which 
 those deposits must have been made. Upon this, how- 
 ever, great controversy has arisen among his successors. 
 
 It was necessary that we should shortly advert to
 
 376 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 the places where, for the most part, these fossil remains 
 are found ; in doing so we have anticipated a few of the 
 conclusions deduced from the consideration of the whole 
 subject. We are now to see what results were afforded 
 by Cuvier's careful examination of the remains, which 
 he instituted after he had with equal care ascertained 
 the exact Osteology of the living animals in each case 
 Avhere the fossil remains appeared to offer a resem- 
 blance with existing tribes. 
 
 The first part of Cuvier's researches is occupied with 
 the pachydermatous * animals whose remains are found 
 in alluvial deposits. 
 
 The second part consists of two subdivisions — in one 
 of which are given minutely the whole details of the 
 Paris Basin — in the other subdivision the examination 
 of the animal remains, beginning with the pachyder- 
 matous, and then the others that accompany them, 
 whether quadrupeds, reptiles, fishes, or birds. So that 
 the Paris Basin is made the ground of this arrange- 
 ment, and its Fossil Zoology is gone through without 
 much regard to the general arrangement of the rest of 
 the work. 
 
 The third part is occupied with the ruminant 
 animals, unless in so far as one of its subdivisions, 
 treating of the gaps or fissures of the Mediterranean, 
 also treats of the few other animals which are there 
 found beside the ruminant. 
 
 The fourth part is occupied with carnivorous animals 
 — ^the fifih with rodents — the sixth with toothless or 
 edentate animals — the seventh with marine mammalia 
 — the eighth and last, and perhaps the most interesting 
 of the whole, with reptiles; including the anomalous 
 species newly discovered, which partake of the nature 
 at once of the reptile and fish or of the reptile and bird. 
 
 As no arrangement is yet made of these fossil animals 
 under any of the heads which we have stated, we are 
 
 • Animals witli thick skin?, as the elephant, horse, hog.
 
 CTJVIER. 377 
 
 at liberty to adopt any order that may appear most 
 convenient ; and we shall accordino-lv beoin with those 
 which at tirst appeared to resemble the known species 
 of the rhinoceros, the hippopotamus, and the elephant, 
 and which a careless observer would unquestionably 
 have confounded with these animals ; but they were 
 soon ascertained to be different. 
 
 I. Of the fossil rhinoceros four distinct species have 
 been found ; * and they are all distinguishable from the 
 four known kinds of rhinoceros — those of India, Java, 
 Sumatra, and the Cape. The fossil animal had a head 
 both larger and narrower than the living kinds, and 
 much larger in proportion to his body. He was also 
 much lower, and a more creeping animal. He, for the 
 most part, had either no incisive teeth or very small 
 ones, but one species had these of a good size. One 
 of the fossil species is distinguished from all the four 
 known ones and from the other three fossil ones, by a 
 still more marked peculiarity ; his nostrils are divided 
 from each other not by a gristly or cartilaginous, but 
 by a bony partition, whence the name of Tichorhinus^ 
 has been given to him, the three others being termed 
 Leptorhinus,X Incisivus, and Minutus. 
 
 The grinding teeth of the Tichorhmus are also found 
 to have a peculiarity which no other teeth either of 
 any living or any fossil animal have. They are in- 
 dented at the base in one of the ridges, after being 
 worn down by use. Tliis, as well as the bony partition, 
 affords, therefore, the means of discovering the species. 
 The use of the partition apparently was to support the 
 weight of two large and heavy horns on the nose. 
 
 The history of the first of these species, the Ticho- 
 rliinus, furnishes a remarkable example of the errors 
 into which even able and expert observers may fall 
 when they make more haste than good speed to reach 
 
 * Of these there are now nine species, five having been discovered since 
 Cuvier's work. 
 
 f From Tu^oi, a wall. J From Aettsj, slender.
 
 378 HESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 a conclusion. A missionary named Campbell having 
 sent home the head of a rhinoceros, being one of several 
 killed close by his residence, and well known to have 
 been so. Sir Everard Home compared it with a fossil 
 head from Siberia, sent by the Emperor of Russia to 
 Sir Joseph Banks ; and finding, as he thought, that it 
 was of the same species, he very rashly inferred that 
 the position which affirms the existence of unknown 
 animals among the fossil remains was much weakened 
 by this supposed discovery. Cuvier made a more ac- 
 curate comparison, and found that the Cape skull was 
 materially different from the fossil one, but resembled 
 the head of the existing species, which Sir Everard 
 Home had also denied. The most remarkable omis- 
 sion, however, of the latter was his never looking to 
 see if there existed a bony partition between the nos- 
 trils. This Cuvier did, and found it cartilaginous and 
 not bony. So that the most singular of the new and 
 unknown fossil animals belonging to this class remained 
 still a novelty, even if Sir Everard Home had been 
 correct in all the comparative examinations which he 
 ever did make ; and his conclusion of fact from that 
 comparison, even if admitted to be well founded, had 
 no bearing whatever upon the general position against 
 which he had pointed it. 
 
 The extraordinary fact of a portion of one of these 
 ancient and lost animals' muscular substance and skin 
 having been found, is further to be mentioned. In a 
 block of ice on the banks of the Wilujii, a river of 
 Siberia, there was discovered this huge mass of flesh, 
 about the year 1770. It was found to have longish 
 hair upon parts on which the existing rhinoceros has 
 only leather ; consequently it must have lived in a 
 colder climate than the present animal mhabits. But 
 it appears to have been killed by some sudden catas- 
 trophe, and then to have been immediately frozen, else 
 it would have undergone decomposition like the other 
 remains of which the bones alone are left.
 
 CITVTER. 379 
 
 There are two species of living elephants, the African 
 and the Asiatic ; the former distino-uished from the 
 latter chiefly by the length of his tusks, by a peculiar 
 disposition of the enamel in the jaw teeth, and by never 
 having been tamed, at least in modern times. The 
 fossil elephant resembles the Asiatic species most, but 
 diflers in some material particulars. It has long tusks, 
 sometimes exceeding nine feet in length ; the jaw teeth 
 are difl"erently set ; the under jaw of a different shape, 
 as well as other bones ; and from the length of the 
 socket bones of the tusks the trunk must have been 
 also very difterent. These remains* are found in great 
 abundance both in Europe and in America, in neither 
 of which parts of the globe are there now any living 
 elephants of any species produced. In the same strata 
 and caves other animals are also found both of the 
 known and extinct classes ; and occasionally shells also. 
 The elephants' bones are chiefly discovered on plains of 
 no considerable elevation and near the banks of rivers. 
 They never could have been transported by the sea 
 over the mountains of Tartary, upwards of 20,000 feet 
 in height, which separate Siberia from the parts of Asia 
 where the elephant now flourishes. It must be added, 
 that, beside those bones, a still more perfect specimen 
 of the softer parts has been preserved by the action of 
 cold than we have of the rhinoceros. In the same 
 country, near the mouth of the river Lena, a mass of 
 ice was found in 1799 by a fisherman, which he could 
 not break or move ; but in the course of the next sum- 
 mer it partially melted, when it was found to contain 
 an entire elephant frozen. The neighbouring Tartars 
 with their dogs, and afterwards the bears, destroyed 
 the greater part of the flesh, but tlie skin and bones 
 were saved. It was found to have hair, and even 
 woolly hair or fur, upon difterent parts of the body. 
 It must then have been calculated, like the animal of 
 
 • There are now known eight species of this fossil elephant.
 
 380 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 the Wilujii, for living in a climate much colder than 
 that of India or Africa, and, like that rhinoceros, it 
 must have been frozen immediately after its death. 
 Its tusks were circular, and nine feet (near ten Eng- 
 lish) long. 
 
 Of the hippopotamus, two species* have been found 
 among the fossil bones, both so different from all hving 
 animals, that every one bone of each differs from any 
 other known bone; so that even if an error should 
 have been committed in connecting the different bones 
 together, there must be not only two, but more than 
 two, new species thus discovered. These animals 
 abound in the great deposit of fossil bones in Tus- 
 cany, in the valley of the Arno, and at Brentford in 
 Middlesex. There are two other fossil species, of 
 which, however, less is known ; one of these is very 
 small, not larger than a common hog. 
 
 Three pieces of a jaw-bone, with some fragments of 
 teeth, have been found in Siberia; which upon ex- 
 amination prove to have belonged to a singular spe- 
 cies, resembling both the rhinoceros and the horse, 
 and forming probably the link between these two ani- 
 mals. The size is larger than the largest fossil rhino- 
 ceros. The discoverer, Mr. Fischer, has named it 
 the Elasmotheriu'm,'\ from the thin enamel plate 
 which winds through the body of the tooth in a pecu- 
 liar manner. 
 
 But much more is known of a lost species which 
 approaches the elephant, although differing in some 
 important respects both from the living and the fossil 
 elephant. The most remarkable difference in the 
 Osteology is presented by the jaw teeth, which have 
 the upper surface mamellated or studded with nipples ; 
 from whence Cuvier named it the Mastodon-X When 
 these tubercles are worn down by use, the surface of 
 
 * Two more species have since been found. f EXanr^o?, thin plate. 
 % Or Mastodonte, which is sometimes, but unnecessarily, rendered by 
 Mastodonton : fji.airTOi, mamilla.
 
 crrs'iER. 38] 
 
 the tootli has a uniformly plane ov uniformly concave 
 surface. The structure of the vertebrae shows it to 
 have been a weaker annual than the elephant ; and 
 the belly was considerably smaller. The lower part 
 of the fore-leg was longer, and the upper joint shorter ; 
 the shoulder one-ninth shorter too. The pelvis was 
 more depressed ; the tibia and thigh bones materially 
 thicker ; and the body a good deal longer in propor- 
 tion to the height. As it fed upon vegetables, and had 
 a short neck and feet unht for living in the water, it 
 must have had a trunk ; and it also had tusks. It 
 seems to have fed upon the softer parts of vegetables, 
 and to have inhabited marshy ground. Six species* 
 have been discovered of this animal, chiefly diftering 
 from each other in the teeth ; and of these six two only 
 are well known. The mastodon was long supposed to 
 be peculiar to America, and was sometimes called the 
 Ohio animal ; but there have since been found teeth in 
 different parts of Europe, evidently belonging to the 
 two better known species ; and the other four kinds 
 are, to all appearance, European. 
 
 In the same strata with the remains of elephants, 
 rhinoceroses, and other animals both of extinct genera 
 and species, are almost everywhere found the bones 
 and teeth of horses, very nearly resembling those of 
 the animal now so Avell and universally known. It yet 
 happens that for Avant of due attention to a branch of 
 anatomy more familiar to us than any except the 
 human, naturalists have constantly ftillen into error in 
 examining fossil bones. Thus Lang, in his history of 
 the figured stones of Switzerland, took a horse's tooth 
 for a hippopotamus's ; and Aldrovandinus in one work 
 describes teeth of that class as giants', and in another 
 as horses' ; wliile several authors have confessed that 
 they could not tell to what tribe such remains had 
 bclono;ed. Cuvier did not, tliercfore, deem himself 
 
 a 
 
 • Five more species have since been discovered.
 
 382 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 released from the duty of fully examining the common 
 horse's osteology, merely because of the frequent and 
 minute descriptions which had previously been given of 
 it ; and his intimate acquaintance thereby obtained with 
 the nature of every bone and tooth, has enabled him 
 to pronounce with confidence upon the existence of 
 horses like our own among the unknown animals 
 which inhabited the earth before the vast revolutions 
 that changed both its surface and its inhabitants. He 
 has, however, justly noted the fact that there is no 
 distinguishing the bones of the horse, the ass, the 
 mule, and the quagga ; so that very possibly these 
 remains may have belonged to any of those animals ; 
 and very possibly also to none of them, but to some 
 fifth species, now, with the mastodon and other con- 
 temporary animals, extinct. The same remark is of 
 course applicable to the bones of the hog and the 
 wild boar, found occasionally among other fossil 
 remains. 
 
 The Tapir family in many important particulars re- 
 sembles the rhinoceros ; and those are often found in 
 the same tertiary strata with the rhinoceros, elephant, 
 and mastodon, several species now wholly extinct, but 
 allied to the tapir. Two of these must have been of 
 prodigious size, the largest 18 feet (19|- English) long 
 and 11 (nearly 12 English) high.* But there are other 
 species, to the number of twelve at least, whose size 
 differs little from that of the tapir ; the bones are some- 
 what difterent, however, and particularly the teeth, 
 which, from the eminences or ridges upon them, Cuvier 
 made the ground of the genus, to which he gave the 
 name of Lophiodon.'\ It is in different parts of France 
 that all these species were first found : the smaller ones 
 always in strata of fresh water shells, and in company 
 with remains of either unknown land animals, or croco- 
 diles and other river animals now found in hot climates ; 
 
 * This is now better known, and is called the Dinotherium. 
 f Aoifiov, a small hill, eminence, or ridge.
 
 cuviER. 383 
 
 and in several places the strata in which they occur, 
 have been covered over, after they had been deposited 
 and their bed consoUdated, with strata of an origin un- 
 questionably marine. By far the greater part of fossil 
 remains, both those which have been already described, 
 and those which we are afterwards to consider, have 
 been found in sandy, or calcareous, or other earthy 
 strata. But some few are also found in imperfect 
 coal or lignite. In the part of the Appenines where 
 that range meets the Alps there is a tertiary coal 
 stratum, and in it have been found two new genera 
 of pachydermatous animals, and a third in the fresh 
 water deposit near Agen. Cuvier calls these Anthra- 
 cotheria.* 
 
 The general conclusion which is to be derived from 
 the important branch of the inquiry of which we have 
 been analyzing the resulting propositions, is partly zoo- 
 logical and partly appertains to geology. The former 
 portion of it is, that more than thirty kinds of land 
 animals have left their fossil remains in the strata now 
 forming dry land, but deposited under water ; that of 
 these, seventeen or eighteen f are now extinct, and have 
 been wholly unknown since the earth was peopled Avith 
 its present inhabitants, six or seven being of a genus 
 now unknown, the others being new species of known 
 genera ; that twelve or thirteen kinds liave, as far as 
 their bones are concerned, the appearance of having 
 belonged to the species Avhich still inhabit the globe, 
 although their identity is far from certain, depending 
 only upon the similarity of their skeletons ; and that 
 animals of genera now almost confined to the torrid 
 zone used formerly to inhabit high and middling lati- 
 tudes. The geological portion of the conclusion is that 
 some of these fossil remains have been buried by tlie 
 last or one of the last revolutions to which our planet 
 
 * Av^»«?, coal. Of these, seven species are now known. 
 J According as the Elasmotherium is allowed to be sufficiently dis- 
 tinguislied or not.
 
 384 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 has been subjected, as they are in loose and superficial 
 strata, whilst other remains in the tertiary strata appear 
 generally to have come from deaths in the course of 
 nature, though some of these too must have perished 
 by a sudden revolution. 
 
 11. The Paris Basin presents, in great abundance, 
 the remains of herbivorous pachydermatous animals of 
 two distinct genera, each comprehending several spe- 
 cies, and all aUke unknown in the living world. The 
 animals to which some of them approach the nearest 
 are the tapirs ; but they diifer even generically from 
 these, and from every other known tribe. The inquiry 
 into which Cuvier entered for the purpose of ascertain- 
 ing to which set of bones each particular piece belonged, 
 so that he might be able to restore the entire skeletons 
 by putting together all the parts of each, was long, 
 painful, and difficult in the highest degree. He had 
 first to connect the two bones of the hinder feet to- 
 gether, in each instance, by minutely examining the 
 relation of the pieces to one another ; and this process 
 could only be conducted by deriving light from the 
 analogies of other and known animals. He then had 
 the diiferent bones of the fore feet in like manner to 
 put together, in order to restore those fore feet. Next 
 the hinder and fore feet of each animal were to be con- 
 nected together. Afterwards he had to mount upwards 
 and connect the bones of the body with the several feet. 
 The teeth and head must next be referred to the limbs. 
 Then the vertebrae and then the trunks were to be re- 
 stored ; and then other bones, not yet accounted for, 
 were to have their places found. The result of this 
 most elaborate and perplexmg investigation, the details 
 of which occupy the fifth part of a large quarto volume, 
 and are illustrated by between sixty and seventy ad- 
 mirable plates, containing between six hundred and 
 seven hundred figures of bones, fragments of bones, 
 and congeries of bones, may be stated shortly thus : — 
 There are of the first genus, which he denominates
 
 CUYIER. 385 
 
 Pahvotherium,* six, or perhaps seven, speciesf prin- 
 cipally distinguished by the teeth and the size, as far 
 as the bones are concerned, but which, probably, were 
 much more widely different when alive. One of these 
 resembled a tapir, but was only a foot and a half in 
 length, being about the size of a roebuck. Another 
 was nearly three feet high, and the size of a hog. A 
 third was between four and five feet in height, and 
 about the size of the horse or the Java rliinoceros. It 
 had feet thicker than a horse's, and a larger head ; its 
 eves were verv small, its head lono- and it had a snout 
 protruding much over its under jaw and Hp. In a 
 specimen of one of these species, the first now men- 
 tioned, there were actually found some of the animal's 
 softer parts, certain flexible filaments, which, upon being- 
 burnt, gave an animal smell, and were manifestly por- 
 tions of the nerves or blood-vessels. Besides these 
 three species, three, and possibly four others, were 
 distinguished, one the size of a liare. 
 
 The other genus was termed by Cuvier Anoplothe- 
 riurn,X and of these, two species, at least, are dis- 
 tinguishable. § The first, or common anoplotherium, is 
 about the size of an ass, being four or five feet high, 
 and its body four feet long, but with a tail of three 
 feet long ; it was probably an animal that lived partly 
 in the water, as it appears made for swimming lilvo an 
 otter. But it has a pecuharity of structure which is 
 to be found in no other animal whatever ; its feet are 
 cloven, but have two separate and distinct metacarpal 
 and metatarsal bones, which are soldered together in 
 other animals ; it has also its teeth contiguous, while 
 all other animals except man have them apart. The 
 other species, or necondari/ anoplotherium, resembles 
 the former, but is only the size of a common hog. But 
 
 • UecXecios, ancient; in^iov, wild beast. 
 f Eleven species are now known. 
 + AvoTXof, unarmed, without tusks. 
 § Six sijecies are now ascertabed. 
 Y01>. VI. 2
 
 386 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 beside these anoplotheria properly so called, four other 
 cognate species are found, one of the size and appear- 
 ance of a gazelle, one the size of a hare, and two of 
 the size of a guinea pig. A curious specimen gives the 
 very form of the anoplotherium's brain, a cast of it 
 remaining in the earthy mass. Its size is extremely 
 small, and Cuvier infers from this that the animal was 
 exceedingly stupid. 
 
 All these animals are found in the Paris Basin ; but 
 bones of the palaeotherium have been discovered else- 
 where, namely, at Orleans, Aix in Provence, Montpelier, 
 and Isell. As the specimens from those other places 
 were extremely rare in Cuvier 's time, he could not 
 have the same certainty respecting them as from the 
 more copious collections obtained in the Paris district. 
 But he could distinguish at least three different species. 
 
 Beside these two new genera, the palgeotherium and 
 anoplotherium, the Paris Basin affords two other new 
 genera of pachydermata, the one, called Chceropota- 
 mas,* resembling animals of the hog kind — the other, 
 adapis, very small, being about a third larger than the 
 hedgehog, which it also resembled in structure. There 
 are found, too, the remains of five or six kinds of car- 
 nivorous animals, one of them being of enormous size, 
 and resembhng a tiger. Another has projecting bones 
 to support a bag or purse as in the kangaroo kind ; 
 but it is of a genus of marsupial animals now found 
 only in America, being a sort of opossum. The Basin, 
 besides, affords a considerable number of tortoise re- 
 mains, some fish bones, and even perfectly complete 
 skeletons of fish, and ten species, at least, of birds, all 
 now unknown, but one of which resembles the Egyptian 
 ibis. It is very remarkable that in one specimen, 
 brought to Cuvier while his work was jmnting, the 
 windpipe was preserved, and the mark or mould of the 
 brain appeared upon the surface of the gypsum. 
 
