But let us once more view that immense arched roof where the stars shine, and which covers our heads like a canopy. If it be a solid vault, what architect built it? Who is it that has fixed so many great luminous bodies to certain places of that arch and at certain distances? Who is it that makes that vault turn so regularly about us? If on the contrary the skies are only immense spaces full of fluid bodies, like the air that surrounds us, how comes it to pass that so many solid bodies float in them without ever sinking or ever coming nearer one another? For all astronomical observations that have been made in so many ages not the least disorder or irregular motion has yet been discovered in the heavens. Will a fluid body range in such constant and regular order bodies that swim circularly within its sphere? But what does that almost innumerable multitude of stars mean? The profusion with which the hand of God has scattered them through His work shows nothing is difficult to His power. He has cast them about the skies as a magnificent prince either scatters money by handfuls or studs his clothes with precious stones. Let who will say, if he pleases, that the stars are as many worlds like the earth we inhabit; I grant it for one moment; but then, how potent and wise must He be who makes worlds as numberless as the grains of sand that cover the sea-shore, and who, without any trouble, for so many ages governs all these wandering worlds as a shepherd does a flock of sheep? If on the contrary they are only, as it were, lighted torches to shine in our eyes in this small globe called earth, how great is that power which nothing can fatigue, nothing can exhaust? What a profuse liberality it is to give man in this little corner of the universe so marvellous a spectacle!

But among those stars I perceive the moon, which seems to share with the sun the care and office of lighting us. She appears at set times with all the other stars, when the sun is obliged to go and carry back the day to the other hemisphere. Thus night itself, notwithstanding its darkness, has a light, duskish indeed, but soft and useful. That light is borrowed from the sun, though absent: and thus everything is managed with such excellent art in the universe that a globe near the earth, and as dark as she of itself, serves, nevertheless, to send back to her, by reflection, the rays it receives from the sun; and that the sun lights by means of the moon the people that cannot see him while he must light others.

It may be said that the motion of the stars is settled and regulated by unchangeable laws. I suppose it is; but this very supposition proves what I labour to evince. Who is it that has given to all nature laws at once so constant and so wholesome, laws so very simple, that one is tempted to believe they establish themselves of their own accord, and so productive of beneficial and useful effects that one cannot avoid acknowledging a marvellous art in them? Whence proceeds the government of that universal machine which incessantly works for us without so much as our thinking upon it? To whom shall we ascribe the choice and gathering of so many deep and so well conceited springs, and of so many bodies, great and small, visible and invisible, which equally concur to serve us? The least atom of this machine that should happen to be out of order would unhinge all nature. For the springs and movements of a watch are not put together with so much art and niceness as those of the universe. What then must be a design so extensive, so coherent, so excellent, so beneficial? The necessity of those laws, instead of deterring me from inquiring into their author, does but heighten my curiosity and admiration. Certainly, it required a hand equally artful and powerful to put in His work an order equally simple and teeming, constant and useful. Wherefore I will not scruple to say with the Scripture, “Let every star haste to go whither the Lord sends it; and when He speaks let them answer with trembling, Here we are,” Ecce adsumus.

SECT. XIX. Of Animals, Beasts, Fowl, Birds, Fishes, Reptiles, and Insects.

But let us turn our eyes towards animals, which still are more worthy of admiration than either the skies or stars. Their species are numberless. Some have but two feet, others four, others again a great many. Some walk; others crawl, or creep; others fly; others swim; others fly, walk, or swim, by turns. The wings of birds, and the fins of fishes, are like oars, that cut the waves either of air or water, and steer the floating body either of the bird, or fish, whose structure is like that of a ship. But the pinions of birds have feathers with a down, that swells in the air, and which would grow unwieldy in the water. And, on the contrary, the fins of fishes have sharp and dry points, which cut the water, without imbibing it, and which do not grow heavier by being wet. A sort of fowl that swim, such as swans, keep their wings and most of their feathers above water, both lest they should wet them and that they may serve them, as it were, for sails. They have the art to turn those feathers against the wind, and, in a manner, to tack, as ships do when the wind does not serve. Water-fowls, such as ducks, have at their feet large skins that stretch, somewhat like rackets, to keep them from sinking on the oozy and miry banks of rivers.