 * There are now three ^ecies known.
 
 cuviER. 387 
 
 III. Of ruminating animals the fossil deposits pre- 
 sent many remains. There are of the deer, beside 
 divers that closely resemble known species, no less 
 than twelve* species wholly unknown among the exist- 
 ino- inhabitants of om* earth. One has enormous horns, 
 six feet from tip to tip, and of this animal we know 
 nothing among existing species, though it comes nearest 
 the elk. Two kinds are somewhat like roebucks, and 
 of that size. The fissures of the Mediterranean give 
 six new species,f of which that found at Nice is hke an 
 antelope or sheep.| 
 
 None of our common oxen are found in a fossil state, 
 unless in morasses or peat bogs, where they have cer- 
 tainly been buried while the globe's surface was in its 
 present condition, and peopled as we now find it. But 
 animals of the same genus certainly existed in the age 
 of the elephant and rhinoceros, and of the extinct 
 species. § There prevails no small uncertainty as to 
 the identity of the fossil bison and musk bufi'alo with 
 the living species of the former in Europe and of the 
 latter in America ; but the remains which have been 
 found of a kind of ox, appear different from any known 
 species, and it appears that no buffalo resembling either 
 that of the East Indies or that of the Cape has been 
 found in any place. 
 
 The conclusions, both zoological and geological, from 
 this part of the investigation and from the examination 
 of the remains found in the Paris Basin, in every 
 
 * No less than twenty-eight species are now known. 
 
 t In the Ke'sum(? to Parts III. and IV., Cuvier says, " Of the six deer 
 found in alluvial deposits, one with large horns is entirely unknown ; of 
 the four in fissures, three are unknown, at least in any but most distant 
 countries. Another, that of Orleans, is quite unknown, as are the two 
 species of lagomys found in the fissures." 
 
 X A thirteenth new species was at one time supposed to have been 
 found in the Swedish province of Scania; but Cuvier, before the last 
 volume of his work was printed, had reason to believe that tliis animal 
 belonged to one of tlie tribes formerly known, and still living in the north 
 of Europe. 
 
 § Of these there are now seven ascertained.
 
 388 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 respect tally with those to which we were led by a 
 consideration of the pachydermatous remains under 
 the first head of the inquiry. 
 
 IV. There are found in caverns both in France, 
 Germany, Yorkshire, and Devonshire, and in the fresh 
 water formation of Val d'Arno, in Tuscany, the remains 
 of many animals, some extmct and others no longer 
 inhabitants of the same temperate latitudes, but con- 
 fined to the frozen and the torrid zones. By far the 
 greater part of these animals belong to the carnivorous 
 class, except in the Yorkshire caves, where many of 
 the herbivorous kind are also to be found. In the 
 foreign caves the bear is the most numerous, and 
 presents extinct species. In the Yorksliire caves (at 
 Kh'kdale) the hyaana predominates. "In the German 
 caves hyaenas are comparatively few, and in Val d'Arno 
 not more numerous. In Kirkdale there are very few 
 bears. The race of lions and tigers is much more 
 rare than any of the others. Not above fifteen have 
 been found in Germany, while there have been found 
 hundreds of bears ; and in Yorkshire, where hyaenas 
 abound, very few lions and tigers are traceable. Of 
 the wolf and fox, some are found, but not so many in 
 Yorkshire. There is also a very large kind of dog 
 traced, which must have been five feet in height and 
 eight in length from the mouth to the tail. 
 
 Of bears it appears, after a very close examination, 
 that there are found, at least two species* larger than 
 those now known, and a third which, both in size and 
 other particulars, so nearly approaches the common 
 bear, that Cuvier does not regard it as a new species. 
 But it seems as if the one fomid in Tuscany formed a 
 third kind of animal now extinct. 
 
 The hymenal is found not only in the caverns and 
 other quarries where the bear abounds, but also in the 
 alluvial strata with the elephants and rhinoceroses. In 
 
 * Seven more have since been added. f Now eight species.
 
 cuviER. 389 
 
 Kirkdale cave his dung lias been distinctly recognized 
 by a comparison with that of living hya3nas ; and the 
 particular crack Avhich he makes in the bones of the 
 beasts devoured by him to get at the marrow, has, in 
 like manner, been identified by actual comparison. 
 ]S^evertheless the fossil animal differs from the living 
 one in some material respects, particularly in size, and 
 in having his extremities both thicker and shorter. 
 The caverns contain two species* of a huge animal of 
 the felis (or cat) kind, considerably larger than the 
 lion or the tiijer, beside some few rcsemblino- livino: 
 species in size. One is between one-eighth and one- 
 ninth larger than the lion, and has its trunk more 
 convex in the lower outline. A new, but smaller, 
 species of the felis kind is also found in the Mediter- 
 ranean fissures. 
 
 In the dog tribe there has been found a wolf or 
 dog,t but more probably the former, which differs, 
 though slightly, from any known species, in having 
 the muzzle shorter in proportion to the skull ; and also 
 a species has been observed clearly new of the same 
 genus. We as yet only know of it by two of his jaw 
 teeth, found at Avaray, near Beaugency. He must 
 liave been eight feet long and five high. The Paris 
 Basin affords, likewise, another new species of the dog 
 kind, but not materially varying in point of stature. 
 The common fox, however, is found, and also the dog 
 and wolf, in the caves. 
 
 The caves afford a considerable number of bones 
 of the weasel and glutton, | closely resembling the 
 existing species. The latter animal is only known now 
 in the higher latitudes ; but in the caves we find his 
 remains mixed with those of animals belonging to the 
 temperate and the torrid zones. 
 
 It is thus shown ])y the inquiries which comprise 
 the third and fourth j)art of this great work, that the 
 
 " Now fifteen. t Ten species are now known. 
 
 J Of the fossil gulo two species are now ascertained.
 
 390 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 former inhabitants of these regions were wholly dif- 
 ferent from the present population. Even the animals 
 of hot cHmates here found, and referable to existing 
 genera, must have differed entirely from those species 
 which sm'vive in the torrid zone, because they could 
 exist in a temperature now wholly foreign to their 
 nature. The rein-deer and the lion, the sloth and the 
 elephant, all found in the same places, show that the 
 climate of those latitudes remains nearly the same, but 
 that their inhabitants have been changed. 
 
 In all these researches one blank is immediately 
 perceptible. There are not only no human remains 
 whatever, but there are none of apes or of any of the 
 genus of quadi'umanes. Animals far less in size, and 
 whose bones would much more easily have perished, 
 as rats and mice, have left their skeletons with those 
 of the largest beasts ; but of the monkey tribe no 
 vestige whatever is to be discovered ; and the conclu- 
 sion is inevitable, that the strata were deposited, the 
 fissures filled, the caverns strewed with bones, at an 
 age anterior to the existence of that tribe, as well as 
 to the creation of our own species. Thus it was when 
 Cuvier wrote.* 
 
 V. Beside the animals of the Rodent description, 
 found in the Paris Basin and the Mediterranean fis- 
 sures, rabbits, lagomys, field mice, there are several 
 others in the alluvial strata and caverns, — some appar- 
 ently of known, and others, certainly, of unknown 
 kinds. The hare has been traced at Kirkdale; the 
 beaver near the Rhine ; two new species f of the beaver 
 near Rostoif, in the south of Russia ; another species, 
 also unknown, at CEningen. 
 
 VI. The toothless or Edentate animals afford some 
 
 * This refers of course to the state of discovery in Cuvier's time. There 
 are remains of the nionkej- said to have been lately discovered in the Soiitli 
 of France and in the Himalaya JMomitains ; it is said also at Calcutta. 
 But the proofs are not clear. 
 
 t Now four are known, and three of lagomys.
 
 CUVIER. St-l 
 
 varieties still P'reater than those to which our attention 
 has as yet been directed. None of the known species 
 of this tribe are to be found in any of the strata, 
 fissures, or caves in Europe. But three genera entirely 
 new, with two of which at least there are ample 
 materials for becoming acquainted, have been found in 
 America, and these are deserving of our best attention. 
 
 The first is the animal named by Jefferson, from the 
 size of his feet, or rather what he supposed claws, the 
 Megalonyx,* and respecting which he fell into an error 
 as we formerly stated. Cuvier preceded his examina- 
 tion of this as of all other animal remains by a thorough 
 investigation of the osteology of living animals of this 
 tamily ; and it is the result of his careful inquiry that 
 the bones found in America and described by Jefferson, 
 and of which both casts and drawings were sent over, 
 as well as a tooth, belonged to an animal of the sloth 
 tribe, but wholly new, and now quite extinct. The 
 tooth was cylindrical, and worn down on the top, but 
 cased round with enamel like a sloth's, and not at all 
 like a cat's. In the paw, the second phalangal bone 
 was symmetrical. This bone is curved and not sym- 
 metrical in animals that raise up and draw back the 
 claw, as all the cat kind do. The first phalangal bone, 
 too, was the shortest ; whereas the lion and others of 
 the cat kind have that bone the longest. But from the 
 known species of sloth it differs most strikingly in its 
 stature, which was equal to that of the largest oxen, 
 those of Hungary and Switzerland, and a sixth larger 
 tiian the common kind. 
 
 The second of these new animals has been termed 
 Megatlierium, from his great size, and the remains are 
 found in South America. From his teeth it appears 
 that he lived on vegetables, but tlie structure of his 
 very long fore paAvs and nails shows that it was chicfiy 
 on the roots, lie possessed also good means of defence, 
 
 J Two species are now lui'iwn.
 
 392 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 and so was not swift on foot. His coverino; seems to 
 nave been a thick and bony coat of mail like the 
 armadillo's. His leno-th was twelve feet and a-half 
 (near thirteen feet and a-half English), and his height 
 seven feet (about seven feet and a-half). From the 
 sloth he differs not only in size but in other particulars ; 
 for example, his fore legs are much nearer the length 
 of his hinder legs than in the sloth, which has the 
 former double the latter. But, on the other hand, the 
 thickness of the thigh bone in the megatherium is 
 much greater than in any of the known sloth tribe, or 
 indeed any other animal either known or extinct ; for 
 the thigh bone is about half as thick as it is long. 
 
 The third of these new animals was known to Cuvier 
 only by one fragment which he examined. It was a 
 toe ; and from a careful discussion of its form and size 
 he inferred that the animal belono-ed to the edentate 
 tribe of Pangolins, and that, if so, its length must have 
 been twenty-four feet (twenty-six Enghsh), and its 
 height in the same enormous proportion. The bones 
 were found in the Palatinate near Eppelsheim.* 
 
 Vn. The course of our analysis has now brought us 
 to the family of the Sea Mammalia, and these supply 
 new food for wonder. So different from the bones of 
 any Hving animals are those remains which have been 
 examined, that a new genus is formed consisting of 
 several species, and bearing the same relation to the 
 cetacea, or animals of the whale tribe, that the mas- 
 todon, palaeotherium, and anoplotherium do to the 
 pachydermata, or that the megalonyx and megatherium 
 do to the edentata. He terms the genus Ziphius, from 
 its having a sword-like head. One of these was found 
 near the mouths of the Rhone. The dimensions are 
 not given by Cuvier, but from the drawing, the head 
 appears to have been about three feet in length. The 
 remains of a second species of ziphius were found thirty 
 
 * Subsequent discoveries have made it probable that this toe belonged 
 to the Diaotherium.
 
 CUA^IER. 393 
 
 feet under ground at Antwerp, and between nine and 
 ten under the level of the sea at low water. The 
 head is considerably larger than that of the first men- 
 tioned species. The head of a third species is found 
 in the museum at Paris, but with no account of its 
 historv. 
 
 Besides this new genus there are other cetacea of 
 new species discovered among the fossil bones. At 
 Angers a Lamantin of an extinct species has been 
 traced. The remains of a dolphin, wliich must have 
 been twelve or thirteen feet long, and different from 
 all the known species, have been found in Lombardy. 
 In the Landes another dolphin, which must have been 
 nine or ten feet in length, has been discovered. A 
 third kind of dolphin, cUfterent from any now living, 
 has been found in the department of L'Orne, while a 
 fourth, also found in the Landes, nearly if not wholly 
 resembles the ordinary dolphin. In Provence a ceta- 
 ceous animal of an unknown species is found, somewhat 
 like the hyperodons. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of the Ochil hills in Scotland 
 the fragments of a whale's bones have been found in a 
 recent alluvial stratum, at only eighteen inches' depth, 
 with a part of a deer's horn near. It must have been 
 a whale of some size, as the vertebrae were eighteen 
 inches broad, and one of the ribs ten feet long. But it 
 is most probably one of a kind still existing in our seas, 
 from the place where it was found. 
 
 In the mountains near Piacenza there have been 
 found the bones of a small whale. Its length was 
 twenty-one feet (near twenty-three of ours) and its 
 head was six feet (near six feet and a-half) long. The 
 place where these bones lay was a clay stratum with 
 numberless shells all round, and oysters clinging to the 
 bones. This animal was in a tertiary formation, six 
 hundred feet above the plain of Italy. It appears to 
 be of a new species. 
 
 In the very heart of the city of Paris have been
 
 394 EESEAECHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 found the bones of another whale, far larger, and of a 
 species wholly unknown. Its head must have been 
 fifteen or sixteen feet long, and its body fifty-four or 
 fifty-five. It was found in a compact sandy bed in 
 diffo'ino; under the cellar of a wine-merchant. 
 
 The conclusion to which these Researches unavoid- 
 ably lead is that the earth in its former state did not 
 differ more widely in the races which inhabited it than 
 the sea did — that ocean which was itself the great 
 agent in producing many of the changes that have at 
 various times swept away one race of living creatures 
 from the surface of the globe, and mixed up their 
 remains with those of animals engendered in its own 
 bosom. 
 
 VIII. We have now reached the last and the most 
 singular portion of these Researches ; the examination 
 of jReptiles whose relics are found in many of the 
 stratified rocks of high antiquity. 
 
 In the calcareous schist, near Monheim, whence the 
 stones used in lithography are gotten, a new species 
 in the crocodile family is found, whose length must 
 have been about three feet. At Boll, in Wirtemberg, 
 another, apparently of the same kind, has been dis- 
 covered. At Caen oolite quarries, a different and 
 equally unknown species is traced ; its body is between 
 four and five feet long, and its whole length thirteen. 
 Others of this family have been found in the Jura, and 
 there they are accompanied by the fresh water tortoise. 
 At Honfleur another species is found, and the remains 
 of two other unknown kinds have been discovered near 
 Harfleur and Havre. 
 
 Beside the remains of crocodile animals found in 
 these more ancient strata, there are many also found 
 in the more recent beds, where the bones of the palaeo- 
 theria and lophiodons are deposited. The Paris Basin, 
 the marl pits of Argenton, Brentford, and other places 
 have furnished these specimens. But whether they 
 were of different species from those new ones found at
 
 cirvTER. 395 
 
 Monheim, Caen, and Honfleur, the examination which 
 they had undergone in Cuvier's time was too imperfect 
 to determine. They have since been shown to be 
 different. 
 
 It deserves to be remarked of the new species of 
 crocodiles, that their difference from the known kinds 
 exceeds in manifest distinctness that of ahuost any other 
 animals which are of the same genus, and do not differ 
 in size ; for the vertebra?, instead of being, as they are 
 in the crocodiles now alive, concave in the front and 
 convex behind, are convex in front and concave behind. 
 This at once furnishes a very triumphant answer to 
 those doubts which have been raised as to the novelty 
 of the species, and still more signally discomfits the 
 speculations of those who fancy that the difference 
 perceived in fossil bones has been caused by change of 
 temperature or of diet, or by the passing from the 
 living to the petrified state. 
 
 The examination of fresh water tortoises, of the genus 
 trionix, whose remains are found in the plaster quarries 
 and other strata, offers similar results. Thus at Aix in 
 Provence a trionix of a new species is found. Another 
 species, also new, is found in the Gironde ; and two 
 others have been traced less distinctly in the gravel beds 
 of Ilautevigne (Lot et Garonne) and of Castelnaudary.* 
 
 Fossil fresh water tortoises, of the genus emys, give 
 the same results. They arc found in the molasse of 
 Switzerland, in the Sheppy clay near London, and in 
 the limestone ridges of the Jura. 
 
 Fossil sea tortoises offer the like appearances. One 
 of an unknown species is found near ]\Laestricht, the 
 genus being still living in the sea, and familiar to our 
 observation. So that altogether the examination of 
 tortoise remains leads to the same inferences of islands 
 having existed in the ocean at a former period, inhabited 
 chiefly by reptiles or oviparous quadrupeds, and before 
 
 • Eight species hix\e now been trace.l.
 
 396 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 the creation of any considerable number of the Aavipa- 
 rous orders. 
 
 As we proceed towards the close of these Researches 
 the subject rises rather than falls off in curiosity and 
 interest. We now come to the family of lizards, by 
 which is here understood all the old genus of Lacerta 
 (Lin.), excepting the crocodile and salamander tribes. 
 
 In the celebrated fossil fish deposits of Thuringia are 
 found the remains of a monitor, of a species somewhat 
 varying from the known species in two particulars, a 
 greater elevation of the vertebral apophyses, and a 
 longer leg in proportion to the thigh and foot. Re- 
 mains of a similar aspect occur in France near Autun, 
 and in Connecticut in North America. 
 
 In the strata of fine and granular chalk near Maes- 
 tricht, between 400 and 500 feet in thickness, are found 
 the remains of a huge reptile, which Mr. Faujas repre- 
 sented as a crocodile, following the opinions of the 
 people in that neighbourhood ; but so celebrated an 
 anatomist as Adrian Camper was not to be thus deceived, 
 and he proved it to be an animal of a new genus, related 
 to the monitor, and also to the iguana ; it seems to be 
 placed between the fishes on the one hand and the 
 monitors and iguanas on the other. But the size con- 
 stitutes its most remarkable difference when compared 
 with these. They have heads five or six inches long ; 
 his was four or five feet, and his body fifty. He was 
 therefore a lizard exceeding the size of a crocodile ; 
 just as the extinct tapir was the size of an elephant, 
 and the megalonyx was a sloth the size of a rhinoceros. 
 It appears that, like the crocodile, he was aquatic and 
 could swim ; and that his tail was used as a scull, 
 moving laterally in the water, and not up and down like 
 the cetacea, an order to which the elder Camper at first 
 rashly referred him. 
 
 In the canton of Meulenthal, at Monheim, ten feet 
 below the surface, and near some kinds of crocodile 
 remains, bones were discovered of another unknown
 
 cuviER. 397 
 
 sub-genus of the order Saurus, and which Cuvier calls 
 Geosaurus, and places between the crocodile and the 
 monitor. It was apparently twelve or thirteen feet long, 
 that of Maestricht beino- fifty. 
 
 A large animal of tliis family is found to have been 
 an inhabitant of the same ancient world. At Stones- 
 field, in the neighbourhood of Oxford, Dr. Buckland 
 discovered his remains in a bed of oolitic calcareous 
 schistus under a solid rock of forty feet thick. The 
 thigh bone is two feet eight inches in length, which 
 would seem to indicate a body in the whole forty-five 
 feet long. But even if his tail ^vere not in the propor- 
 tion of the hzard's, as this calculation assumes, his 
 length must be, according to the crocodile's proportions, 
 thirty feet. This animal approaches the geosaurus of 
 ^lonheim, and also, in other respects, has some aflinity 
 with the crocodile and monitor ; but in size he greatly 
 exceeds the crocodile, and comes nearer the whale. 
 His voracity must, from his teeth and jaws, have been 
 extreme. He was also an amphibious animal ; for his 
 remains are sm'rounded with marine productions. The 
 genus has been called Megalo-saurus. Teeth and 
 bones of the same genus have been since discovered in 
 Tilgate Forest, Sussex. Mr. Mantel has found in the 
 same place the thigh bone of a much larger animal. 
 Other reptiles have been found in the Muschelkalk 
 quarries near Luncville. 
 