Amongst the animals, wild beasts, such as lions, have their biggest muscles about the shoulders, thighs, and legs; and therefore these animals are nimble, brisk, nervous, and ready to rush forward. Their jaw-bones are prodigiously large, in proportion to the rest of their bodies. They have teeth and claws, which serve them, as terrible weapons, to tear in pieces and devour other animals. For the same reason, birds of prey, such as eagles, have a beak and pounces that pierce everything. The muscles of their pinions are extreme large and brawny, that their wings may have a stronger and more rapid motion: and so those creatures, though somewhat heavy, soar aloft and tower up easily to the very clouds, from whence they shoot, like a thunderbolt, on the quarry they have in view. Other animals have horns. The greatest strength of some lies in their backs and necks; and others can only kick. Every species, however, has both offensive and defensive arms. Their hunting is a kind of war, which they wage one against another, for the necessities of life. They have also laws and a government among themselves. Some, like tortoises, carry the house wherein they were born; others build theirs, as birds do, on the highest branches of trees, to preserve their young from the insult of unwinged creatures, and they even lay their nests in the thickest boughs to hide them from their enemies. Another, such as the beaver, builds in the very bottom of a pond the sanctuary he prepares for himself, and knows how to cast up dikes around it, to preserve himself by the neighbouring inundation. Another, like a mole, has so pointed and so sharp a snout, that in one moment he pierces through the hardest ground in order to provide for himself a subterranean retreat. The cunning fox digs a kennel with two holes to go out and come in at, that he may not be either surprised or trapped by the huntsmen. The reptiles are of another make. They curl, wind, shrink, and stretch by the springs of their muscles; they creep, twist about, squeeze, and hold fast the bodies they meet in their way; and easily slide everywhere. Their organs are almost independent one on the other; so that they still live when they are cut into two. The long-legged birds, says Cicero, are also long-necked in proportion, that they may bring down their bill to the ground, and take up their food. It is the same with the camel; but the elephant, whose neck through its bigness would be too heavy if it were as long as that of the camel, was furnished with a trunk, which is a contexture of nerves and muscles, which he stretches, shrinks, winds, and turns every way, to seize on bodies, lift them up, or throw them off: for which reason the Latins called that trunk a hand.

Certain animals seem to be made on purpose for man. The dog is born to caress and fawn upon him; to obey and be under command; to give him an agreeable image of society, friendship, fidelity, and tenderness; to be true to his trust; eagerly to hunt down, course, and catch several other creatures, to leave them afterwards to man, without retaining any part of the quarry. The horse, and such other animals, are within the reach and power of man; to ease him of his labour, and to take upon them a thousand burdens. They are born to carry, to walk, to supply man's weakness, and to obey all his motions. Oxen are endowed with strength and patience, in order to draw the plough and till the ground. Cows yield streams of milk. Sheep have in their fleeces a superfluity which is not for them, and which still grows and renews, as it were to invite men to shear them every year. Even goats furnish man with a long hair, for which they have no use, and of which he makes stuffs to cover himself. The skins of some beasts supply men with the finest and best linings, in the countries that are most remote from the sun.

Thus the Author of nature has clothed beasts according to their necessities; and their spoils serve afterwards to clothe men, and keep them warm in those frozen climes. The living creatures that have little or no hair have a very thick and very hard skin, like scales; others have even scales that cover one another, as tiles on the top of a house, and which either open or shut, as it best suits with the living creature, either to extend itself or shrink. These skins and scales serve the necessities of men: and thus in nature, not only plants but animals also are made for our use. Wild beasts themselves either grow tame or, at least, are afraid of man. If all countries were peopled and governed as they ought to be, there would not be anywhere beasts should attack men. For no wild beasts would be found but in remote forests, and they would be preserved in order to exercise the courage, strength, and dexterity of mankind, by a sport that should represent war; so that there never would be any occasion for real wars among nations. But observe that living creatures that are noxious to man are the least teeming, and that the most useful multiply most. There are, beyond comparison, more oxen and sheep killed than bears or wolves; and nevertheless the number of bears and wolves is infinitely less than that of oxen and sheep still on earth. Observe likewise, with Cicero, that the females of every species have a number of teats proportioned to that of the young ones they generally bring forth. The more young they bear, with the more milk-springs has nature supplied them, to suckle them.

While sheep let their wool grow for our use, silk-worms, in emulation with each other, spin rich stuffs and spend themselves to bestow them upon us. They make of their cod a kind of tomb, and shutting up themselves in their own work, they are new-born under another figure, in order to perpetuate themselves. On the other hand, the bees carefully suck and gather the juice of odorous and fragrant flowers, in order to make their honey; and range it in such an order as may serve for a pattern to men. Several insects are transformed, sometimes into flies, sometimes into worms, or maggots. If one should think such insects useless, let him consider that what makes a part of the great spectacle of the universe, and contributes to its variety, is not altogether useless to sedate and contemplative men. What can be more noble, and more magnificent, than that great number of commonwealths of living creatures so well governed, and every species of which has a different frame from the other? Everything shows how much the skill and workmanship of the artificer surpasses the vile matter he has worked upon. Every living creature, nay even gnats, appear wonderful to me. If one finds them troublesome, he ought to consider that it is necessary that some anxiety and pain be mixed with man's conveniences: for if nothing should moderate his pleasures, and exercise his patience, he would either grow soft and effeminate, or forget himself.

SECT. XX. Admirable Order in which all the Bodies that make up the Universe are ranged.

Let us now consider the wonders that shine equally both in the largest and the smallest bodies. On the one side, I see the sun so many thousand times bigger than the earth; I see him circulating in a space, in comparison of which he is himself but a bright atom. I see other stars, perhaps still bigger than he, that roll in other regions, still farther distant from us. Beyond those regions, which escape all measure, I still confusedly perceive other stars, which can neither be counted nor distinguished. The earth, on which I stand, is but one point, in proportion to the whole, in which no bound can ever be found. The whole is so well put together, that not one single atom can be put out of its place without unhinging this immense machine; and it moves in such excellent order that its very motion perpetuates its variety and perfection. Sure it must be the hand of a being that does everything without any trouble that still keeps steady, and governs this great work for so many ages; and whose fingers play with the universe, to speak with the Scripture.

SECT. XXI. Wonders of the Infinitely Little.

On the other hand the work is no less to be admired in little than in great: for I find as well in little as in great a kind of infinite that astonishes me. It surpasses my imagination to find in a hand-worm, as one does in an elephant or whale, limbs perfectly well organised; a head, a body, legs, and feet, as distinct and as well formed as those of the biggest animals. There are in every part of those living atoms, muscles, nerves, veins, arteries, blood; and in that blood ramous particles and humours; in these humours some drops that are themselves composed of several particles: nor can one ever stop in the discussion of this infinite composition of so infinite a whole.

The microscope discovers to us in every object as it were a thousand other objects that had escaped our notice. But how many other objects are there in every object discovered by the microscope which the microscope itself cannot discover? What should not we see if we could still subtilise and improve more and more the instruments that help out weak and dull sight? Let us supply by our imagination what our eyes are defective in; and let our fancy itself be a kind of microscope, and represent to us in every atom a thousand new and invisible worlds: but it will never be able incessantly to paint to us new discoveries in little bodies; it will be tired, and forced at last to stop, and sink, leaving in the smallest organ of a body a thousand wonders undiscovered.

SECT. XXII. Of the Structure or Frame of the Animal.

Let us confine ourselves within the animal's machine, which has three things that never can be too much admired: First, it has in it wherewithal to defend itself against those that attack it, in order to destroy it. Secondly, it has a faculty of reviving itself by food. Thirdly, it has wherewithal to perpetuate its species by generation. Let us bestow some considerations on these three things.

SECT. XXIII. Of the Instinct of the Animal.

Animals are endowed with what is called instinct, both to approach useful and beneficial objects, and to avoid such as may be noxious and destructive to them. Let us not inquire wherein this instinct consists, but content ourselves with matter of fact, without reasoning upon it.