 But there are animals of the family of saurus yet 
 more strange, if not for their size, at least for their 
 anomalous structure and habits. A reptile is found of 
 a genus so extraordinary as to comprehend within itself 
 the distinsuishinfj nature both of the hzard and the 
 bird. It has a very long neck, and the beak of a bn-d. 
 It has not, however, hke a bird, wings without fingers 
 to strengthen them ; nor has it w4ngs in which the 
 thumb alone is free like a bat ; but the wings spread 
 by a single long finger, while the other fingers are 
 short, and with nails like the fingers of ordinary apte-
 
 398 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 reus (or unwinged) animals. From these circumstances 
 Cuvier has named the genus* the Pterodactylus-Y It 
 was first discovered by the late Mr. Collini, a Florentine, 
 settled at Manheim, and formerly attached to the family 
 of Voltaire, of whom he published some memoirs. The 
 skeleton, nearly perfect, was found in the marly stone 
 beds of Aichstadt in the county of Pappenheim ; but 
 Mr. ColUni fell into very great mistakes respecting the 
 genus of the animal, which he supposed to be of marine 
 origin, from not accurately investigating its osteology. 
 The celebrated Soemmering contended that it was one 
 of the mammalia, resembling a bat, and other natu- 
 ralists held the same opinion. But Cuvier has most 
 satisfactorily shown, chiefly from its jaws and vertebrae, 
 its shoulder-blade and sternum, that it is between a 
 bird and a reptile, a flying reptile. The tail is ex- 
 tremely short, and this indicates the animal to have 
 used its wings chiefly for locomotion : indeed, from its 
 very long neck, it must have had great difficulty in 
 either walking or crawling. When at rest, it must have 
 stood like a bird on its hind legs, and also, like some 
 birds, have bent back its long neck in order to support 
 its very large an 1 heavy head. Another species of the 
 same genus, having a much shorter beak (for that of 
 the former is longer than the whole body), has also 
 been found near the same spot. It is much smaller. 
 Very scanty remains of a third species also occur, found 
 in the same quarries. Its size must have been nearly 
 four times greater than that of the kind first mentioned, 
 and it must have presented one of the most monstrous 
 appearances which can be conceived, according to our 
 present experience of animal nature. 
 
 The two last discoveries among the animals of a 
 former world, which these researches have disclosed, 
 remain to be mentioned ; and they are, in the eyes of 
 the naturalist, the most wonderful of the whole, although 
 
 • There are now ten species observed. 
 f XIt'.^ov, wing; Sa«Ti/Xoj, finger.
 
 CUTTER. 399 
 
 to an unlettered observer they may appear less strange 
 than tiie tribe we have just been surveying. One of 
 them has the muzzle of a dolphin, the teeth of a croco- 
 dile, the head and breast of a hzard, the fins or paddles 
 of a whale, but four mstead of two, and the back or 
 vertebrae of a fish. This has been named the Ichthyo- 
 saurus. The other, being apparently nearer to the 
 lizard, has been called the Plesiosaurus ;* and has 
 also four paddles hke those of a whale ; the head of a 
 lizard, and a long neck like that of a serpent. Both 
 are found in the older secondary strata of the globe ; 
 in the hmestone marl or greyish lias, filled with pyrites 
 and ammonites, and in the oolite beds of the formation 
 called Jurassic. They are both chiefly found in Eng- 
 land, and were first discovered there. 
 
 Sir E. Home, in 1814, made the first step in the 
 discovery of the Ichthyosaurus ; having obtained some 
 bones found on the Dorsetshire coast, thirty or forty 
 feet above the level of the sea. He gradually obtained 
 more of these remains, until 1819-20, when the dis- 
 covery was completed. But he seems to have been 
 unfixed and variable in his opinion respecting the ani- 
 mal ; and after believing for some time that it was 
 partly a fish, he ended by believing it to be no such thing, 
 and changed its name from ichthyosaurus, which JNlr. 
 Konig had given it, as early as 1814, to Proteosaurus, 
 supposing it to have some afiinity with the proteus as 
 well as the lizard. 
 
 The ichthyosaurus is most abundant in the lias strata 
 in the lower region of the Jura formation. Its remains 
 are not confined to Dorsetsliire ; they arc found in Ox- 
 fordshu'e, Somersetshire, Warwickshire, and Yorkshire. 
 But at Lyme they abound as much as those of the 
 palffiotherium do m the pits of Montmartre at Paris. 
 Some few specimens arc found near llonflcur and at 
 Altorf ; in AVirtemberg, also, a nearly complete skeleton 
 
 * UXnno;, near.
 
 400 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 has been discovered. Four* distinct species were as- 
 certained by Cuvier, chiefly differing from one another 
 by their teeth, that is to say, as far as their osteology 
 goes.f In the general features of their bones they all 
 approximate to one another. The head resembles that 
 of the lizard, although with material differences, and 
 even having some other bones. The eyes are extremely 
 large, differing in this from all the greater animals 
 both sea and land. The cavity in some specimens is 
 above a foot in diameter. Each eye is protected by a 
 shield of bone, composed of several pieces knitted to- 
 gether. The vertebra} are very numerous. In some 
 specimens as many as ninety-five are to be seen ; and 
 these differ entirely from the vertebral system of the 
 lizard, resembling rather that of fishes, for they are 
 flat hke backgammon, and concave on both sides. The 
 animal has four fins, or paddles, each composed of six 
 rows of small bones, nearly one hundred in all, and so 
 fitting into one another, that he could paddle about by 
 means of them, moving with more elasticity than if the 
 Dones had formed a single piece. The teeth are sharp. 
 This creature could only breathe the air, and so must 
 often have come up to the surface. Yet, again, he could 
 only move in the water, and was still less able to crawl 
 on land than even the sea-calf. The length, in some 
 cases, reaches to twenty-four or twenty-five feet. In 
 the strata where these bones are found there are many 
 of the cornu ammonis and other marine shells, and re- 
 mains of crocodiles exist in the same strata. 
 
 The plesiosaurus was first observed in 1821, by 
 
 • Four species have since been added to these. 
 
 f It cannot be too steadily kept in mind tliat when a specific difference 
 has once been ascertained, so as to distinguish one of these extinct raci's 
 from another, tlie amount of that difference is no measure at all of the 
 diversity which may have existed between the two animals. Tribes the 
 most unlike have general resemblances in the bones, the sub-stratum on 
 which the muscular parts are placed. Witness the ease with which un- 
 learned persons, nay, even naturalists carelessly observing, have taken the 
 skeletons of lizards for those of men.
 
 CUVIER. 401 
 
 Mr. Conybeare and Mr. Delabeche; and in Cuvicr's time 
 its remains had only been found in England, unless 
 those discovered at Honfleur belong to this genus. The 
 discovery was fully made in 1824. The distinguishing 
 featm-e, the long neck, has many more vertebrae than 
 even a swan's. In the fine specimen from Lyme there 
 are in all eighty-seven vertebrae, of which thirty-five 
 belong to the neck and twenty-five to the tail. The 
 vertebra, though their axis is very short, resemble 
 the crocodile's more than the lizard's. The teeth are 
 pointed and slender. The paddles consist of many 
 bones, in rows hke those of the ichthyosaurus; but 
 the}^ taper more, consist of fewer pieces, not above 
 fifty, and are longer than those of the ichthyosaurus, 
 nor do they form a kind of pavement like his. Five 
 species * of this animal were distinguished by Cuvier. 
 That found at Lyme appears to have been seven or 
 eight feet long ; but other species, from one jaw bone 
 wliich has been discovered, must have reached the 
 length of twenty-eight feet. 
 
 The eighth and last part of these Researches which 
 we have just sui'veyed, is remarkable, as regards the 
 skill and diligence of the illustrious author, for two 
 particulars. First, The extraordinary success of his 
 indefatigable investigation from very scanty materials 
 deserves especial attention. In some cases he had only 
 one or two bones to examine and to reason from. In 
 others he had a far greater number ; sometimes he had 
 the whole skeleton in scattered parts ; in a few in- 
 stances the whole together in their natural juxtapo- 
 sition and connexion. But he found where he had 
 many bones, that from a single one, or from two, he 
 could have reached tlie very same conclusions which 
 the examination of the whole led him to. This was 
 observable in a very remarkable manner when he inves- 
 tigated the mosasaurus, or saurus found at Maestricht. 
 
 • Tliree have siuce been added. 
 VOL. v/. 2 J)
 
 402 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 He had not examined more than the jaw bone and 
 the teeth when he knew the whole animal ; but he 
 says that a single tooth discovered it to him : he had 
 got the key ; after that every other part fell in at once 
 of itself into its proper place. Secondly, Although 
 he was not the discoverer of either the ichthyosaurus 
 or plesiosaurus, and had to tread on ground which his 
 eminent and able predecessors had gone over, his re- 
 searches even here were quite original. He collected 
 all the evidence, whether by drawings, descriptions, or 
 models, of what had been before them ; but he also 
 enlarged his collection of facts by numberless speci- 
 mens both of the same kind which they had examined 
 and of different kinds never submitted to their view. 
 He investigated the whole as if the field had been still 
 untrodden and the soil yet virgin ; and accordingly his 
 work, even in this subordinate branch, is far from being 
 a repetition ; his inquiries far from being a mere reiter- 
 ation of theirs. Where he does not vary or extend the 
 results at which they had arrived, he carefully confirms 
 their propositions, and ascertains the truth of their 
 learned conjectures ; so that he adds to the precious 
 monuments of his predecessors, by either enlarging the 
 superstructure or strengthening the foundation. 
 
 That such a guide to our inquiries is worthy of all 
 confidence, no one can doubt. That even his authority, 
 the weight of his opinion, is very great would be a pro- 
 position as indisputably true, if in matters of science it 
 were lawful for the learned to pay any deference to 
 mere authority ; yet even here ignorant men may 
 bow to him, and receive his doctrine with a respect 
 which they might be justified in withholding from 
 others. But his system makes no such appeal, and 
 requires not to be received upon terms like these. He 
 has given us without any reserve every particular which 
 his whole researches presented to his own view, and 
 preferring the risk of being tediously minute to the 
 chance of leaving any point unexplained, or any posi-
 
 CUVIER. 403 
 
 tion without its needful proof, there is not a fraoment 
 of bone which lie has ever examined, and on which he 
 raises any portion of his philosophy, that he has not 
 both described with the fulness of anatomical demon- 
 stration, and offered to the eye of his reader in the 
 transcript of accurate and luminous engraving. His 
 work is accompanied with between forty and fifty maps 
 and sections of strata, above 250 plates representing 
 upwards of 3,800 skeletons, bones, teeth, and fragments. 
 These are all presented to the examination of the ex- 
 pert, in their connexion with the author's description 
 both of what the diagrams can, and of what they can- 
 not, fully represent. But they are also presented to 
 the uninformed, who can, by attentively considering 
 them, institute a comparison between the structure of 
 known and living animals, and those of which the 
 earth's strata contain only the remains. Giving Cuvier 
 only credit for having correctly wintten down what he 
 observed, and accurately represented in his figures the 
 subjects of his examination, we are enabled to see the 
 whole ground of his reasoning : we can mark the points 
 in which a fossil animal resembles a living one, and 
 those in which the two differ ; and we have even a 
 higher degree of evidence in behalf of the author's 
 conclusions than we have in readino; Sir Isaac New- 
 ton's experiments upon light, because everything in this 
 case depends upon configuration, which a drawing can 
 accurately represent, whereas much in the optical case 
 must needs turn upon appearances observed by the 
 experimenter, and which no drawing can convey to 
 our apprehension. 
 
 If again wo compare the certainty and fulness of the 
 proof in this case with that which we have in examining 
 any anatomical proposition, or any doctrine of natural 
 history, whether of animals or of plants, we shall still find 
 it of a separate and higlier kind. For in those branches 
 of science much more is necessarily left to description. 
 The question here is always one purely osteological as
 
 404 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 regards the animals ; and osteology is of all branches 
 of anatomy, whether human or comparative, the one 
 where most depends upon mere figure, and where of 
 consequence the reader can approach most nearly to 
 the observer in weighing the proofs on which his de- 
 monstration rests. The geological matter bears but a 
 small proportion to the zoological in these inquiries. 
 It is indeed of the highest importance ; but it is in- 
 capable of much doubt, and admits of no mistake or 
 imposition — for the strata where the different animal 
 remains have been found are well known, and, in the 
 very great majority of cases, are of easy access to all. 
 The sciences of geology and mineralogy are sufficiently 
 certain, at least for the main purposes of the inquiry ; 
 the names and description of the beds of the globe's 
 surface are the portions of those sciences upon which 
 no doubt or difficulty can exist ; and the great body of 
 Cuvier's results remains unaffected by any differences 
 of opinion upon speculative geology. 
 
 Thus the comparison stands as to the degree in which 
 the evidence is made plain to the reader of Cuvier's 
 researches, and the reader of other records of discovery 
 in the inductive sciences. But let us extend our view 
 a little farther, and compare the proofs before us in 
 these volumes with those reasonings upon which the 
 assent of mankind has been given, and is continued 
 unhesitatingly, to the great truths of the mixed mathe- 
 matical sciences. The reader of the ' Principia,' if he 
 be a tolerably good mathematician, can follow the 
 whole chain of demonstration by which the universality 
 of gravitation is deduced from the fact that it is a power 
 acting inversely as the square of the distance to the 
 centre of attraction. Satisfying himself of the laws 
 which regulate the motion of bodies in trajectories 
 around given centres, he can convince himself of the 
 sublime truths unfolded in that immortal work, and 
 must yield his assent to this position, that the moon is 
 deflected from the tangent of her orbit round the eartl-
 
 CITVIER. 405 
 
 by the same force by which the satellites of Jupiter are 
 deflected from the tangent of theirs, the very same force 
 which makes a stone unsupported MI to the ground. 
 The reader of the ' Mecanlque Celeste,' if he be a still 
 more learned mathematician, and versed in the modern 
 improvements of the calculus which Newton discovered, 
 can follow the chain of demonstration by which the 
 wonderful provision made for the stabihty of the uni- 
 verse is deduced from the fact that the direction of all 
 the planetary motions is the same, the eccentricity of 
 their orbits small, and the angle formed by the plane 
 of their ecliptic acute. Satisfying himself of the laws 
 which regulate the mutual actions of those bodies, he 
 can convince himself of a truth yet more sublime than 
 jSTewton's discovery though flowing from it, and must 
 yield his assent to the marvellous position that all the 
 irregularities occasioned in the system of the universe, 
 by the mutual attraction of its members, are periodical, 
 and subject to an eternal law which prevents them from 
 ever exceeding a stated amount, and secures through 
 all time the balanced structure of a universe composed 
 of bodies, whose mighty bulk and prodigious swiftness 
 of motion mock the utmost efi^orts of the human ima- 
 gination. All these truths are to the skilful mathema- 
 tician as thoroughly known, and their evidence is as 
 clear as the simplest proposition in arithmetic is to 
 common understandings. But how few are there who 
 thus know and comprehend them ! Of all the millions 
 that thoroughly believe those truths, certainly not a 
 thousand individuals are capable of following even any 
 considerable portion of the demonstrations upon which 
 they rest, and probably not a hundred now living have 
 ever gone through the whole steps of those demonstra- 
 tions. How difterent is the case of the propositions 
 discussed by Cuvier and his predecessors ! How mucli 
 more accessible are the proofs on which their doctrines 
 repose ! How vastly more easy is a thorough ac- 
 quaintance with the ' Ilecherchcs' than with the ' I'rin-
 
 406 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 cipia' and the ' Mecanique Celeste!' How much more 
 numerous are they who have as good reason for fully 
 believing the propositions, because as great facility of 
 thoroughly examining the proofs, as first rate mathe- 
 maticians can have for assenting to Newton's third 
 book, and La Place's great theorem, or as common 
 readers have for admitting any of the most simple 
 truths in the easiest of the sciences ! 
 
 The extraordinary truths unfolded by the ' Recher- 
 ches' we have had an opportunity of stating in detail. 
 But it is necessary to revert to some of the more gene- 
 ral conclusions in their more immediate connexion with 
 the great subject of these volumes. The Illustration 
 derived to theological inquiry from the powers of in- 
 ductive investigation in this branch of science, and the 
 Analogy found between the two kinds of demonstration, 
 was stated in the Introductory Discourse ; but these 
 form by no means the whole contribution which this 
 new branch of knowledge furnishes to Natural Religion. 
 Before the nature and extent of that aid could be un- 
 derstood, it was necessary that the details of the science 
 itself should be considered, and its general principles 
 unfolded, together with the grounds upon which they 
 rest. We are now more particularly to make the ap- 
 plication. 
 
 To the geologist, as Cuvier has well observed, the 
 vast periods of time over which the phenomena that 
 form the subject matter of his inquiries have extended, 
 offer the same kind of obstruction as the astronomer 
 finds from the immense space over which his researches 
 stretch. The distance of time is to the one as great a 
 difficulty as that of space is to the other in prosecuting 
 his researches. Yet as the properties of light, and its 
 relation to media artificial or natural, furnish a help to 
 the senses of the astronomer, so the endurable nature 
 of the principal portions that compose the framework 
 of animal bodies give invaluable assistance to the labours 
 of the geologist and anatomist, supplying records which
 
 CUVIER. 407 
 
 it is as physically impossible he should have in any his- 
 tory of past changes on the globe, as it is that the 
 naked eye of the astronomical observer should pene- 
 trate into boundless space. The most minute bones of 
 small animals, even their cartilaginous parts, and the 
 most dehcate shells of sea or river lishes, are found in 
 perfect preservation. These shells are found, too, on 
 ground now and for ages lying high above the level of 
 any waters, in the middle of the hardest rocks, reach- 
 ing the summits of lofty mountains, lying in vast layers 
 of a regular form and solid consistency, and which seem 
 to demonstrate the proposition that the sea in former 
 ages was spread over the regions where those strata 
 were formed, and lay there long and quietly. The 
 level parts of the earth, which to an observer who only 
 regards its surface seems always to have been in its 
 present state, can hardly be penetrated in any place 
 without showing that it has undergone such revolutions 
 and been under the sea for ages ; while the bottom of 
 the ocean has at those remote periods been dry land. 
 But when we ascend to greater heights, we find the 
 same proofs of former changes ; marine remains often 
 show themselves on Alpine summits, but their kinds 
 vary much from those of the lower regions ; they are 
 exposed to view by the layers in which they lie im- 
 bedded being no longer horizontal and buried deep 
 under ground, but nearly vertical, broken in pieces, 
 and thrown variously about. These strata have for 
 tlie most part been of a formation long prior to that of 
 the horizontal ones, and were at one time displaced, 
 and elevated and rolled about ; the ocean was the great 
 agent in their formation as in that of the strata which 
 it afterwards deposited horizontally around tlicm ; the 
 (jcean, too, was the agent wliich, after luiving first 
 deposited, afterwards dislocated and raised them into 
 rocks, promontories, and islands, amidst which the 
 strata still found horizontal were laid. 
 
 This ocean, at different times, not only held in solu-
 
 408 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 tion different dead matter, but was inhabited bv animals 
 of kmds that exist no more. When it last left the earth 
 and retreated into its present position, the only one in 
 which we have ever known it by actual observation, its 
 inhabitants nearly resembled those which still live and 
 swarm in its waters. But at more remote periods, and 
 when forming its more ancient deposits, it was the 
 receptacle of animals of which not a living trace now 
 remains ; animals all whose species are extinct ; animals 
 of genera absolutely different from any now known, 
 and which sometimes united together in one individual 
 frame, parts now only found separate in distant and 
 unconnected tribes. 
 
 Again, tlie intermixture of land animals and of fish 
 the inhabitants of fresh water only, with those of marine 
 origin, shows that several successive irruptions of the 
 ocean must have taken place, and that after it remained 
 covering the land during successive periods, it retreated 
 successively, and left that portion of the globe dry. 
 Nor can there be any doubt that large portions of the 
 earth now uncovered and inhabited by the human 
 species and other tribes of living animals had, before it 
 was last covered by the sea, been dry, and been inha- 
 bited by a race of animals of which their fossil remains 
 are all that we can now trace. 
 
 It is probable, too, that many of these mighty revolu- 
 tions have been sudden, and not effected by gradual 
 encroachments upon the earth, to destroy its inhabitants. 
 The examination of masses of flesh belonging to some 
 of the race destroyed by the last change, and preserved 
 by the frozen water in which they were imbedded, 
 seems to prove that the death of the animals, and their 
 envelopment in water, the coagulation of the water, and 
 the introduction of a frozen climate, were simultaneous ; 
 for the putrefactive process had not commenced till 
 thousands of years after the destruction of life, when, 
 the ice being thawed, the exposure to heat and air 
 began the decomposition. But the sudden violence by
 
 CUVIER. 409 
 
 which these last changes were effected is equally con- 
 spicuous in the transport of huge hlocks from one part 
 of the country to another in which they were manifestly 
 strano'ers. 
 