The tender lamb smells his dam afar off, and runs to meet her. A sheep is seized with horror at the approach of a wolf, and flies away before he can discern him. The hound is almost infallible in finding out a stag, a buck, or a hare, only by the scent. There is in every animal an impetuous spring, which, on a sudden, gathers all the spirits; distends all the nerves; renders all the joints more supple and pliant; and increases in an incredible manner, upon sudden dangers, his strength, agility, speed, and cunning, in order to make him avoid the object that threatens his destruction. The question in this place is not to know whether beasts are endowed with reason or understanding; for I do not pretend to engage in any philosophical inquiry. The motions I speak of are entirely indeliberate, even in the machine of man. If, for instance, a man that dances on a rope should, at that time, reason on the laws and rules of equilibrium, his reasoning would make him lose that very equilibrium which he preserves admirably well without arguing upon the matter, and reason would then be of no other use to him but to throw him on the ground. The same happens with beasts; nor will it avail anything to object that they reason as well as men, for this objection does not in the least weaken my proof; and their reasoning can never serve to account for the motions we admire most in them. Will any one affirm that they know the nicest rules of mechanics, which they observe with perfect exactness, whenever they are to run, leap, swim, hide themselves, double, use shifts to avoid pursuing hounds, or to make use of the strongest part of their bodies to defend themselves? Will he say that they naturally understand the mathematics which men are ignorant of? Will he dare to advance that they perform with deliberation and knowledge all those impetuous and yet so exact motions which even men perform without study or premeditation? Will he allow them to make use of reason in those motions, wherein it is certain man does not? It is an instinct, will he say, that beasts are governed by. I grant it: for it is, indeed, an instinct. But this instinct is an admirable sagacity and dexterity, not in the beasts, who neither do, nor can then, have time to reason, but in the superior wisdom that governs them. That instinct, or wisdom, that thinks and watches for beasts, in indeliberate things, wherein they could neither watch nor think, even supposing them to be as reasonable as we, can be no other than the wisdom of the Artificer that made these machines. Let us therefore talk no more of instinct or nature, which are but fine empty names in the mouth of the generality that pronounce them. There is in what they call nature and instinct a superior art and contrivance, of which human invention is but a shadow. What is beyond all question is, that there are in beasts a prodigious number of motions entirely indeliberate, and which yet are performed according to the nicest rules of mechanics. It is the machine alone that follows those rules: which is a fact independent from all philosophy; and matter of fact is ever decisive. What would a man think of a watch that should fly or slip away, turn, again, or defend itself, for its own preservation, if he went about to break it? Would he not admire the skill of the artificer? Could he be induced to believe that the springs of that watch had formed, proportioned, ranged, and united themselves, by mere chance? Could he imagine that he had clearly explained and accounted for such industrious and skilful operation by talking of the nature and instinct of a watch that should exactly show the hour to his master, and slip away from such as should go about to break its springs to pieces?

SECT. XXIV. Of Food.

What is more noble than a machine which continually repairs and renews itself? The animal, stinted to his own strength, is soon tired and exhausted by labour; but the more he takes pains, the more he finds himself pressed to make himself amends for his labour, by more plentiful feeding. Aliments daily restore the strength he had lost. He puts into his body another substance that becomes his own, by a kind of metamorphosis. At first it is pounded, and being changed into a liquor, it purifies, as if it were strained through a sieve, in order to separate anything that is gross from it; afterwards it arrives at the centre, or focus of the spirits, where it is subtilised, and becomes blood. And running at last, and penetrating through numberless vessels to moisten all the members, it filtrates in the flesh, and becomes itself flesh. So many aliments, and liquors of various colours, are then no more than one and the same flesh; and food which was but an inanimate body preserves the life of the animal, and becomes part of the animal himself; the other parts of which he was composed being exhaled by an insensible and continual transpiration. The matter which, for instance, was four years ago such a horse, is now but air, or dung. What was then either hay, or oats, is become that same horse, so fiery and vigorous—at least, he is accounted the same horse, notwithstanding this insensible change of his substance.

SECT. XXV. Of Sleep.

The natural attendant of food is sleep; in which the animal forbears not only all his outward motions, but also all the principal inward operations which might too much stir and dissipate the spirits. He only retains respiration, and digestion; so that all motions that might wear out his strength are suspended, and all such as are proper to recruit and renew it go on freely of themselves. This repose, which is a kind of enchantment, returns every night, while darkness interrupts and hinders labour. Now, who is it that contrived such a suspension? Who is it that so well chose the operations that ought to continue; and, with so just discernment, excluded all such as ought to be interrupted? The next day all past fatigue is gone and vanished. The animal works on, as if he had never worked before; and this reviving gives him a vivacity and vigour that invites him to new labour. Thus the nerves are still full of spirits, the flesh smooth, the skin whole, though one would think it should waste and tear; the living body of the animal soon wears out inanimate bodies, even the most solid that are about it; and yet does not wear out itself. The skin of a horse, for instance, wears out several saddles; and the flesh of a child, though very delicate and tender, wears out many clothes, whilst it daily grows stronger. If this renewing of spirits were perfect, it would be real immortality, and the gift of eternal youth. But the same being imperfect, the animal insensibly loses his strength, decays and grows old, because everything that is created ought to bear a mark of nothingness from which it was drawn; and have an end.