 But we ascend to greater heights on the surface of 
 the globe, and we find the scene changed. We are now 
 upon the vast and lofty chains of soHd rock which 
 traverse the central parts of the different continents, 
 separate the rivers that water and drain them, veil 
 their summits in the clouds, and are capped with never- 
 melting snows. These are the primitive mountains ; 
 formed before any of the other new-made strata whereof 
 we have already spoken, because they penetrate them 
 vertically ; and even these primeval rocks show by their 
 crystallization, and occasionally by their stratified forms, 
 that they, too, were once in a liquid state, and deposited 
 by waters which anciently held them in solution and 
 covered the places they now fill. In these, as we ascend 
 to the most ancient, no animal remains at all are found. 
 The shells and other marine productions so abundant 
 below, and in the more recent layers of the globe, here 
 cease altogether to exist. The primeval rocks, there- 
 fore, were first held in a liquid state, and afterwards 
 deposited, by an ocean which contained in its bosom no 
 livins: thinof ; an ocean which before covered, or washed, 
 a continent, or islands, on which life never had existed. 
 
 There is also little doubt, according to Cuvier, though 
 we give not this as an incontestible proposition, that the 
 prodigious changes which we have been contemplating 
 must have been operated by a force wholly different 
 from any that we now perceive in action upon any por- 
 tion of the globe. The power employed to work some 
 of the displacements of which we see the traces is shown 
 remarkably in the insulated masses, foimd removed 
 from great distances, and lying still at vast heights. 
 On the Jura, at near 4,000 feet above the level of the 
 sea, are found blocks of granite evidently carried fi-om 
 the Alps, one of whid), containing 50,000 cubic feet of
 
 410 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 stone, has been removed and placed in its present 
 position after the formation of the strata on or among 
 which it hes, — strata, the materials of which do not fill 
 its interstices, but have been rent and broken by its 
 fall. None of the operations now observed on the 
 earth's surface satisfactorily explain either this or the 
 other revolutions in question. The effects of weather, 
 either in the fall of rain, or in alternate freezing or 
 thawing of water, though sufficiently powerful and very 
 beneficial upon a small scale in decomposing stones and 
 pulverizing earths, are confined within comparatively 
 narrow limits. The action of rivers in wearing down 
 their banks, and changing the position of their beds, is 
 restricted to those banks and beds, and is of slow and 
 almost imperceptible operation, unless in some cases of 
 rare occurrence, where a mountainous eminence being 
 gradually undermined may fall and dam up a river and 
 cause a lake to be formed, or where a lake may be let 
 out of its reservoir by the wearing away of some ridge 
 forming its dam or head, and so inundate the country 
 below — events barely possible be it observed, and of 
 which the period of authentic history records scarcely 
 any instance. Then the encroachments of the sea are 
 even more gradual than those of rivers ; nor can any 
 proof be found, in all the time over which authentic 
 human annals reach, of a material change in position 
 of the ocean with respect to its shores ; the utmost it 
 has ever done being to wear away an isthmus here 
 and there,* or cover a mile or two of low and flat 
 coast.j The wonderful force of a column of compressed 
 water, in a vertical fissure connected with a subterraneous 
 sheet of it, however shallow, but filling a broad space — 
 
 • There seems reason, from some ancient authorities, to believe that the 
 Isle of Wight was once a peninsula when the tide was out, to which tin, 
 the staple of the ancient IJritish exportation, was carried in waggons at 
 low water to be shipped for Gaul. 
 
 t The estate of Earl Godwin in Kent, now covered by the sea, is one of 
 the principal examples of this kind of change ; and there must clearly be 
 great exaggeration in the accounts given of it.
 
 CDTIER. 411 
 
 the resistless power of such a cohimn to move about any 
 superincumbent weight — has, perhaps, been too httle 
 taken into account as an ao-ent in etiectino- chano-cs on 
 the earth's surface. But these operations must be all 
 merely local. Volcanic action is still more topical in 
 its sphere ; and though violent enough within these 
 narrow limits, produces consequences wholly coniined 
 to them, and unlike those which are under considera- 
 tion. Lastly, whatever effect could be produced by the 
 motion of the earth is of incomparably a more slow and 
 gradual kind than any now enumerated. The motion 
 of the poles round the plane of the ecliptic, and the 
 nutation of the axis, are movements of this kind, and 
 never exceeded certain narrow limits. The rotation of 
 the earth has a regular and defined tendency to accumu- 
 late matter towards the equator, and flatten our globe 
 at the two poles, but no other ; and certainly neither a 
 sudden nor a violent effect can be operated by this 
 means. 
 
 The result of the Researches upon the fossil bones of 
 land animals has demonstrated those changes still more 
 incontestably than the examination of the remains which 
 have been left by the inhabitants of the ocean ; both 
 because, as they must have lived on dry land, their 
 being found in strata deposited by water proves that 
 water has covered parts of the continent formerly dry, 
 and also because, their species being fewer in number 
 and better known, we can now certainly tell whether 
 or not the fossil animal is the same with any still hving 
 on the globe. Now of the one hundred and fifty 
 quadrupeds examined by Cuvier, and whose remains 
 are found deposited in different strata of our continent, 
 more than ninety are at present wholly unknown in any 
 part of the world ; nearly sixty of these are of genera 
 wholly unknown, the rest being now species of existing 
 genera ; only eleven or twelve are so lilvo the present 
 races as to leave no doubt of their identity, or ratlicr 
 of their osteology being the same ; while the remaining
 
 412 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 fifty, though resembling in most respects the existing 
 tribes, as far as the skeletons are concerned, may very 
 possibly be found, on more close survey, and on ex- 
 amining more specimens, to differ materially even in 
 their bones. Nor is it at all unlikely that, of the whole 
 one hundred and fifty, every one would be found to be 
 of a race now extinct, if we could see their softer parts 
 as well as their bones and their teeth. But the relation 
 which these different species of ancient animals bear to 
 the different strata is still more remarkable and more 
 instructive in every point of view. 
 
 In the first place, it appears that oviparous quadru- 
 peds, as crocodiles and hzards, are found in earlier strata 
 than those containing viviparous ones, as elephants and 
 others. The earth which they inhabited must, there- 
 fore, have existed and been watered by rivers before 
 the chalk formation, because they are found under the 
 chalk in what is termed the Jurassic formation. — But, 
 secondly, among the strata subsequent to the challv 
 formation, the unknown genera of animals, palreotheria, 
 anoplotheria, are only found in the series of beds im- 
 mediately over the chalk. A very few species of known 
 genera of viviparous quadrupeds are found with them, 
 and also some fresh water fishes. — Thirdly. Certain 
 extinct species of known genera, as elephants, rhino- 
 ceros, are not found with those more ancient animals of 
 extinct genera. They are chiefly found in alluvial 
 earth, and m the most recent tertiary strata, and all 
 that we find with these extinct species are either un- 
 known, or of more than doubtful identity with any now 
 existing. Again, those remains which appear identical 
 with the known species are found in recent alluvial 
 earths, and places which seem to belong to the present 
 world. — Fourthly. We have seen that tlie most ancient 
 secondary strata contain reptiles and no other quadru- 
 peds. None of the rocks at all contain any human 
 remains ; nor were any remains of the monkey tribe, 
 or any of the family of quadrumanes found in Cuvier's
 
 CUVIER. 413 
 
 time, if indeed they are observable even now. In turf- 
 bogs, in rents and cavities, under ruins as well as in 
 cemeteries, human skeletons are from time to time found; 
 but not a vestige of them or of any human bone in any 
 of the regular strata, or of the fissure deposits, or of 
 the caves and caverns which abound with all the other 
 animal remains. Whatever human bones have been 
 found, were undoubtedly placed there by human agency 
 in recent times. 
 
 For Cuvier has examined with the utmost care all 
 the instances which were pretended to afford proofs 
 of human remains. He closely investigated several 
 thousands of the bones in the Paris Basin, and in the 
 deposits of Provence, Nice, and others. All which had 
 ever been supposed to be human he found to be either 
 animal bones, or bones of men accidentally placed among 
 the others, or in some other manner satisfactorily ac- 
 counted for. The skeleton supposed by Scheutzer to 
 be a man's, and which he made the subject of his book 
 ' Homo Diluvii Testis,' a century ago, has been already 
 adverted to. Cuvier undertook the complete examina- 
 tion of it. The first skeleton which formed the subject 
 of Scheutzer's argument Avas found near Amiens. Thirty 
 years afterwards another was discovered, but its pos- 
 sessor, Gesner himself, raised grave suspicions that it 
 was some lower animal's remains. A more complete 
 one than either was afterwards found. Cuvier has en- 
 graved this, together with Scheutzer's copied from his 
 own book — and how any person could, upon the bare 
 inspection, ever have conceived that cither was a human 
 skeleton is truly incomprehensible. But Cuvier has 
 further engraved a land salamander, whose osteology 
 he had, after his admirable manner, thoroughly ex- 
 amined, and its likeness to the fossil remains shows it 
 to be of the same genus, tliough of a wholly new 
 species, above six times larger. He enters at large 
 into tlie details of the difference between these remains 
 and the human skeleton. But a further demonstration
 
 414 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 of their nature was reserved for him when, in 1811, at f 
 Leyden, he had access to the actual fossil itself of 
 Scheutzer, and was permitted to remove a portion of 
 the incrusting stone. He did this with the salamander 
 by him, and predicted the kind of bones that would be 
 discovered by the operation. The success of the expe- 
 riment was complete ; and to show the diiference be- 
 tween this skeleton and a human subject, Cuvier had 
 the satisfaction of also discovering a double row of small 
 and sharp teeth, studding the fringe or border of the 
 large circular mouth. In 1818, he had an opportunity 
 of repeating this examination upon the last found speci- 
 men, which is now in the British Museum, and with 
 exactly the same result. It is therefore demonstrated, 
 as clearly as any fact in the whole compass of physical 
 science, that these bones belong to a race wholly dif- 
 ferent from the human species, and indeed from any 
 species now existing on the face of the globe. Finally, 
 places where human bones have for many centuries 
 been deposited with the remains of animals, as the 
 ground under ancient fields of battle, have been ex- 
 amined, and it is found that the one are quite as well 
 preserved as the other, and have not suffered more 
 decay. The importance of establishing the conclusion 
 that no human remains are to be found in the strata of 
 the earth will presently appear, and is the reason why 
 we have dwelt upon the evidence in some detail. 
 
 If we next inquire at what period the last great 
 change took place, although of course no records can 
 remain to fix it, yet we have some data on which to 
 determine the limits of the question. The progress of 
 attrition in the larger rivers, as the Dnieper and the 
 Nile, and also the formation of downs where they ap- 
 proach from the sea, has been observed, as on the 
 coast of the Atlantic in the south of France ; and the 
 results indicate no very remote antiquity as the age of 
 the present terraqueous distribution ; certainly not more 
 than 5,000 or 6,000 years. Of these, history only goes
 
 cmaER. 415 
 
 back about 3,000. Homer lived but 2,800 years ap;o. 
 Genesis cannot have been written earlier than 3,300 
 years back. Even the earliest Chinese monuments that 
 are authentic reach but 2,255 years. The astronomical 
 remains of the East, when closely examined, especially 
 the Zodiac, prove nothing of that extreme antiquity 
 which was at one time ascribed to them. Nor do the 
 mines, such as those of Elba, from which similar infer- 
 ences were formerly deduced, show, since their more 
 accurate examination, anything of the kind. Indeed 
 none of the conclusions they lead to can be regarded 
 as at all of a certain kind. The general result of the 
 inquiry, then, is, that at a period not more remote than 
 5,000 or 6,000 years ago, a mighty convulsion covered 
 with the ocean all those parts of the globe then in- 
 habited by man and the other animals his contempo- 
 raries, and left dry those other portions of the earth 
 which we now inhabit. The few remains of the races 
 then destroyed have served to people this new Avorld ; 
 it is only since this period began that we have entered 
 upon the progressive state of improvement in which 
 our race has advanced ; and to this period whatever 
 historical monuments we possess of the globe or its in- 
 habitants are confined. But it is equally clear that 
 this inhabited earth, then left dry for the last time, 
 had previously undergone several revolutions, and had 
 been alternately dry land and covered with the ocean, 
 more than once, or even twice, before this last revolu- 
 tion. We have access more particularly to examine 
 the condition and population of the earth when it was 
 last inhabited, that is, when the sea left it the last time 
 but one. We arc now living in the fourth era or 
 succession of inhabitants upon this earth. Tlic first was 
 that of reptiles ; the second that of paLncotheria ; the 
 third of mammoths and megathcria ; and it is only in 
 this present or fourth era in succession that we find 
 our own species and the animals which have always 
 been our companions.
 
 416 RESEARCHES OX FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 We are entitled then to affirm that, with respect to 
 animal life, three propositions are proved, all of great 
 curiosity, and still more, when taken either separately 
 or together, all leading to conclusions of the highest 
 impurtance — 
 
 First — that there were no animals of any kind in 
 the ocean which deposited the primary strata, nor any 
 on the continent which that ocean had left dry upon 
 its retreat ; 
 
 Secondly — that the present race of animals did not 
 exist in the earlier successive stages and revolutions 
 through which the globe has passed ; 
 
 Thirdly — that our own species did not exist in those 
 earlier stages either. 
 
 Now the conclusion to which these propositions leads, 
 and which indeed follows from any one of them taken 
 singly, but still more remarkably from the whole, and 
 most especially from the last, is that a creative power 
 must have interposed to alter the order of things in 
 those early times. That an interposition of this kind 
 took place, the last and most important, about 6,000 
 years ago, is highly probable from the physical and 
 natural evidence alone which is before us, and to which 
 alone in this Avork reference can be made. But the 
 date is not material. If at an uncertain period before 
 the present condition of the earth and of its inhabitants, 
 there were neither men nor the present race of crea- 
 tures, wild and domestic, which people the globe, then 
 it follows that between that period, whensoever it was, 
 and the earliest to which the liistory of the world 
 reaches back, an interposition of power took place to 
 create those animals, and man among the rest. The 
 atheistical argument, that the present state of things 
 may have lasted for ever, is therefore now at an end. It 
 can no longer be affirmed that all the living tribes have 
 gone on from eternity continuing their species ; and 
 that while one generation of these passed away and 
 another came up in endless and uninterrupted succes-
 
 CUVIER. 417 
 
 slon, the earth abided for ever. An interruption and 
 a beginning of that succession has been proved. The 
 earth has been shown not to have for ever abode in its 
 present state ; and its inhabitants are demonstrated, by 
 the incontrovertible evidence of facts, to have at one 
 time had no existence. Scepticism therefore can now 
 only be allowed as to the time and manner of the crea- 
 tive interposition ; and on these the facts shed no light 
 whatever. But that an act of creation was performed 
 at one precise time is demonstrated as clearly as any 
 proposition in natural philosophy, and demonstrated by 
 the same evidence, the induction of facts, upon wliich 
 all the other branches of natural philosophy rest. 
 
 It is wholly in vain to argue that the sea or the 
 earth, or the animals formerly existing and now ex- 
 tinct, or any other created beings, or any of the powers 
 of nature, as we know it, or as it has ever been known, 
 could have made the change. It is difficult enough to 
 conceive how these known forces could ever have de- 
 stroyed the earth's former inhabitants. But suppose 
 the approach of some comet or other body at different 
 times produced the vast tides by which the land was 
 successively swept, this will not account for new 
 species and new genera of living creatures having 
 sprung up both to inhabit the land and to people the 
 waters. An act of creation — that which would now 
 be admitted as a direct interposition of a superior in- 
 teUigence and power — must have taken place. This is 
 the sublime conclusion to which these Researches lead, 
 conducted according to the most rigorous rules of in- 
 ductive philosophy, precluding all possibility of cavil, 
 accessible to every one who will give himself the 
 trouble of examining the steps of the reasoning upon 
 which they repose, and removing doubt from the mind 
 in proportion as their apprehension removes ignorance. 
 It is an invaluable addition to the science of Natiu-al 
 Theology, and forms a chapter as new in kind as any 
 of the new animal species are in jN^atural History. 
 VOL. vr. 2 B
 
 418 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 Such are the benefits conferred upon the great and 
 fundamental argument of Divine Intelhgence and con- 
 trivance by the recent discoveries in Fossil Osteology. 
 The evidence of design in the combination and mutual 
 adaptation of the parts of extinct animals we pass over 
 as only a multiplication of proof sufficiently numerous 
 before. But the other branch of Natural Theology, 
 that which investigates the Divine Benevolence, also 
 derives aid from this new quarter. We now refer to 
 the argument maintained in the Dissertation upon the 
 Origin of Evil,* and also to the theories which were 
 there very respectfully considered, and diffidently and 
 reluctantly found to be unsatisfactory. The late inter- 
 esting discoveries have thrown new light upon both 
 these subjects of discussion, and the authors of some 
 of the systems which we examined may appear to 
 the improved state of our knowledge respecting the 
 Chain of Being, as we certainly do make our appeal 
 to it upon what appears to be a more solid ground of 
 argumentation. 
 
 The doctrine respecting the Chain of Being is ad- 
 mitted to be incomplete as regards the matter of fact, 
 inasmuch as we find many and large blanks in the 
 sei'ies of animated creatures known upon our globe. 
 Whatever other objections, therefore, were competent 
 against this theory, an additional one was, that little 
 appearance of a Chain of Being seems discernible in 
 the universe. Now, the supporters of this doctrine 
 have certainly a right to maintain that the blanks are 
 filled up in a very remarkable manner by the recent 
 discoveries. For the new species of animals discovered 
 to have existed in former states of the globe, unques- 
 tionably fill up some of the most remarkable chasms in 
 our series of living animals. Thus the chief blank was 
 always observed in the pachydermatous animals, the 
 fewest in number, the least approaching one another, 
 
 * See Paley's Natural Theology, with Notes and Dissertations by Loid 
 Brougham and Sir Charles Bell. 3 vols.
 
 CUVTER. 419 
 
 and the whole tribe the most removed from others. 
 Now most of the new and extinct kinds of quadinipeds 
 belong to this class, and we have had occasion to 
 observe how links are supplied between race and race 
 hitherto appearing altogether distinct. 
 
 But although we may not be justified in reposing 
 great confidence in the argument dra^vn from the plan 
 of a Chain of Being as applied to the subject of positive 
 evil, there is another point of view in which the subject 
 may, with perfect safety, be considered. As far as 
 regards mere defect, mere imperfection, it is most 
 important to consider whether the plan of Divine 
 Providence may not have been to create a succession 
 of beings rising one above another in attributes ; say 
 merelv of intellio-ent beino-s thus difi"erino: in their 
 approaches to perfection. The importance of this con- 
 sideration cannot fail to strike the observer when he 
 reflects that there is no possibility of separating one of 
 the greatest of all positive evils, death itself, from mere 
 defect or imperfection, as was observed in the Disserta- 
 tion already referred to ; not to mention many other 
 kinds of evils arising from mere imperfection, — as all 
 that proceed from weakness, from ignorance, from 
 defect of mental energy, as well as mental perspi- 
 cacitv. All these evils, and all their various con- 
 sequences, originate in mere defect or imperfection. 
 Therefore it is of no little moment ir. this important 
 argument that we should be able to derive anv new 
 light to guide our steps upon that part of the ground 
 which belongs to defect or imperfection. 
 
 Now the late discoveries certainly afford us some 
 such lights. They show as plainly as the evidence of 
 facts can show anything, that there was a time when 
 this globe existed with animals to people it, but without 
 any beings at all of the human kind. The sounder 
 opinion certainly is, that there has been a succession 
 of stages through which the earth has passed, with 
 different races of animals belonging to each period ;
 
 420 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 that in the earliest age of all no animal life existed ; 
 that this was succeeded by another in which reptiles 
 were found to flourish, and that subsequent periods 
 were marked by other successive races of animated 
 beings. But as this is the subject of controversy, we 
 shall only say that there have been two eras, one in 
 which inferior animals only existed without man, and 
 the other in which we now live, and in which our 
 species are the principal inhabitants of the globe. 
 Tliis is admitted by all who have considered the 
 evidence ; and they who the most strenuously deny 
 the other doctrines of Fossil Osteology avow their 
 implicit belief in the great proposition, that the rchcs 
 of an age are clearly discovered in which man had no 
 existence. 
 
 Now this position is most important with a view to 
 our present argument. It appears that there was a 
 time when the Creator had not brought into existence 
 any being above the rank of the lower animals. It 
 follows that the divine wisdom had not then thought 
 fit to create any animal endowed with the intelligence 
 and capacity and other mental qualities of the human 
 species. If an observer had been placed in that world, 
 and been called upon to reason regarding it, what 
 would have been his reflections on the imperfections of 
 animated nature? Yet, after a lapse of some ages, 
 those defects are all supplied, and a more accomplished 
 animal is called into existence. The faculties of that 
 animal, and his destinies, his endowments and his 
 deficiencies, his enjoyments and his sufterings, are now 
 the subjects of the observer's contemplation and of his 
 reasoning. What ground has he now for affirming that 
 a more perfect creature may not hereafter be brought 
 into existence— a creature more highly endowed and 
 suffering far less from the evils of imperfection under 
 which our race now suffers so much? No one can tell 
 but that as many of the former inhabitants of the globe 
 are now extinct — tribes wliich existed before the human
 
 CUVIER. 421 
 
 race was created — so this human race Itself may here- 
 after be, like them, only known by its fossil remains ; 
 and other tribes found upon other continents, tribes as 
 far excelling ours in power and in wisdom as we excel 
 the mastodon and the megatherium of the ancient world. 
 It is to be further observed that no uncreated beinc: 
 can, by the nature of the thing, have any right tu 
 complain of not being brought into existence earlier. 
 The human race cannot complain of having come so 
 late into the world ; nor can any of the tribes created 
 before us complain that they were less perfect than a 
 species, the human, which did not then exist. Have 
 u>e, then, the inhabitants of the present world, any 
 better reason to complain that the new, as yet un- 
 known, possible creatures of a future period of the 
 universe have not as yet come into existence ? It must 
 be confessed that the extraordinary fact, now made 
 clearly and indisputably* known to us, of a world 
 having existed in which there were abundance of in- 
 ferior creatures, and none of our own race, gives us 
 every ground for believing it possible that Divine 
 Providence may hereafter supply our place on the 
 globe with another race of beings as far superior to 
 ourselves as we are to them which have gone before 
 us. But how inconceivably does this consideration 
 strengthen and extend the supposition broached in 
 the Dissertation upon Evil ! How strikingly does it 
 prescribe to us a wise and wholesome distrust of the 
 conclusions towards which human impatience is so 
 prone to rush in the darkness of human ignorance; ! 
 How loudly does it call upon us to follow the old 
 homely maxim, " AVhen you are in the dark, and feel 
 uncertain which way to move, stand still!" How 
 forcibly does it teach us that much — nay, that all 
 whifh now we sec as in a glass dai-kly, and thercfoio 
 in distorted form and of discoloured hue, may, when 
 
 ♦ The kind of controversy which may be raisej, but never has boeu 
 raised on this point, is discussed in the next dissertation.
 
 422 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 viewed in the broad and clear light of day, fall into 
 full proportion and shine in harmonious tints ! * 
 
 It would be improper not to mention at the close of 
 this Analytical View, that the science of Palaeontology 
 
 * Dr. Paley, in his twenty-fifth chapter, assumes, that whenever a new 
 country has been discovered, with new plants and animals, these are 
 always found in company with plants and animals which are already 
 known, and possessing the same general qualities. From hence he derives 
 an argument for the unity of the First Cause. Mr. Dugald Stewart also 
 infers from the supposed identity of animal instincts in all ages, that the 
 laws of physical nature must have always been the same, otherwise these 
 animals could not have continued to exist. 
 
 Now, first as to Dr. Paley's assumption. It certainly appears too large, 
 even as regards the existing species and the present state of the globe ; for 
 there seem to be some places where all the animals are peculiar. But be 
 that as it may, (he fact assumed is by no means necessarj' for the support 
 of Dr. Paley's conclusion in favour of the Divine Unity. It is extremely 
 probable that in some former stages of our globe there were no animals 
 whatever of the same tribes with those which to us are familiarly known. 
 Yet can there be any doubt that in their structure the same degree of skill 
 is observable as far as their only remains enable us to judge, and can we 
 hesitate to believe, that were there other parts before us, we should in 
 those find as much artistlike contrivance as in the existing races of 
 animals ? Indeed we may go farther and assert, that there is every 
 ground for supposing that the same kind, as well as an equal measure of 
 skill, is to be traced in the lost as in the existing tribes, and that, con- 
 sequently, the characteristic argument will equally apply here. The 
 proof of this in the structure of the alimentary canal, which Cuvier was 
 not acquainted with, will presently be considered. 
 
 Secondly. With respect to the observation upon instinct, unquestionably 
 some doubt may be raised by the new discoveries ; for we cannot feel any 
 confidence in the assertion that the animals, whose skeletons alone remain, 
 were endowed with instincts similar to those now in being, more espe- 
 cially the tribes of anomalous description, such as the pterodactylus and 
 ichthyosaui'us. We have never seen in life any animals combining the 
 various forms which seem to have met in these extraordinary- creatures. 
 We cannot, therefore, feel entire confidence in the belief that their habits 
 or instincts resembled those of any combination of animals so dissimilar, — 
 still less can we comprehend a harmonious union of the instincts proper to 
 birds with those peculiar to reptiles, which yet the pterodactyli seem 
 formed to obey. Dark, however, as is this de]iartment of the subject, we 
 have abundant ground, from the preponderating weight of analogy, for 
 resting satisfied that all their instincts, whatever they may have been, 
 were nicely adjusted to their bodily powers, and that both their bodies 
 and their instincts were as nicely adapted to the laws of matter and of 
 motion.
 
 cuviER. 423 
 
 was much indebted to some able and learned men who 
 were contemporaries of Cuvier The examination of 
 the Paris Basin, as regards its mineral character, was 
 almost wholly the work of Brongniart, and it is allowed 
 to be a model in that kind. Cuvier's brother, also, 
 ably assisted him in the botanical department. The 
 labours of Lamarck in conchology are so universally 
 known as to need no further mention; and among 
 other names may be stated that of Miller of Bristol, as 
 having made valuable contributions to these inquiries
 
 424 
 
 LABOUKS OF CUVIER'S SUCCESSORS. 
 
 Many learned men were attracted by the discoveries 
 of Cuvier, and devoted themselves to the cultivation of 
 the same science. During the last twelve or fifteen 
 years of his life they had joined in similar pursuits, 
 and many of his opinions were modified, and many of 
 his researches were materially aided, by their diligent 
 and successful inquiries. As far as regards the general 
 connexion between Organic Remains and Geology, in- 
 deed another inquirer had appeared in the field as early 
 as himself, the laborious, modest, and sagacious William 
 Smith, a civil engineer, who, unassisted and almost un- 
 known, had been prosecuting his researches into the 
 mineral state of England, and performed certainly the 
 most extraordinary work that any single and private 
 individual ever accomplished — the delineation of the 
 strata of the whole country, in a set of underground 
 maps, which he published in 1815, and followed after- 
 wards with a work upon the relation between these 
 strata and their Organic Remains. Although the re- 
 sults of his investigations were published thus late, he 
 had many years before communicated the greater part 
 of them freely to his private friends. It must be con- 
 fessed that few men of greater merit, or more unas- 
 suming, have ever adorned any walk of science, and 
 few have ever made a more important step in assisting 
 the progress of discovery. 
 
 The other able persons who have cultivated this 
 branch of science are certainly endowed with greater 
 learning, that is, book learning, than Mr. Smith could 
 boast of, beside attending closely to actual observation
 
 cuvier's srccEssoRs 425 
 
 in the field. Some of them, too, may fairly claim a 
 high place as men of profound and original views. 
 Where so many excel and prefer claims so undeniable 
 to the gratitude of the world, it is invidious as well as 
 difficult to make a selection, the rather as, happily, we 
 still have the 2;reat benefit of their continued assistance. 
 In Italy, Brocclii ; in Switzerland, Studer, Ilugi, Char- 
 pentier, and Agassiz, the able and zealous disciple to 
 whom Cuvier gave up the department of fossil ichthy- 
 ology, when composing his work on Compai'ative Ana- 
 tomy ; in Germany, Von Buch, Kaup, Count Miinstcr, 
 Goldfuss, RosenmuUer, "Wagner, and the justly cele- 
 brated Humboldt ; in Russia, Fischer ; in Belgium, 
 Burtin, Omalius, Dumont ; in France, Beaumont, 
 Brongniart, Blainville, Prevost, Boue, Brochant, Geof- 
 frey ; and in England, Conybeare, Mantell, Lyell, Clift, 
 De la Beche, Konig, Hibbert, Broderip, Fitton, Bake- 
 well, Greenough, Forbes, Owen, Murchison, Sedgwick, 
 and Buckland.* These, it is believed, are all, except 
 Brocchi, fortunately still alive, and still actively en- 
 gaged in the same interesting inquiries, though some 
 of them rather confine their study to the geological 
 portion of the subject. If from the brilliant assem- 
 blage the names of Sedgwick and Buckland were 
 selected, but, as regarding Fossil Osteology, the latter 
 especially, private friendship could hardly bo charged 
 with officiously assuming to be the organ of the general 
 voice — but, indeed, to record such merit might well 
 seem presumptuous, where the panegyric is far less 
 likelv to reach aftertimes than the subject of its praise. 
 The labours of Cuvier's successors, as far as regards 
 his doctrines, belong to one or other of three classes : 
 to the progress which they have made in examining 
 the fossil remains of former worlds, or conditions of our 
 
 • Written in 1839. Since that period, while we have to deplore the 
 loss of man}' of the above, a new band of irifiuirers — Ansted, Kanisay, 
 Phillips,M'Coy, Hugh Miller, U'Orbigiiy, and otliers — are rapidly fullowiiig 
 up the researches of those removed, and daily adding to our knowledge.
 
 428 RESEARCHES OX FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 globe ;* to the arguments which they have advanced 
 in opposition to or in support of his theory respecting 
 the relation that subsists between those animal remains 
 and the strata in which they are found; and to the 
 arguments adduced for or against his opinions respect- 
 ing the formation and age of those strata. It may be 
 proper to mention the things done under each of these 
 heads, although the last is of comparatively little im- 
 portance to the purpose of the present work, and the 
 second is of considerably less moment, as regards 
 Cuvier's proper subject, than the first. 
 
 L Among the extinct mammalia of the pachyder- 
 matous order, we mentioned one which Cuvier referred 
 to the tapir genus, but pronounced to have been of a 
 gigantic size. He only had seen the jaw teeth of the ani- 
 mal. But since his time otiier important parts have been 
 found, chiefly at Epplesheim, in Hesse Darmstadt : and 
 a genus Dinotherium (having four species) has been 
 established, of which this species is termed giganteum, 
 his length having been apparently not less than eigh- 
 teen or nineteen feet. His distinguishing pecuharity 
 is the having two enormous tusks, which are bent 
 downwards like those of the walrus, but are placed at 
 the front end of the lower jaw, so as to bend below 
 the chin. Dr. Buckland has shown by most cogent 
 arguments that he must have lived chiefly in the 
 w^ater, and these tusks in all probability were used in 
 supporting him, anchored as it were, to the side of the 
 river or lake while his huge body floated, as well as 
 employed in digging for the roots upon which his teeth 
 show that he fed. 
 
 Notwithstanding somewhat scanty materials, Cuvier 
 had described and, as it were, restored the megatherium 
 with extraordinary skill. But a further importation 
 of bones from South America has enabled observers in 
 this country to throw some additional light upon the 
 
 * The notes to the Analysis of Cuvier contain statements of the nutn- 
 iers of new species discovered since his time.
 
 citv^ier's successors. 427 
 
 structure and habits of this singular animal. These 
 bones were found in the bed of the river Salados in 
 Buenos Ayres, a succession of very dry seasons having 
 bi'ought the water unusually low. Mr. Clift, of the 
 Surgeons' Museum, a most learned and skilful com- 
 parative anatomist, and pupil and assistant of John 
 Hunter, examined them fully, and found many very 
 singular particulars not before known respecting this 
 animal. Among other things it appears to have a bony 
 partition betAveen its nostrils (septum narium) like the 
 rhinoceros tichorhinus. The structure of its teeth in- 
 dicates that they are formed by perpetual growth like 
 the elephant's tusks, and not like his teeth by renewal. 
 The enormous size of the tail never could have been 
 conjectured from the analogy of the elephant and other 
 pachydermatous animals. It was composed of vertebrte, 
 of which the one at the root had a diameter of seven 
 inches, and the diameter from the extremities of the 
 processes was no less than twenty-one inches. If then 
 allowance be made for the muscle and integuments, it 
 could not have been less than two feet in chameter at 
 the root, and six feet in girth. There can be little 
 doubt that it was used both as a weapon of defence and 
 to support the animal in conjunction with part of his 
 large feet, while the others were employed in digging 
 or scraping away the earth in quest of his food. The 
 fore feet were a yard long, and the bones of the fore 
 legs were so constructed that the limb could have a 
 lateral or rotatory horizontal movement for the pur- 
 pose of shovelling away the ^oil. The bone of the heel 
 is also of extraordinary length. The proportion of his 
 bones to those of the elephant is very remarkable. The 
 first caudal vertebra in the megatherium being twenty 
 or twenty-one inches, in the elephant it is barely seven. 
 The circumference of the thigh in the formci' is two 
 feet two inches, in the latter one foot. The expanse of 
 tiie OS iUii in the former no less than five fpet one inch, 
 in the latter three feet eight inches. The bony cover
 
 428 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 of the hide has also heen now more fully examined. It 
 was about an inch in thickness, and so hard as to resist 
 all external violence. The cumbrous movements of this 
 unwieldy creature exposing it to many kinds of danger, 
 the hide served to defend it from some enemies, and 
 the weight and streno-th of its limbs and tail enabled 
 it to destroy others : escape from any by flight being 
 quite impossible. Mr. Clift informs me that he has 
 found in the region of the pelvis small lumps of adipo- 
 cire. So that we have here an additional instance of 
 the softer parts of an extinct animal still preserved in 
 a state to Avhich flesh is now often reduced by decom- 
 position in water. 
 
 Mr. Darwin (grandson of the celebrated physician 
 and poet) has found in South America many interesting 
 remains. Amono- these are the bones of an edentate, 
 between the megatherium and armadillo (largest kind) ; 
 those of a huge rodent in size equal to the hippopota- 
 mus ; and those of an ungulate quadruped the size of 
 a camel, and forming the linlc between that class and 
 the pachydermata. 
 
 In the lias stratum of Lyme Regis there was found 
 in 1828, by jMiss Anning (to whose skill in drawing, as 
 well as her geological knowledge, Cuvier often acknow- 
 ledges his obligations), a new species of pterodactylus 
 with very long claws, and hence Dr. Buckland gave it 
 the name of Pter. Macronyx. It appears to have been 
 the size of a raven. 
 
 In 1824, Mr. Mantell discovered in the Tilgate sand 
 stone, in Sussex, the remains of an herbivorous reptiW 
 allied to the iguana genus, but vastly larger ; and he 
 gave it the name of Igiianodon.* Other parts of the 
 animal has since been found in difi'erent places, as in 
 Purbeck, and in the Isle of Wight. Mr. Murchison 
 found a thigh bone three feet seven inches long ; and 
 in 1829, a metacarpal bone, of six inches long by five 
 
 * This discovery had been made before the last edition of Cuvier's book, 
 and is mentioned, though shortly, in the Analysis.
 
 cuvier's successors, 429 
 
 ■wide, was found in the iron sand, and a vertebra as 
 large as an elephant's. The opinion of Cuvier referred 
 the large thigh bone clearly to Mr. ]\Iantell's reptile, 
 whose dimensions must therefore have been enormous, 
 though it was not carnivorous. 
 
 In 1834, a large proportion of the skeleton was 
 found in the Rag quarries near Maidstone. This 
 confirmed all the previous conjectures as to the bones 
 separately discovered. The length of this monstrous 
 reptile is calculated to have been seventy feet from the 
 snout to the tip of the tail, the tail to have been fifty- 
 two feet long, and the body fourteen feet round.* Mr. 
 Mantell also discovered in 1832, in Tilgate Forest, the 
 remains of a hzard, which may have been twenty-five 
 feet long, and was distinguished by a set of long, pointed, 
 flat bones on its back, some rising from it as high as 
 seventeen inches in length. He called it Hylceosaurus, 
 from being found in the Weald. 
 
 There were found in 1836, a great collection of fossil 
 bones in the department of Gers, in France, in a tertiary 
 fresh water formation. Above thirty species, all mam- 
 malia, were traced, and of these the greater part were 
 new extinct animals, but all were of extinct kinds ; two 
 species of the dinotherium ; five of the mastodon ; a 
 new animal allied to the rhinoceros, and another to the 
 anthracotherium ; a new edentate ; and a new genus 
 between the dog and racoon ; but the most singular 
 and new of the whole is the under jaw of an ape, which 
 appears to have been thirty inches in height. But we 
 must be very cautious in ffiving our assent to this, until 
 we are better informed of the position where the jaw 
 was found. It is certainly possible ; but after the 
 history of the Guadaloupe skeleton, clearly human, as 
 clearly found among fossil remains, but now universally 
 admitted to have been a recent deposit, we may pause 
 before concluding that a deposit contrary to all other 
 
 • GeoL Trans., N. S., vol. iii., pt. 2.
 
 430 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 observations of fossil bones should have occurred in any 
 tertiary formation.* 
 
 In the time of Cuvier, at least before the completion 
 of his great work, our knowledge was so scanty of the 
 fossil osteology of the East, that we doubt if any allusion 
 to it is ever made by him. Three most important con- 
 tributions to this branch of science have since extended 
 our knowledge in that direction, and a rich addition 
 may soon be expected from Mr. Chft's labours upon a 
 large recent arrival. 
 
 The first was by my excellent friend Mr. Craufurd, 
 who, travelling in the Burman empire, was fortunate 
 enough to discover a great number of fossil remains near 
 the river Irawadi. These he generously gave to the 
 Geological Society, and Mr. Clift proceeded to examine 
 them with his wonted assiduity and skill. Among them 
 were traced two new species of mastodon, in addition to 
 the M. gigas, and M. angustidens, of Cuvier. One is 
 termed by Mr. Clift, Latidens, from the breadth of his 
 jaw teeth ; and the bones of his face exceed in size those 
 of the largest Indian elephant. The other he calls M. 
 Elephantoides, because his teeth approach much nearer 
 the elephant's than those of Cuvier's species, or of the 
 Latidens. This animal appears to have been smaller 
 than the elephant. A hippopotamus smaller than the 
 living animal, a rhinoceros, a tapir, and others, have 
 also been traced among these remains, as have a new 
 lizard near the garial, and a crocodile near the common 
 aniraal.f 
 
 The second of these discoveries was made on the 
 north-east border of Bengal, at Carivari, near the 
 Brahmaputra river. The remains were examined by 
 Mr. Pentland. He traced a new species of anthraco- 
 
 * I have lately seen an appearance of a stratum of calcareous matter, 
 which a cursory observer would certainly have supposed to be a natural 
 deposit in the ground ; but its history was known from some rubbish 
 through which lime had filtered, when part of Buckingham House was 
 built, and there were bricks, tiles, ifec, underneath it. 
 
 f Geol. Trans., N. S., vol. ii., pt. 3.
 
 cuvier's successors. 431 
 
 theriutn, which he calls SiUcestre, a new carnivorous 
 animal of the woazel tribe, and a pachydermatous 
 animal much smaller than any liitherto known, either 
 livincj or fossil.* 
 
 The third and most remarkable of these collections 
 is one discovered in the Markanda valley, and the 
 Sivahk branch of the Himalaya mountains, in the year 
 1835. The curiosity of naturalists in India was im- 
 mediately roused, and their industry directed towards 
 the subject with that ardour which the relaxation of a 
 sultry climate never abates, and that combined perse- 
 verance and ahihty which has ever marked the great 
 men of our Eastern settlements. Dr. Falconer and 
 Captain Cautley have chiefly signalized themselves in 
 this worthy pursuit ; valuable aid has likewise been 
 rendered by Lieut. Durand ; and the result of their 
 labours occupies one-half of the ' Asiatic Researches for 
 1836.' They found first of all a new animal, of the 
 ruminating class, whose skull is the size of a large 
 elephant's, and which has two horns rising in a peculiar 
 manner from between the orbits, with an orifice of 
 great breadth and an extraordinary rising of the bones 
 of the nose. They gave it the name of Sivafhermm, 
 from the place of its discovery, dedicated to the deity 
 Siva. The breadth of the skull is twenty-two inches. 
 Dr. Buckland has no doubt that it must have had a 
 trunk, something intermediate between the clopliant's 
 and tapir's. They next found a hippopotamus of a new 
 species, distinguished by having six incisive teeth, and 
 a skull materially different from the other species, 
 whether living or extinct. A new species of tiger was 
 also discovered, which they called Felis Crintata, dis- 
 tinguished chiefly by the great height of the occipital 
 bone. In the same place with these bones were found 
 remains of the mastodon, and other known species of 
 extinct animals ; but the most interesting discovery was 
 
 • Geol. Trans., N. P., vol. ii., pt. 3.
 