SECT. XXVI. Of Generation.

What is more admirable than the multiplication of animals? Look upon the individuals: no animal is immortal. Everything grows old, everything passes away, everything disappears, everything, in short, is annihilated. Look upon the species: everything subsists, everything is permanent and immutable, though in a constant vicissitude. Ever since there have been on earth men that have taken care to preserve the memory of events, no lions, tigers, wild boars, or bears, were ever known to form themselves by chance in caves or forests. Neither do we see any fortuitous productions of dogs or cats. Bulls and sheep are never born of themselves, either in stables, folds, or on pasture grounds. Every one of those animals owes his birth to a certain male and female of his species.

All those different species are preserved much the same in all ages. We do not find that for three thousand years past any one has perished or ceased; neither do we find that any one multiplies to such an excess as to be a nuisance or inconveniency to the rest. If the species of lions, bears, and tigers multiplied to a certain excessive degree, they would not only destroy the species of stags, bucks, sheep, goats, and bulls, but even get the mastery over mankind, and unpeople the earth. Now who maintains so just a measure as never either to extinguish those different species, or never to suffer them to multiply too fast?

But this continual propagation of every species is a wonder with which we are grown too familiar. What would a man think of a watchmaker who should have the art to make watches, which, of themselves, should produce others ad infinitum in such a manner that two original watches should be sufficient to multiply and perpetuate their species over the whole earth? What would he say of an architect that should have the skill to build houses, which should build others, to renew the habitations of men, before the first should decay and be ready to fall to the ground? It is, however, what we daily see among animals. They are no more, if you please, than mere machines, as watches are. But, after all, the Author of these machines has endowed them with a faculty to reproduce or perpetuate themselves ad infinitum by the conjunction of both sexes. Affirm, if you please, that this generation of animals is performed either by moulds or by an express configuration of every individual; which of these two opinions you think fit to pitch upon, it comes all to one; nor is the skill of the Artificer less conspicuous. If you suppose that at every generation the individual, without being cast into a mould, receives a configuration made on purpose, I ask, who it is that manages and directs the configuration of so compounded a machine, and which argues so much art and industry? If, on the contrary, to avoid acknowledging any art in the case you suppose that everything is determined by the moulds, I go back to the moulds themselves, and ask, who is it that prepared them? In my opinion they are still greater matter of wonder than the very machines which are pretended to come out of them.

Therefore let who will suppose that there were moulds in the animals that lived four thousand years ago, and affirm, if he pleases, that those moulds were so inclosed one within another ad infinitum , that there was a sufficient number for all the generations of those four thousand years; and that there is still a sufficient number ready prepared for the formation of all the animals that shall preserve their species in all succeeding ages. Now, these moulds, which, as I have observed, must have all the configuration of the animal, are as difficult to be explained or accounted for as the animals themselves, and are besides attended with far more unexplicable wonders. It is certain that the configuration of every individual animal requires no more art and power than is necessary to frame all the springs that make up that machine; but when a man supposes moulds: first, he must affirm that every mould contains in little, with unconceivable niceness, all the springs of the machine itself. Now, it is beyond dispute that there is more art in making so compound a work in little than in a larger bulk. Secondly, he must suppose that every mould, which is an individual prepared for a first generation, contains distinctly within itself other moulds contained within one another ad infinitum , for all possible generations, in all succeeding ages. Now what can be more artful and more wonderful in matter of mechanism than such a preparation of an infinite number of individuals, all formed beforehand in one from which they are to spring? Therefore the moulds are of no use to explain the generations of animals without supposing any art or skill. For, on the contrary, moulds would argue a more artificial mechanism and more wonderful composition.

What is manifest and indisputable, independently from all the systems of philosophers, is that the fortuitous concourse of atoms never produces, without generation, in any part of the earth, any lions, tigers, bears, elephants, stags, bulls, sheep, cats, dogs, or horses. These and the like are never produced but by the encounter of two of their kind of different sex. The two animals that produce a third are not the true authors of the art that shines in the composition of the animal engendered by them. They are so far from knowing how to perform that art, that they do not so much as know the composition or frame of the work that results from their generation. Nay, they know not so much as any particular spring of it; having been no more than blind and unvoluntary instruments, made use of for the performance of a marvellous art, to which they are absolute strangers, and of which they are perfectly ignorant. Now I would fain know whence comes that art, which is none of theirs? What power and wisdom knows how to employ, for the performance of works of so ingenious and intricate a design, instruments so uncapable to know what they are doing, or to have any notion of it? Nor does it avail anything to suppose that beasts are endowed with reason. Let a man suppose them to be as rational as he pleases in other things, yet he must own, that in generation they have no share in the art that is conspicuous in the composition of the animals they produce.