 432 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 that of a camel, of which the skull and jaw were found. 
 It is to be observed that no decisive proof of any of the 
 Camehdae, either camel, dromedary, or llama, had ever 
 been hitherto found among fossil bones, although Cuvier 
 had proved certain teeth brought from Siberia to be 
 undoubtedly of this family, if they were really fossil, 
 which he doubted. This discovery in India was there- 
 fore extremely interesting, as supplying a wanting 
 genus. But for this very reason it became the more 
 necessary to authenticate the position of this supposed 
 camel's remains the more clearly, especially as there 
 were abundance of existing camels in the country, which 
 there could not be in Siberia. The Indian account is 
 somewhat deficient in this respect, leaving us in doubt 
 whether the bones admitted to bear a very close re- 
 semblance to the living species, were found in a stratum, 
 or loose and detached.* 
 
 Besides all these additions to our knowledge of 
 species and genera, two remarkable observations or 
 sets of observations have been first made by osteolo- 
 gists since the time of Cuvier. The one of these is the 
 tracing of footsteps, the print of which has been left by 
 animals upon the sand, or other material of the strata, 
 while in a soft state. The other is Dr. Buckland's 
 study of the intestines from their fossil contents, which 
 he has called coprolites.'\ The first of these curious 
 inquiries is conducted by observing the impressions 
 which the softer and more destructible parts of animals, 
 whose very race has been extinct for ages, made upon 
 the earthy strata of a former world ; it is the object of 
 the other inquiry to ascertain from the petrified faeces 
 bearing the impress of the alimentary canal, the internal 
 structure of extinct animals ; and both subjects are cer- 
 tainly calculated powerfully to arrest our attention. 
 
 * Asiatic Researches, vol. xix. pt. 1. — Still more recently, it is said, a 
 bone of the genus Simia has been found in the Sivalik Hills, and another 
 in digging at Calcutta ; but the particulars are unknown to me. 
 
 t KoT^o;, faeces ; yi^os, stone.
 
 cuvier's successors. 433 
 
 The footsteps, it appears, were first observed by my 
 reverend and learned friend. Dr. Duncan (to whom the 
 country is also so deeply indebted as the author of 
 savings banks), in Dumfriesshire. On examining a 
 sandstone quarry, where the strata lay one over the 
 other, or rather against the other, for they had a dip 
 of forty-five degrees, he found these prints not on one 
 but on many successive layers of the stone ; so that 
 tliey must have been made at distant periods from each 
 other, but when the strata were forming at the bottom 
 of the sea. No bones whatever have been found in 
 those quarries. Similar impressions, though of smaller 
 animals, have been observed in the Forest marble beds 
 near Bath. The marks found in Dumfriesshire, of 
 which there were as many as twenty-four on a single 
 slab, formed as it were a regular track with six distinct 
 repetitions of each foot, the fore and hind feet having 
 left diiferent impressions, and the marks of the claws 
 being discernible. They appear to have been made by 
 some animal of the tortoise kind.* But similar marks 
 have since been found in other parts of the world. At 
 Hessberg, in Saxony, they have been discovered in 
 quarries of grey and red sandstone alternating ; the 
 marks are much larger than those in Scotland, and 
 more distinct. In one the hind foot measures twelve 
 inches in length, and the fore foot is always much 
 smaller than the hind. From this circumstance, and 
 from the distance between the two being only fourteen 
 inches, it is conjectured that the animal was a marsupial, 
 like the kansaroo. But one of the most remarkable 
 circumstances observed is, that the upper stratum has 
 convex marks answering to the concavity of the lower 
 slab on which it rests, clearly showing that the former 
 was deposited soft after the latter had been first printed 
 by the foot in a soft state and then somewhat hardened. 
 Dr. Kaup has termed the large unknown animal Chiro- 
 
 * Edin- E. S. Trans., 1828. 
 VOL. VI. 2 I
 
 434 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 therium,* from the supposed resemblance of the four 
 toes and turned-out thumb to a hand. In the summer 
 of 1838 simihar footsteps of the chh'otherium, and of 
 four or five small lizards and tortoises, with petrified 
 vegetables of a reedy kind, have been observed in the 
 new red stone at Storeton Hill quarry in Cheshire, near 
 Liverpool. A discovery has within the last two years 
 been made in the state of Connecticut, near North- 
 ampton, where the footsteps of various birds, differing 
 exceedingly in size, are found in inclined strata of sand- 
 stone, and evidently made before it assumed its present 
 position. The marks are always in pairs, and the tracks 
 cross each other like those of ducks on the margin of 
 a muddy pond. One is the length of fifteen or sixteen 
 inches, and a feathery spur or appendage appears to 
 have been attached to the heel, eight or nine inches 
 long, for the purpose of enlarging the foot's surface, 
 and, like a snow-shoe, prevent the animal's weight from 
 sinking it too deep. The distance between the steps is 
 proportioned to their length, but in every case the pace 
 appears to have been longer than that of the existing 
 species of birds to which they approach nearest, the 
 ostrich. Consequently, the animal must have been taller 
 in proportion to his size. How much larger he was 
 than the ostrich may be gathered from this, that the 
 large African ostrich has only a foot of ten inches long, 
 less than two-thirds of this bird, and yet stands nine 
 feet high. These proportions would give a height of 
 fourteen feet to the extinct animal. Some of the foot- 
 steps in the Storeton Hill quarry are eighteen inches 
 in leno-th. In the Forest marble of Bath the foot- 
 marks of small marine animals are descried. 
 
 In examining the inside of the ichthyosaurus, the 
 half- dioested bones of the animals on which these 
 ravenous creatures preyed are found in large masses. 
 But there are also scattered in great abundance among 
 
 * Xiif, hand.
 
 cuvier's successors. 435 
 
 their fossil remains the feces which they voided ; and 
 these being in a petrified state have preserved the very 
 form of the intestines in minute detail. The fa?cal 
 matter is generally disposed in folds, wrapt round a 
 central axis spirally. Some of these coprolites exhibit 
 tlie appearance of contortion, and show that the in- 
 testines of the animal were spirally twisted; others, 
 especially the smaller ones, give no such indications. 
 The scales and bones of the prey are distinctly to be 
 traced in the mass ; these are the remains, undigested, 
 of contemporary fishes and reptiles, including smaller 
 ones of the beast's own tribe, on which he appears to 
 have fed, as well as on other species. The light which 
 these coprolites throw upon the structure of the animal's 
 intestinal canal is suflSeientlv remarkable. The intes- 
 tmes are proved to have been formed hke an Archi- 
 medes screw, so that the aliment in passing through 
 was exposed within the smallest space to the largest 
 surface of absorbent vessels, and thus drained of all its 
 juices, as we find in the digestive process of living 
 animals. The similar structure of the intestinal canal 
 in the sharks and dogfish now existing has been noticed 
 by naturalists ; and Dr. Paley expressly refers to it as 
 making compensation by its spiral passage for its being 
 straight, and consequently short, compared with the 
 intestinal passage in other animals. We also can dis- 
 tinctly trace in these coprolites the size and form of the 
 folds of the mucous membrane that lined the intestines, 
 and of the vessels which ran alono; its surface. As there 
 is no part of the animal frame more easily destructible 
 than the raucous membrane and its vessels, the ]ire- 
 scrvation of its casts is certainly a peculiar felicity 
 for the physiologist. Similar observations have, since 
 Dr. Buckland's discovery, been made upon the copro- 
 lites of fossil fishes, in the Lyme Regis lias, in Sussex, 
 in Staffbrdshiro, and n^ar Kdinburn'h. In some places 
 they take so fine a polish that laj)idaries have used 
 them for cutting into ornamental wares. One of tho
 
 436 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 most singular coprolites was found by Lord Greenock (an 
 assiduous and successful cultivator of natural science) 
 between the laminae of a block of coal near Edin- 
 burgh, and surrounded with the scales of a fish recog- 
 nized by Professor Agassiz as of contemporary origin. 
 To these observations a very curious addition has been 
 made by the Professor, who found that the worm-like 
 bodies described by Count Miinster, in the lithographic 
 slate of Solenhofen, are in fact the petrified intestines 
 of fishes, and he has also found the same tortuous 
 bodies occupying their ordinary position between the 
 ribs in some fossil remains. He has named them Coleo- 
 lites ;* and certainly the representation given of them 
 in the drawing resembles an actual intestine as accu- 
 rately as if it were the portrait of it. 
 
 When Cuvier abandoned to Professor Agassiz the 
 whole department of Fossil Ichthyology, he showed as 
 happy and just a discernment of living character as he 
 ever displayed in the arrangement and appropriation 
 of animal remains. That admirable person has amply 
 earned the honour thus bestowed on him by devoting 
 his life to this extensive, obscure, and diflacult study. 
 The results of his laborious researches have been from 
 time to time published in a great work upon fossil 
 fishes ; but as the arrangement followed as yet in the 
 pubHcation necessarily leaves the several parts incom- 
 plete, a distinct and satisfactory view of the whole can- 
 not be formed until the work is finished. Some of the 
 discoveries, however, which bear upon the subject of 
 our present inquiries may be shortly described. The 
 importance of the study to fossil geology is manifest 
 from this, that the class of fishes being continued 
 through the successive periods of the diiferent for- 
 mations, while those of land animals are confined each 
 within certain limits, and the fishes being also inhabi- 
 tants of those waters in which all the aqueous deposits 
 
 * KaXev, the great intestine.
 
 cuvier's successors. 437 
 
 once were contained, we are enabled by Fossil Ichthy- 
 ology, through various periods of the earth's formation, 
 to pursue the comparison of a vertebrated animars con- 
 dition in each stage. 
 
 The Professor's classification is founded upon the 
 form of the scales. Avhich are adapted to the structure 
 of each tribe, and afford a perfectly scientific principle 
 of arrangement. He thus divides the whole into four 
 orders : — the Placo'ideans* whose scales are irregular 
 enamel plates more frequently broad, but varying in 
 dimensions down to a point or prickle ; the Gano'i- 
 deans,^ with angular scales of bone or horn thickly 
 enamelled and shining ; the Cteno'ideans,^ with comb- 
 like scales having a jagged edge and no enamel ;§ the 
 C}/cloldeans,\\ whose scales are smooth at the edge, 
 and composed of horn and bone, but unenamelled.1l 
 
 There were in all 8,000 species of fish enumerated 
 by Cuvier, of which more than three-fourths, or 6,000, 
 belong to the two last classes, and no one of either of 
 these classes has ever been found in any formation an- 
 terior to the chalk ; so that the whole of these 6,000 
 kinds of fish have, to all appearance, been called into 
 existence at a period long after the primitive, the 
 transition, and all but the latest secondary formations. 
 On the other hand, and in the earlier times of the 
 secondary and transition strata, there existed species of 
 the other two orders, which have comparatively few 
 representatives surviving to our days. The Professor 
 has thoroughly examined 800 fossil species of these two 
 orders, and finds not a single exception to the rule 
 thus laid down for the relation between difl^"crent spe- 
 cies of animals and successive formations of strata.** 
 His deductions received further corroboration by the 
 examination of 250 species, all of new and extinct 
 
 • nxa|, a tablet or plate. t ra»»f. brilliancy. 
 X Krus, a comb. § Perch bc^lmij; to this class. 
 
 II KuxXo;, a circle. ^ Salmoti :in<l iiorriiif; arc of this class. 
 
 •• Rapport eur les I'oissons Fossiles, 1835, p. M.
 
 438 UESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 fishes, submitted to him in England, and which were, 
 for the most part, found in this country. The analogy 
 in this respect between the results of Fossil Ichthyology 
 and those of Cuvier's Researches is striking through- 
 out. In the lower deposits of the lias there are found 
 the remains of the great sauroid fishes analogous to the 
 fossil lizards of the same strata. More than two-thirds 
 of the fishes found in the chalk strata are of genera 
 now extinct. These extinct genera, however, of the 
 newest secondary strata approach more nearly to the 
 fishes of the tertiary strata than the fishes found in the 
 oolite or Jurassic formation ; insomuch that the Pro- 
 fessor is disposed to range the chalk and greensand 
 nearer to the tertiary than secondary formations on 
 this account. Not a single genus even of those whose 
 species are found in the Jurassic deposits is now known 
 among existing fishes ; nor is there a single species, 
 and but few genera common to the chalk, and the 
 older tertiary strata. A third of those found in the 
 strata of the later tertiary formation, as the London 
 clay and the coarse limestone of the Paris Basin, are 
 of extinct genera. The Norfolk crag and upper sub- 
 appenine formation have, for the most part, genera 
 found in the tropical seas ; the tertiary formation 
 generally approaches nearest to our living species, but 
 the Professor affirms that, except one small fish, found 
 in modern concretions on the coast of Greenland, not a 
 single species exactly the same with those of our seas 
 is to be found in a petrified state. This continued 
 analogy is very important in a geological view. 
 
 In a zoological view it would be endless to attempt 
 any analysis of the Professor's researches. Among 
 the extinct species no less than 150 belonged to the 
 family of sharks, whose services, in keeping down the 
 increase, naturally so rapid, of fishes, have been re- 
 quired in all ages of the ocean. Different kinds of 
 shark, however, appear to have belonged to different 
 periods. Of the three sub-families into which the
 
 coder's successors. 439 
 
 Professor divides the great class of sharks, the first is 
 found in the earhest period of organic remains, the 
 transition strata, and continues till the beginning of 
 the tertiary, but there is now only one species of it 
 existing, and that is found in New Holland. The 
 second sub-family begins probably with the coal for- 
 mations, and ceases when the chalk commences. The 
 third begins with the chalk, and continues down 
 through the tertiary formation to the present time. The 
 form as well as the size of the extinct species differ in 
 most things materially from the living, and in no respect 
 do they vary more than in their covering or scales. 
 
 As the coprohtes enable us to ascertain the interior 
 structure of the extinct reptiles, so do they throw light 
 upon that of fishes also, those especially of the sauroid 
 or lizard-hke kind. We have even instances of their 
 intestines being partially preserved by some fortunate 
 accident. An example near Solenhofen has been men- 
 tioned already. A specimen was found in Sussex, 
 Avhere the stomach, with its different membranes, was 
 i-etained. In a number of fishes found in the Isle of 
 Sheppy the bony capsule of the eye was found entire ; 
 and in some other instances the plates forming the gills 
 or branchia) are perceivable. 
 
 It thus appears that great and important additions 
 have been made to this interesting science since Cuvicr, 
 who may properly be termed its founder, ceased from 
 his labours. But it would not be proper to pass from 
 a consideration of the services rendered by his succes- 
 sors, without making mention of one illustrious inquirer, 
 a man of truly original genius, who preceded him by a 
 few years. John Hunter, whose unrivalled sagacity 
 seemed destined to cast a strong light upon whatever 
 walk of science he trod, had turned his attention, as 
 early as 1793, to fossil bones, in consequence of a 
 collection sent to this country by the Margrave of 
 Anspach. He described and commented upon them 
 in detail with his wonted acutcness; he adopted the
 
 440 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 same safe and natural course which Cuvier afterwards 
 pursued with such signal success, of examining the 
 known bones of existing species as well as those sub- 
 mitted to his consideration ; and it appears, from some 
 of his concluding remarks, that he perceived distinctly 
 enough the specific difference of the fossil animals, at 
 least of some among them. Thus, having compared 
 the fossil skull of a supposed bear with that of a white 
 bear which he had procured from the owner of the 
 animal while alive, he gives an accurate drawing of 
 both, and marks their diversities, indicating his opinion 
 that the fossil animal differed from all known carni- 
 vorous animals.* Who does not perceive that he was 
 on the right track, and would have reaped a plentiful 
 harvest of discovery, had he devoted himself to the 
 general investigation of the subject?! 
 
 II. The speculations of succeeding zoologists or com- 
 parative physiologists have not only made no impression 
 upon the anatomical results of Cuvier's inquiries, but 
 they never appear to have been pointed towards that 
 object. Considering the numberless instances in which 
 he had to draw his conclusions or to form his con- 
 jectures from a very imperfect collection of facts, it is 
 wonderful how constantly the fuller materials of his 
 followers have confirmed his inferences. But geological 
 inquirers have occasionally impugned his doctrines re- 
 specting the relation of the classes of animals to the 
 successive formations of the strata that incrust our 
 globe. It has been denied by some that any such 
 relation at all can be truly said to exist. There seems, 
 however, no possibility of maintaining this position, 
 whether we agree wholly with Cuvier or not in the 
 detail of his statements. For the fact is undeniable 
 
 * Phil. Trans., 1794, p. 411. 
 
 f In the Hunteriaii Museum there is a large collection of fossil organic 
 remains, selected with consummate skill, and showing the attention 
 bestowed by this great man on the most delicate parts of organization 
 which they exemplify.
 
 CrV'IER S SUCCESSORS. 441 
 
 tliat some strata, let them have heen arranged in 
 Avhatever succession, formed and placed by whatever 
 causes, contain the remains of certain classes of animals 
 which are not to be found in other strata. It is another 
 fact equally indisputable, that no animals now exist of 
 the same kind with the greater part of those found in 
 any of the strata. This appears to connect the dif- 
 ferent races of animals with the different strata. But 
 it is said that this is not a chronological connexion, 
 and affords no evidence of strata having been formed 
 rather in one age than another. If it were so, there 
 still would remain a foundation for the position which 
 merely affirms a relation between organic remains and 
 strata. But is it true ? The principal reason assigned 
 is, that although no animals of a certain kind are found 
 in certain strata, supposing those strata to have been 
 formed at a given period, the animals of the kind in 
 question may have perished so as not to have been 
 w^ashed into the sea or other water in which the earthy 
 matter was mixed, and from which it was deposited. 
 Now, not to mention that this bare possibihty becomes 
 improbable in the degree in which the facts are mul- 
 tiphed and the observations of animals and strata 
 extended, the researches respecting fossil fishes seem 
 to negative the objection entirely. For if the different 
 strata were made by the sea, and contain totally dif- 
 ferent remains of marine animals, it is clear that each 
 must have been formed respectively in a sea inhabited 
 by different animal tribes. The strict parallelism, too, 
 which is observed between the connexion of different 
 races of animals and that of fishes with different strata, 
 lends the strongest confirmation to Cuvier's doctrines. 
 
 Ingenious and laborious attempts have been made 
 to show, that though many races of animals are now 
 wholly extinct, the evidence fails to prove the non- 
 existence of any race (except our own) at a preceding 
 period; in other words, to disprove the proposition 
 that many of the present races came for the first time
 
 442 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 into existence at a period subsequent to the time when 
 we know that others existed, always excepting the 
 human race, which it is admitted we have sufficient 
 reason to beheve did not exist in the earher stages of 
 the globe's formation. It cannot, however, be denied, 
 first, that the extinction of many races of animals, 
 which is admitted, affords a ground of itself for think- 
 ing it probable that new ones should be found to supply 
 their places ; secondly, that there seems nearly as little 
 reason to regard the utter extinction of some classes as 
 more improbable than the formation of others ; thirdly, 
 that the admitted creation of man destroys the whole 
 support which the objection might derive from a sup- 
 posed uniformity of natural causes, always acting, and 
 removes the difficulty said to exist, of assuming different 
 sets of principles to be in action at different periods of 
 the world ; fourthly, that the great number of facts 
 which have been observed, all pointing uniformly in 
 one direction, cannot be got over by suggesting mere 
 possibihties for explanations. The improbability is 
 extreme of one set of animals having existed at the 
 same age with another set, when we find certain strata 
 having the traces of the former without any of the 
 latter, and vice versa. This improbability increases in 
 proportion to the number of the species. If these 
 exceed hundreds, and even amount to many thousands, 
 the improbability becomes so great as to reach what, 
 in common language, we term a moral impossibihty. 
 Now, there are 6,000 kinds of fishes, of which not one 
 specimen is to be found in any of the formations pre- 
 ceding the chalk. But suppose we lay out of view all 
 question of one formation being older than another, 
 there are certain strata in which none of those species 
 are found. There is no disposition to deny that these 
 strata were formed in the water ; therefore, at whatever 
 time they were suspended in the water, that water at 
 that time contained none of those 6,000 kinds which 
 now people it. Then from whence did they all come
 
 co'ier's successors. 443 
 
 if they existed at that period, and yet were not in the 
 water when the strata were formed ? But it is equally 
 admitted that the water in those days contained many 
 other kinds of tish now extinct, and found only in 
 certain strata, and it contained some few which we find 
 in other strata, and some which are still to be found 
 in the sea. Can anvtliincr be more gratuitous than to 
 suppose that all the fishes of a certain class were 
 destroyed at the formation of those strata, while all 
 those of another class were afterwards brought from a 
 different part of the sea to succeed the last ones, and a 
 certain small number survived to mix Avith other strata, 
 or even to last till now ? 
 
 The only sound objection that can be taken to the 
 theory, is that to which the absolute assertion of the 
 fact is liable. We can easily ascertain that certain 
 species are no longer to be found living on the globe. 
 But we may not be so well able to affirm with certainty 
 that certain fossil genera of one formation may not 
 hereafter be found in another, or, which is the same 
 fact in another form, that certain living species may 
 not be traced among fossil remains. Thus the small 
 family of the camel was wanting: in all our fossil col- 
 lections till the late discoveries in the Himalaya moun- 
 tains have made it probable that a species of this class 
 may be found to have existed there with the mastodon 
 and other extinct mammalia. This is possible, perhaps 
 likely. So an ape's jaw is supposed for the first time 
 to have been found in a fossil bed in France with other 
 races, and no quadrumane had ever been before traced 
 in any part of the fossil world. The proof of this 
 discovery is, however, as yet involved in some doubt, 
 and even were it more precise, we should only have 
 two instances in which the negative evidence had failed, 
 leaving a multitude of others, hundreds of land and 
 thousands of sea animals, of which no representatives 
 are to be traced among the fossil remains of any 
 country. It must always be recollected that the whole
 
 444 EESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 argument rests upon probability, more or less high. 
 Even as regards the admitted non-existence of the 
 human species, the mere evidence of osteological re- 
 searches is not demonstrative ; for although it is quite 
 certain that among the thousands of animal remains 
 which have been discovered and carefully examined, 
 not a fragment of a human bone is to be found, it is 
 barely possible that in some deposits as yet unexplored 
 the skeleton of a man may be discovered. We have 
 at present only to make our inference square with the 
 facts ; to affirm that, as far as our knowledge extends, 
 there is no such relic of our race in the earlier strata 
 of the globe ; and to conclude that, considering the 
 extent of past inquiries, the regularity of the connexion 
 between other races of different kinds and various 
 strata, and the portions of the earth over which our 
 researches have been carried the very strong presump- 
 tion is against any such contradictory discovery being 
 hereafter made. 
 
 III. Whatever opinion men may form upon the ques- 
 tion raised by some antagonists of Cuvier's geological 
 doctrines, all must allow that considerable light has 
 been thrown upon the subject of discussion by their 
 labours. Indeed a considerable addition to our knoAv- 
 ledge has been made by some of these able and learned 
 men, even admitting that they have failed to impugn 
 the theory, and taking the facts which they have 
 ascertained as forming an addition, by no means in- 
 consistent with it. Thus the valuable work of Mr. 
 Lyell has, in two essential respects, greatly advanced 
 geological knowledge. He has examined, with a much 
 more minute attention than had ever before been given 
 to the subject, the action of the physical agents actually 
 at work before our eyes, and has shown how extensively 
 these may operate upon the structure of the earth's 
 surface. It may be admitted, perhaps, that Cuvier 
 had somewhat underrated their power, although the 
 reader may still retain his opinion, that the force
 
 cttv^ier's successors. 445 
 
 ascribed from the facts to those ordinary pliysical 
 powers is inadequate to produce the effects whit-h tlic 
 phenomena present ; that all the violent and sudden 
 actions known on the globe are topical, being confined 
 within comparatively narrow limits, and that the sup- 
 position of sudden and even instantaneous change on a 
 vast scale in former periods has been too ligbtly taken 
 up. Indeed, unless we suppose such changes as might 
 happen from the disruption of a continent united by a 
 small neck of land, like that which may be found once 
 to have joined Gibraltar and Ccuta, it seems hard to 
 imagine how a tract of country, extending from Hol- 
 land to beyond the Caspian, and from Scandinavia to 
 the Carpathian mountains, could be drained of the sea, 
 which certainly once covered it, or, having still more 
 anciently been"^dry, could have been laid under water.* 
 But a much more important service has been ren- 
 dered by Mr. LyeU's comparison between the chfferent 
 formations of the tertiary class; and although it is 
 with unavoidable distrust of himself that any one little 
 versed in geological science should venture to speak, it 
 should seem that the division which he has thus suc- 
 ceeded in tracing of the tertiary period, may stand well 
 with the previous system of Cuvier, and be received as 
 a fact independent of the controverted matter with 
 which it has been connected. With the important aid 
 of several eminent conchologists, but especially of j\Ir. 
 Deshayes, he examined the numbers of testaceous 
 animals traced in different formations; and finding 
 that in some strata the proportion of shells of living 
 species was very different from others, he distributed 
 the strata of this tertiary period into three classes 
 accordingly ; the earliest bein^ those which contained 
 the fewest of our living species. The latest of the 
 three periods into which he thus subdivides the tertiary 
 
 * In Mr. Whewell's learned work on the History of the Inductive 
 Sciencps, there are some acute and important remarks on the two theories, 
 that of Uuifurm Action, aud that of Catasliuplicd. 13. xviii., c. 8.
 
 446 RESEARCHES ON FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 era he calls pliocene,* or more recent ; the next before 
 miocene,'\ or less recent ; the earliest eocene, "^ or dawn 
 ing. Seventeen species of shells are common to tli^ 
 three divisions, of which thirteen still exist and four 
 are extinct. In the pliocene the proportion of existing 
 shells always exceeds one-third, and usually approaches 
 one-half of the whole found. In the miocene, the exist- 
 ing shells fall considerably short of one-half, that is, 
 the extinct species preponderate ; indeed, of 1,021 ex- 
 amined, less than a fifth were existing. There are 196 
 common to this and the last period, of which 82 are 
 extinct. In the eocene period, the proportion of exist- 
 ino; shells is much smaller, not exceeding three and a- 
 half per cent. ; and there are only 42 common to this 
 and the miocene. In the Paris Basin 1,122 species 
 have been found, of which only 38 are now known as 
 living. 
 
 The theory of Cuvier and Brongniart respecting the 
 successive formations in the Paris Basin, appears to re- 
 quire some modification in consequence of more recent 
 examination. They considered that upon the chalk 
 there was laid, first a fresh water formation of clay, 
 lignite, and sandstone ; then a marine formation of 
 coarse limestone ; and then upon that a second fresh 
 water formation of siliceous hmestone, gypsum, and marl. 
 The researches of Mr. Constant Prevost seem to show 
 that instead of these three successive formations, there 
 were laid on the chalk a clay formation of fresh water 
 origin, and then upon that, contemporaneously, three 
 others, in different parts of the same Basin, namely, 
 a fresh water formation of siliceous limestone, another 
 of gypsum, and a marine formation of coarse limestone. 
 In the rest of the series the two theories coincide. 
 
 It must, however, be observed that the more im- 
 portant doctrines of Fossil Osteology, even as regards 
 their connexion with the history and structure of the 
 
 * 
 
 UX'.iuv, more, and Kaivos, recent. 
 j miuii, less. J Ha;, dawn.
 
 ctjvier's successors. 447 
 
 :lobe, do not necessarily depend upon the opinions 
 Iwhich may be entertained of the more controverted 
 I points of geological theory, while the science of com- 
 parative anatomy exists alone, self-contained and in- 
 dependent of geology. But all must agree in admitting 
 the important service which Osteology has rendered to 
 geological inquiries, and in rejoicing at the influence 
 which it has had upon those who pursue such specu- 
 lations, in promoting a more careful study of facts, 
 and recommending a wise postponement of theoretical 
 reasoning, until the season arrives when a suflicient 
 foundation for induction shall have been laid by the 
 patient observer.
 
 448 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOSSIL OSTEOLOGY. 
 
 Note I. 
 As some learned men are satisfied with the proofs of an ape's jaw-bone 
 having been found at Sansan, in the south-west of France, and an astra- 
 galus of the same genus in the Sivalik hills, it is very possible that this 
 genus may be added to those found in the strata of the Miocene period ; 
 for it is on]}' in the more recent formations that these remains are exposed 
 to exist. That the}' should be found in any of the Pliocene formations is 
 in a high degree improbable; and even then we have only got to the 
 middle of the Tertiary period. No one contends that in the earlier forma- 
 tions any such remains are to be traced. 
 
 But in case any objection should be raised to the argument in the text, 
 upon the supposition that, because quadrumanous animals were supposed 
 by Cu\'ier not to be traceable in any but the present portions of the globe's 
 crust, therefore human remains may likewise hereafter be found in earlier 
 formations, we may remark that, even if they were, contrary to every pro- 
 bability, there found, no one pretends to expect such remains in those 
 strata where no mammalia of any kind have been discovered ; and the 
 argument in the text is wholly independent of the particular period at 
 which the non-existence of our race is admitted. These considerations 
 are fit to be borne in mind, since learned men, like Mr. Schmerling, are 
 inclined to think that some human bones found in the same caves with 
 the remains of hyaenas and other animals, are of contemporaneous origin. 
 The great majority of geologists, however, refer the animals in question to 
 the last geological era before the creation of man. 
 
 Note II. 
 
 The state of rapid and solid advancement in which the science of Palseon- 
 tology now is, may make the sunnnary of its doctrines in any one j-ear 
 little applicable to the next. The notes to the Analysis of Cuvier, and 
 the subsequent account of the labours of his successors, may serve to show 
 what inhabitants of tlie former surface of the earth are at present within 
 our knowledge. But with respect to the two important classes of ichthyo- 
 saurus and plesiosaurus, the following abstract will prove convenient to 
 the student who would compare the present state of our information upon 
 these two fossil genera at present with what it was when Cuvier wrote. 
 Nothing can better exhibit the rate, as it were, at which this science has 
 been advancing. I am indebted to my learned, able, and excellent friend, 
 Mr. Greenough, for this summary, which will be found to be marked with 
 the accuracy, the clearness, and the conciseness which distinguish all his 
 productions : — 
 
 ICHTHYOSAURUS. 
 
 1. Communis, Cuvier, vol. ii. Lias — England and Wurtemberg. 
 
 2. Coniformis, (See Journal of Acad, of Philadelphia.) Not known 
 
 to Cuvier. Lias — Batb
 
 GENERAL NOTE. 449 
 
 3. Grandipe?, (Geol. Prnc, 1830.) Xot known to Cuvier. 
 
 4. Intermedius, Lias — England and Wurtemberg. 
 
 5. Platyodon, Lias — England and Wurtemberg. 
 
 6. Tenuirostris, Lias — England and Wurtemberg. 
 
 7. Ichthyosaurus,... Kimmeridge clay. 
 
 8. Ichthyosaurus,... Muschelkalk — Luneville and Mannsfield. 
 
 PLESIOSADKUS. 
 
 1. Goldfussii, Quarries of Solenhofen. Not known to Cuvier. 
 
 2. Carinatus, Lias — England and Boulogne. 
 
 3. Dohchodeirus, ...Muschelkalk — Germany; and lias — England. 
 
 4. Pentagonus, Jura beds — France. 
 
 5. Profundus, Variegated sandstone — Jura. Not known to Cuvier. 
 
 6. Recentior, Kimmeridge clay. 
 
 7. Trigonus, Calvados — North of France. 
 
 8. Trigonus, Cuvier, vol. ii., p. 4.86. Lias, probably. 
 
 GENERAL NOTE RESPECTING EVIDENCES OF 
 
 DESIGN. 
 
 A LI. the inquiries in which we have been engaged lead to one conclusion 
 of great importance. Notwithstanding the progress which has been made 
 in various sciences, the things which have been discovered and ascertained 
 bear an infinitely small proportion to those of which we are still either 
 wholly ignorant, or imperfectly and dubiously informed. In a vast variety 
 of instances, design and intelligence have been traced — instances so well 
 deserdng to be called innumerable, that we are entitled to believe in con- 
 trivance as the universally prevailing rule, and we never hesitate so to 
 conclude. But the mode and manner of the working is stUl, in a prodigious 
 number of cases, concealed from us ; and we are entitled to infer that 
 numberless things which now seem irregular, that is arranged according to 
 no fixed rule, are nevertheless really disposed in an order which we have 
 not discovered, which would, if we knew all, be as complete as that ob- 
 served and traced in the cases known to us. Thus the regular working of 
 bees, which we have been examining, is reducible to certain known rules ; 
 the figures formed by them are, in all their relations, familiar to mathe- 
 maticians. The problems of maxima and minima, on the solution of which 
 those operations proceed, may have parallels in the case of other animals ; 
 it is not at all improbable that the beaver forms his dike for protection 
 against the water upon some such principle, namely, of the form which ia 
 better than any other conceivable form calculated to oppose a solid re- 
 sistance to the pressure of water." It appears probable that the works of 
 
 • The ba-se of tlie dike being 12, the top 3 feet thick, and the height C feet, the 
 face is the side of a right angled triangle, whose height is S feet; ami if the materials 
 were lighter than water in the proportion of 44: 100, this construction would lie the 
 best one conceivable to prevent the dam from turning round. liut the form flatter 
 than that which would best serve this purpose when the materials are heavier tliau 
 water, is probably taken to prevent the dam Iroui being shoved fomard. 
 
 VOL. VI, 2 O
 
 450 GENERAL NOTE. 
 
 spiders in concentric circles, and along their radii, are also regularly- 
 arranged in known figures, and upon similar principles. Manj- of the 
 parts of plants wear the semblance of regular and symmetrical curve 
 lines, insomuch that a mathematician once presented a paper to the Royal 
 Society (on some propositions in the higher get nietry), which he entitled, 
 from the form of the lines investigated, ' Fasciculus Florum Geometricorum.' 
 The orbits in which the heavenly bodies move, come manifestly within the 
 same remark still more certainly ; for the forms of those paths, the relation 
 of all their points to given straight lines, is in a great degree ascertained. 
 But it seems very reasonable to conclude, that the small number of such 
 regular figures which the state of science in its various branches has as yet 
 enabled us to trace, is as nothing compared with those figures still so un- 
 known to us, that in common speech we talk of them as irregular, while 
 this is only a word, like chance, implj'ing our own ignorance. 
 
 For the mathematical sciences, extraordinary' as the progress already 
 made may be reckoned, with regard to the difficulty of the subject, and 
 the imperfect faculties of man, are most probably still in their infancy. 
 Of the infinite variety of curve lines, we know but a very few with any 
 particularity, to say nothing of our equal ignorance (connected with the 
 former) of most of the laws of complex motion. In the parts of animal 
 and vegetable bodies, especially of the larger kind, there are few sym- 
 metrical forms observed ; greater convenience, in the former instance at 
 least, is evidently attained by other shapes. Yet there seems no reason to 
 doubt that all the forms which we see may be in reality jjerfectly regular, 
 that is, that each outline is a curve, or portion of a curve, related to some 
 axis, so that each of its parts shall bear the same relation to lines similarly 
 drawn from it to this axis, which all its other jjoints do. If we know 
 little of algebraical curves, vre know still less of those whose structure is 
 not expressible by the relations of straight lines and numbers, the class 
 called mechanical or transcendental, the forms of some of which are very 
 extraordinary, but all whose points are related together by the same law. 
 There is every reason to expect that the further progress of science will 
 imfold to us much more of the principles upon which the forms of matter, 
 both organic and inorganic, are disposed, so that the order pervading the 
 system may be far more clearly perceived. 
 
 So of motion — In one most important branch, dynamics is still in its 
 infancy ; we know little or nothing of the minute motions by which the 
 particles of matter are arranged, when bodies act chemically on each other. 
 Even respecting the motions of fluids so much studied as electricity, and 
 heat (if it be a fluid), and the operation of the magnetic influence, science 
 is so imperfect, and our data from observation so scanty, that mathema- 
 tical reasoning has as yet hardly ever been applied to the subject. It is 
 the hope of men who reflect on these things, and it is probably the expecta- 
 tion of those who most deeply meditate upon them, that, in future times, 
 a retrospect upon the fabric of our present knowledge, shall be the source 
 of wonder and compassion — wonder at the advances made from such small 
 beginnings — compassion for the narrow sphere within which our knowledge 
 is confined : — and when the greater part of what we are now only able to 
 believe regular and systematic from analogy- and conjecture, will have 
 fallen into an order and an arrangement certainly known and distinctly 
 perceived.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Abstractions ridiculed, 297. 
 
 adapis, 386. 
 Addison on instinct, 219. 
 
 weaiiness of his ' Evidences,' 287. 
 Ajjassiz, successor of Cuvier, 436. 
 
 his classification, 437. 
 Althorpe, Lord, inscription to, 1. 
 
 conversations with, 177. 
 Anasagoras, killed by a crow, 253. 
 Animals finding their way, 267. 
 Ants, their buildings, 251. 
 
 slave dealers, 252. 
 Aristomachus, his study of bees, 277. 
 Ass, sagacity of, 267. 
 
 Bacon, Lord, on Final Causes, 89. 
 
 his classification, 138. 
 
 his ' Sylva Sylvarum ' characterized, 
 95. 
 
 vindicated, 174. 
 Bears, ingenuity of, 256. 
 Beavers, their architecture, 257. 
 
 fossil, where found, 390. 
 Bee, habits of, 191. 
 
 anatomv of, 341. 
 Bell, Sir C, his notes on Paley, 4. 
 Birds, how they build to avoid snakes, 
 263. 
 
 rate at which they fly, 279. 
 Borelli, his discovery, 26. 
 Bougainville on birds, 265. 
 Boyle's experimental Philosophy im- 
 bued with Natural Theologv', 96, 
 Buckland's investigations, 31, 33. 
 Butler, Bp., on Natural Religion, 6. 
 
 ' Analogy,' its great merit, 129. 
 
 CalculnB, differential, its application, 
 51. 
 
 Carp, anecdote of, 272. 
 
 Carrier pigeons, 268. 
 
 Cats — sagacity, 267. 
 
 Cause and Eficct — Hume, 142. 
 Stewart on, 143. 
 
 (>autley, his investigations, 431. 
 
 Cavendish, analyzed water, 108. 
 
 Cells of Bkes, structure, uses, dis- 
 coveries, &c., geometrical form, 
 &c., &c., 312 to 364. 
 Maraldi's, Kwnig's, and Maclaurin's 
 mathematical deiiioiistralious, 
 313 to 311. 
 
 Cells of Bees — 
 
 Huber, Hunter, Swammerdam, &c., 
 discoveries, 343 to 353. 
 
 solvents of wax, 353, 354. 
 
 tenacity, colour, &c., 354, 355. 
 
 process of building, woodcuts of 
 cells, 360. 
 Cha;ropotamas, 386. 
 Chick, in the egg, 192. 
 Chirotherium, what, 433. 
 Chrysalis, in cocoon, 192. 
 Cicero, his reasoning, 141. 
 
 on the immortality of the soul, 165. 
 Circulation of the blood, how sug- 
 gested, 118. 
 Clarke's, Dr., a priori argument, 53. 
 
 defect in his argument, 59. 
 
 Reid's and Stewart's remarks, 60. 
 
 Clarke not original, 60 to 64. 
 Clift, Mr., his labours, 430. 
 Coleolites, what, 436. 
 Cranes, flight of, 273. 
 Crows, their ingenuity, 253. 
 Ctenoideans, what, 437. 
 Cuckoo, its cunning, 270. 
 Cudworth, "his great work," 61. 
 Cuvier's zoology, 31, 33. 
 
 mode of reasoning, 401. 
 
 his industry, 402. 
 
 his results, 411. 
 
 his successors, 423, 424. 
 Cycloideans, their scales, 437. 
 
 Daubenton, the naturalist, 369. 
 Deontology, what, 9. 
 Derham's Astrotheology, 37. 
 Descartes on instinct, 211, 212. 
 
 letters, 213 to 283. 
 Diderot on animals, 284. 
 Dinotherium, or tapir, 382 to 426. 
 Dog, a cunning, 260. 
 Dogs, in South America, 263. 
 
 talent for leaniin}^, 264, 2G5. 
 
 how they find their way, 266. 
 
 beggar's dog, 280. 
 Dollond, his achromatic discovery, 22. 
 Dolphin, fossil, 393. 
 DucKlings, their instinct, 92. 
 Duncan, \Vm., his discovery, 433. 
 
 Edentata, toothless animals, 391. 
 Egg, its structure, 24, 192.
 
 452 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 Elasmotherium described, 380. 
 Elephant, kindness of, 271. 
 
 bones mistaken for giant's, 369, 370. 
 
 Asiatic and African, peculiarities of, 
 379. 
 Epinus — his theory imperfect, 105. 
 Experiments, indispensable to induc- 
 tion, 104, 102 to 105. 
 Eye, structure of, 21. 
 
 an optical instrument, 22. 
 
 of fishes, 23. 
 
 Faculties, mental, defined, 293. 
 
 concise view of, 295, 
 Falconer, his labours, 431. 
 Field-fares place sentries, 260. 
 Fire- fly, light of, 309. 
 Fishes, sagacity of, 271. 
 Flight of birds, 279, 280. 
 Forster on glow-worms, 309. 
 Fossil Osteology — 
 Cuvier takes the lead, proficient in 
 
 anatomy, 368. 
 examined the bones of all the 
 
 species supposed to supply the 
 
 great fossil deposits, 368. 
 detected errors of St. Fond and 
 
 others, 369. 
 great distinctness prevails between 
 
 species, hence the certainty of 
 
 investigations, 370. 
 of 150 antediluvian animals ex- 
 amined by Cuvier, at least 90 
 
 were in some respects new, 371. 
 situations of these remains are of 
 
 four periods, in three kinds of 
 
 situations, 372. 
 Paris Basin described, 373. 
 deposits near the Mediterranean, 
 
 375. 
 results of Cuvier's researches, 376. 
 pachydermata, four species, 377. 
 Sir E. Home's mistake, 378. 
 Wilujii specimen, 378. 
 elephant, fossil diifers from those 
 
 now living, 379. 
 perfect specnnen of extinct species 
 
 found m 1799, described, 379. 
 hippopotamus, two species extinct, 
 
 380. 
 mastodon, 380. 
 horse remains mistaken for extinct 
 
 animals, 382. 
 bones of horse resemble ass, mule, 
 
 and gugga, 382. 
 tapir, or dinotherium, nineteen 
 
 feet long, and twelve feet high ; 
 
 Fossil Osteology — 
 
 twelve species of this the lophio- 
 don genus, 382. 
 
 remains of thirty animals found, 
 seventeen or eighteen of which 
 are extinct, 383. 
 
 several of these have been buried by 
 some revolution of this planet, 
 383. 
 
 Paris Basin, Cuvier's difficulties, 
 384. 
 
 palEeotherium, 385. 
 
 anoplotherium, two species, 385. 
 
 extinct animals, resembling hog 
 kind, tiger, kangaroo, deer, oxen, 
 _ 386, 387. 
 
 similar remains found in Tuscany, 
 France, and England, of bears, 
 hysenas, wolves, foxes, and a kind 
 of dog, 388. 
 
 conclusion, that many animals ex- 
 isted prior to man, 390. 
 
 of toothless animals, great variety 
 found, 391. 
 
 megalonyx and megatherium de- 
 scribed, 391. 
 
 sea mammalia, peculiarities of, 392. 
 
 fossil dolphin, 392. 
 
 whales, 392. 
 
 conclusion, that the earth differed 
 widely from its present state, and 
 that the ocean was the agent, 394. 
 
 extinct reptiles, 394. 
 
 crocodiles, 394. 
 
 tortoises, 395. 
 
 megalo-saurus, 397, 
 
 bird-lizard, 397. 
 
 Collini, M., discovers the genus 
 pterodactylus, 398. 
 
 ichthyosaurus and plesiosaurus, 399 
 to 401. 
 
 caution as to examining remains, 
 note, 400. 
 
 Cuvier's sagacity, 401. 
 
 his industry, 402. 
 
 his evidence more appreciable than 
 Newton's, 403. 
 
 difficulty of comprehending astro- 
 nomical phenomena, or demon- 
 strations thereof, 405. 
 
 application of Cuvier's ' Recherches' 
 to theology, 406. 
 
 sea and land have changed places, 
 407. 
 
 sea at a remote period contained 
 many animals now extinct, 408. 
 
 sud leiiness of the changes, 408.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 453 
 
 Fossil Osteology. — 
 
 primitive rocks have been held in 
 solution by the ocean, 409. 
 
 the forces by wliich geological 
 changes were made, diflered from 
 those now observed, 410. 
 
 volcanic action is merely local, 411. 
 
 results of Cuvier's inquiries, extinct 
 animals, but no human bones 
 found in strata, 414. 
 
 uncertainty of histon,-, 415. 
 
 geological inference as to the deluge, 
 41o. 
 
 the present is the fourth era of 
 animals, 415. 
 
 conclusions, 416. 
 
 applied to theology, 417. 
 
 act of creation clearly demon- 
 strated, 417. 
 
 "chain of being" theory, unten- 
 able, 418. 
 
 a succession of animals proved, 420. 
 
 note on Paley, 422. 
 
 Cuvier's successors, 424. 
 
 their names, 425. 
 
 the dinotherium, 426. 
 
 megatherium, 426. 
 
 other species in South America, 428. 
 
 iguanodon, 428. 
 
 researches in India, sivatherium, 
 431. 
 
 study of impressions in sand, 432. 
 
 Duncan's discoveries, 433. 
 
 classifications of Agassiz, 436. 
 
 conclusions as to extinct races, 440. 
 
 Lyell's work, 444. 
 
 notes, 448. 
 
 notes, fossil osteology, 428 to 429. 
 Franklin, simplicity of his apparatus, 
 
 253. 
 Friendships among animals, 271. 
 
 f JanoVdeans described, 237. 
 t Jeology, its wonders, 32. 
 (rlow-worm, experiments on, 309, 
 Goats, intelligence of, 208. 
 
 Harvey, his first ideas of circulation 
 
 of the blood, 118. 
 Heame, his account of beavers, 259. 
 Ilelvetius, on animals, 284. 
 
 on instinct, 285. 
 Hippopotamus, fossil, described, 380. 
 Ilolhach, Baron, his 'SystMne de la 
 
 Nature,' 144. 
 Home, Sir E., his discovery, 399. 
 Ilouk, Dr., on analysis, &c., Ill, note. 
 
 Horse, wild, appoints a watch, 260. 
 
 a smuggler's horse, 260. 
 
 Norwegian, 266 
 Hulme on the glow-worm, 309. 
 Hume, on cause and effect, 142. 
 
 on animals, 284. 
 Hunter, John, on bees, 312, 342. 
 
 his anatomical skill, 440. 
 Hya;na, habits of, 33. 
 Hypothesis, dangers of, 107. 
 
 Ichthyosaurus, his prey, 434. 
 Iguanodon, description of, 428. 
 Imagination, what, 294. 
 Immortality of soul, ancient doctrines 
 
 of, 163 to 166. 
 Instinct — 
 fiicts, 180. 
 defined, 181. 
 
 reason, a bundle of instincts, 181. 
 habits of wasps, 187. 
 ducklings, 192. 
 bees, 193. 
 
 unity of instinct, 193. 
 defined, 194. 
 harmony of instinct with reason, 
 
 200 to 204. 
 instinctive desires defined, 206. 
 their consequences, 207 to 210. 
 theory, "are animals machines?" 
 
 211. 
 Descartes and IMore, 212 to 217. 
 Newton's opinion, 2 1 7. 
 bees' architecture, 222. 
 geometry and economy of, 223. 
 Maraldi, 223. 
 the bee right, the philosopher 
 
 wrong, 225. 
 the bee works accurately without 
 
 plan or tools, 227, 228. 
 law of mind in the bee, 236. 
 in the wasp, 241. 
 desires have results similar to mind, 
 
 242. 
 objections, 243. 
 general law, 245. 
 pliilosophically speaking, nothing 
 
 is disgusting, 246, 
 facts, 248, 
 
 bee, wasp, a paper maker, 250. 
 uniformity of operations not effect 
 
 of experience or instniction, 250. 
 the chicK, .ints, wasps, ratiocination 
 
 in various animals, 252 to 256. 
 beavers, 257. 
 Hearne's account, 259. 
 pigeons, 259.
 
 454 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 I.S'STIKCT — 
 
 field-fai-es, 260. 
 
 horses, 260. 
 
 foses, dogs, instinct or reason, 261. 
 
 swallow, 262. 
 
 dogs, singing birds, training, ani- 
 mals finding their way, 266, 267. 
 
 carrier pigeons, 268. 
 
 impulses, 269 
 
 language of animals, 270. 
 
 elephants, opinions of Plutarch, 292. 
 
 Virey's work criticised, 276 to 280. 
 
 vertebrated animals have intelli- 
 gence, 278. 
 
 mvertebrated have instinct, 278. 
 
 objections, 278. 
 
 rapid iiight of birds, 279. 
 
 logic of the subject, 280. 
 
 extraordinary beggar's dog, 281. 
 
 theory of animal intelligence, 283. 
 
 sceptics, as Holbach, lowered human 
 nature to raise that of animals, 
 284 to 287. 
 
 Locke's quaint remark, 287. 
 
 Addison's, 287. 
 
 our researches into human faculties 
 are merely comparative, 288. 
 
 man differs fi-om animals in ac- 
 cumulating both intelligence and 
 possessions, 289. 
 
 Adam Smith says animals do not 
 barter, 289. 
 
 yet dogs and horses co-operate with 
 each other, 290. 
 
 unity and rapidity of mental opera- 
 tions, 291, 292. 
 
 passiveness of mind, other defini- 
 tions, 293 to 297. 
 
 abstractions denied, 296. 
 
 nominalists and realists; do we 
 think in words V 297. 
 
 classification and .ibstraction pos- 
 sessed by all, 298. 
 
 language of animals, 299. 
 
 experience acquired by birds and 
 monkeys, 300. 
 
 want of fingers in animals, ele- 
 phant's trunk, 301. 
 
 sameness of moral and intellectual 
 character, 302. 
 
 sagacity of animals manifested in 
 variety of modes, 304. 
 
 conclusion of a superintending in- 
 telligence placed in a stronger 
 light the more we investigate, 
 305, 306. 
 
 Notes — instincts of ducklings, pigs, 
 
 Instinct — 
 
 alligator, water-moth, Mexican 
 hmitingdogs, elephants, 307, 308. 
 Appendix — glow-worm, physio- 
 logical and chemical experiments, 
 309. 
 Intestines, spiral, of certain species, 
 435. 
 
 Jefferson and his megalonyx, 370. 
 
 Kirby and Spence on glow-worm, 311 . 
 Kirkdale in Yorkshire, remarkable re- 
 mains found there, 388, 389. 
 Knight, Su- T. A., his observations,26'l . 
 
 Lampyris genus, all luminous, 310. 
 Language understood by animals, 299. 
 La Place, his merit, 29. 
 Leibnitz invents differential calculus, 
 
 62. 
 L'Huillier, M., on bees, 346. 
 Locke, classification, 138. 
 
 quaint remarks, &c., 287. 
 Lophiodon genus, 382. 
 Lucern, arms of that town, 3C9. 
 Lyell, his work, 444. 
 
 JIacaire on glow-worm, 310. 
 Macartney on the glow-worm, 309. 
 JIammalia, extinct species, 429. 
 Man-of-war bird, 270. 
 Maraldi and Koenig, examination of 
 
 cells of bees, 223, 224. 
 Mastodon, peculiarity of, 380. 
 ' Mecanique Celeste ' understood by 
 
 few, 404. 
 Megalonyx described, 391. 
 M egalo-saurus, 397. 
 Megatherium described, 391, 426. 
 Melbourne, Lord, witty saying of, 189. 
 ^Metaphysics, treats of existences and 
 
 duties, 8. 
 Monboddo, Lord, his remark, 265. 
 
 his peculiar opinions, 285. 
 Monkeys, anecdotes of, 254. 
 IMontagu, his life of Bacon, 174. 
 ' Moral,' definition of the term, 7. 
 Jlore, his remark on Descartes, 214. 
 Mosasaurus discovered, 401. 
 Motion defined, 17. 
 JIurray on glow-worm, 310. 
 
 Natural Theology, definitions, 6. 
 analysis, 10. 
 
 powers of the mind, active and 
 speculative, 13.
 
 INDEX, 
 
 455 
 
 Natural Theology — 
 
 their objects, 15. 16. 
 
 nicety of proofs, 17. 
 
 our physical knowledge, the result 
 of reasonings upon our sensa- 
 tions, 18 to '20. 
 
 the eye, 2-3, 23. 
 
 the egg, •2-i. 
 
 joints, 2."). 
 
 larynx, 27. 
 
 head of porpoise, 27. 
 
 planetary system, 28. 
 
 gravitation, 29. 
 
 Paley's reasoning, SO. 
 
 osteology, 31. 
 
 and ante-diluvian zoolcgy, 32, 33. 
 
 are all inductions applicable to 
 natural theology ? 36. 
 
 psychology, 37. 
 
 Ray, Derliam, and Paley overlook 
 the mind, 38. 
 
 proofs of mental existence as clear 
 as of physical, 39. 
 
 structure of mind, 41. 
 
 attention the most important fa- 
 culty, 41. 
 
 helps to it, 42. 
 
 memory, 42. 
 
 habit and its wonders, 43, 44. 
 
 passions, llieii' U5C3, 46. 
 
 curiosity and desire of communi- 
 cating, 46, 47. 
 
 instinct of animals, are mental 
 faculties, 50. 
 
 dogs, bees, 51. 
 
 connction that mind exists, neces- 
 sary to belief in the Deity, 53. 
 
 a priori argument, 55. 
 
 merely an inductive argument, 58. 
 
 inaccurately called a priori, 58. 
 
 Clarke criticised by Reid and 
 Stewart, 60. 
 
 Locke and others quoted, 60 to 64. 
 
 ethics, less studied than other part 
 of inquiry, 65, 
 
 immateriality of soul, fundamental, 
 66. 
 
 materialist theory not supported 
 by experience, 69. 
 
 but contrary to it, 69. 
 
 annihilation contrary to experience, 
 70. 
 
 change rather than creation ob- 
 served in the world, 72. 
 
 wonderful rapidity of mental opera- 
 tions, 73 to 77. 
 
 vigour of mind in old age, 78. 
 
 Naturat. Theology — 
 
 the body is continually changing 
 its composition, 79. 
 
 the mind never, 80. 
 
 a proof of its separate existence, 
 resume of the argument, 81. 
 
 supposed design of the Creator, 82. 
 
 desire of immortality, 83. 
 
 affections, 83. 
 
 no barbarous tribes without some 
 religion, and why, 84. 
 
 moral progress, its end, 85. 
 
 insect transformations, and analo- 
 gies suggested, 85, 86. 
 
 endless duration, 87. 
 
 Bacon's 'final causes' misunder- 
 stood, note on Dean S^vift, 88. 
 
 extracts from Bacon, 90. 
 
 Bacon deprecated use of ' fancies ' 
 in science, 92. 
 
 Bacon censures the ancients for 
 abuse of logic and mathematics, 93. 
 
 his ' Sylva Sylvarum ' weak, 95. 
 
 successful naturalists addicted to 
 natural religion, Boyle and New- 
 ton eminent instances, 96, 97. 
 
 scientific arrangements, 98. 
 
 safe, when inductive, 100. 
 
 three applications of science, 101. 
 
 experiments, 102, 103. 
 
 the bases of induction, 104, 105. 
 
 risks of hypothesis, 107. 
 
 experiments incomplete without 
 synthesis, 108. 
 
 Cavendish and Priestley, 108. 
 
 note, analocy and identity are 
 different, 109. 
 
 rule for analysis and synthesis, 110. 
 
 pleasures of science, mathematics, 
 physiologj', &c., 112 to 119. 
 
 atheistic reasonings from physio- 
 log}', 121. 
 
 all science 'abounds with truths 
 available in natural theology, 122. 
 
 elevating natm-e of the study, 123. 
 
 connexion between natiu'al and re- 
 vealed religion, 127. 
 
 errors of friends of religion, 127. 
 
 Boyle's lecture fund, and the emi- 
 nent men and works it has brought 
 forward, 128. 
 
 Butler's analogy, 129. 
 
 the great advocates of natural, were 
 also advocates of revealed reli- 
 gion, Boyle, Newton, Bacon, 129. 
 
 error of supposing natural theology 
 does not aid revelatiou, 130.
 
 456 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Natural Theology — 
 
 argument on miracles, 131. 
 
 their harmony with natural theo- 
 logy, 132. 
 
 supports testimony, 133. 
 
 assists piety, 134. 
 
 exemplified in the Psalms, &c., 135. 
 
 notes, classifications, by the Greeks, 
 by Locke, Turgot, and Bacon, 138. 
 
 ancients deemed mind to be inde- 
 structible, 162. 
 
 excellence of Plato's ideas, 163. 
 
 and note of Cicero's, 166. 
 
 Bishop Warburton, 167. 
 
 idea of retribution among the an- 
 cients, 170 to 174. 
 Newton invents diflFerential calculus, 
 52. 
 
 originated ideas used by Dr. Clarke, 
 96, 97. 
 
 on instinct, 217. 
 
 his ' Optics,' 220. 
 Nominalists and Realists, 297. 
 
 Ohio animal, or mastodon, 380. 
 Ontology, what, 8. 
 Osteology, 31. 
 
 PaliEotherium, 383. 
 
 Paley, hisNatural Theology noticed, 1. 
 
 his definitions, 6. 
 
 his arguments, 30. 
 
 his plan borrowed from Derham, 37. 
 
 merits of his style and logic, 38, rwte. 
 
 hisJistasteformetaphysics, 54,note. 
 Paper made by men in 1270, 250. 
 
 by wasps 6000 years ago, 250. 
 Perception, what, 294. 
 Pigeons place sentinels, 259. 
 Placoideans described, 437. 
 Plato, his reasoning, 140. 
 Plesiosaurus described, 399. 
 Plutarch quoted, 272. • 
 Pope on instinct, 219. 
 Priestley on instinct, 284. 
 ' Principia ' of Newton understood by 
 
 few, 404. 
 Psychology, what, 8. 
 Pterodactylus described, 398. 
 
 Queen bee, how her loss is supplied, 
 364. 
 
 Rational acts of bees, ants, wasps, 
 and birds, 252. 
 monkeys, and horses, 254, 255. 
 bears, 256. 
 
 Raven, how it obtains water, 253. 
 Ray, on ' Wonders of Creation,' 37. 
 
 on the glow-worm, 311. 
 Realists, 297. 
 Reaumur on the chick, 251. 
 
 on bees, 312, 363. 
 Rhinoceros, fossil, 377. 
 Robinson, on sceptical school, 285. 
 
 Sea mammalia, peculiarities, 392. 
 Sedgwick, his merit, 425, 
 Sharks, their utility, 438. 
 Singing birds, 263. 
 
 singing hereditary, 264. 
 Sivatherium discovered, 431. 
 Smellie, his 'Natural History,' 184 
 Smith's ' Moral Sentiments,' 139. 
 
 says animals do not barter, 289. 
 Smuggler's horse, 260. 
 Society of Useful Knowledge, 275. 
 Socrates, his discussions, 139. 
 Spallanzani on glow-worms, 309. 
 Stewart on analysis and synthesis, 
 note, 111. 
 
 on natural religion, 139 to 142. 
 Stulbrugs, Swift's note on, 88. 
 Style of writing instructively, 275 to 
 
 277, 281. 
 Swallows, 262. 
 
 Swift, note on, 88. 
 
 his satire, 297. 
 ' Systeme de la Nature,' examined, 
 144. 
 
 Tillotson, Archbishop, quoted, 135. 
 Time, defined, 57. 
 
 Torre, his powerful microscope, 190. 
 Triphius, described, 393. 
 Turgot, classification by, 138. 
 Tuscanv, remarkable remains found 
 in, 288. 
 
 Virey, ^I., his work criticised, 275. 
 
 condemned, 277. 
 Voltaire on animals, 284. 
 
 Warburton, Bishop, on ancient doc- 
 trines, 167. 
 
 his errors, 168. 
 Wasp, its habits, 187, 241. 
 
 a paper maker, 250 to 252. 
 Water, analyzed by Cavendish and 
 
 Priestley, 108. 
 Water moth, ballasts its nest, 254. 
 Web-foot described. 25. 
 Whales, fossil, 392.' 
 Woodcocks, 266. 
 
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