Let us carry the thing further, and take for granted the most wonderful instances that are given of the skill and forecast of animals. Let us admire, as much as you please, the certainty with which a hound takes a spring into a third way, as soon as he finds by his nose that the game he pursues has left no scent in the other two. Let us admire the hind, who, they say, throws a good way off her young fawn, into some hidden place, that the hounds may not find him out by the scent of his strain. Let us even admire the spider who with her cobwebs lays subtle snares to trap flies, and fall unawares upon them before they can disentangle themselves. Let us also admire the hern, who, they say, puts his head under his wing, in order to hide his bill under his feathers, thereby to stick the breast of the bird of prey that stoops at him. Let us allow the truth of all these wonderful instances of rationality; for all nature is full of such prodigies. But what must we infer from them? In good earnest, if we carefully examine the matter, we shall find that they prove too much. Shall we say that animals are more rational than we? Their instinct has undoubtedly more certainty than our conjectures. They have learnt neither logic nor geometry, neither have they any course or method of improvement, or any science. Whatever they do is done of a sudden without study, preparation, or deliberation. We commit blunders and mistakes every hour of the day after we have a long while argued and consulted together; whereas animals, without any reasoning or premeditation, perform every hour what seems to require most discernment, choice, and exactness. Their instinct is in many things infallible; but that word instinct is but a fair name void of sense. For what can an instinct more just, exact, precise, and certain than reason itself mean but a more perfect reason? We must therefore suppose a wonderful reason and understanding either in the work or in the artificer; either in the machine or in him that made it. When, for instance, I find that a watch shows the hours with such exactness as surpasses my knowledge, I presently conclude that if the watch itself does not reason, it must have been made by an artificer who, in that particular, reasoned better and had more skill than myself. In like manner, when I see animals, who every moment perform actions that argue a more certain art and industry than I am master of, I immediately conclude that such marvellous art must necessarily be either in the machine or in the artificer that framed it. Is it in the animal himself? But how is it possible he should be so wise and so infallible in some things? And if this art is not in him, it must of necessity be in the Supreme Artificer that made that piece of work, just as all the art of a watch is in the skill of the watchmaker.

SECT. XXVII. Though Beasts commit some Mistakes, yet their Instinct is, in many cases, Infallible.

Do not object to me that the instinct of beasts is in some things defective, and liable to error. It is no wonder beasts are not infallible in everything, but it is rather a wonder they are so in many cases. If they were infallible in everything, they should be endowed with a reason infinitely perfect; in short, they should be deities. In the works of an infinite Power there can be but a finite perfection, otherwise God should make creatures like or equal to Himself, which is impossible. He therefore cannot place perfection, nor consequently reason, in his works, without some bounds and restrictions. But those bounds do not prove that the work is void of order or reason. Because I mistake sometimes, it does not follow that I have no reason at all, and that I do everything by mere chance, but only that my reason is stinted and imperfect. In like manner, because a beast is not by his instinct infallible in everything, though he be so in many, it does not follow that there is no manner of reason in that machine, but only that such a machine has not a boundless reason. But, after all, it is a constant truth that in the operations of that machine there is a regular conduct, a marvellous art, and a skill which in many cases amounts to infallibility. Now, to whom shall we ascribe this infallible skill? To the work, or its Artificer?

SECT. XXVIII. It is impossible Beasts should have Souls.

If you affirm that beasts have souls different from their machines, I immediately ask you, “Of what nature are those souls entirely different from and united to bodies? Who is it that knew how to unite them to natures so vastly different? Who is it that has such absolute command over so opposite natures, as to put and keep them in such a regular and constant a society, and wherein mutual agreement and correspondence are so necessary and so quick?

If, on the contrary, you suppose that the same matter may sometimes think, and sometimes not think, according to the various wrangling and configurations it may receive, I will not tell you in this place that matter cannot think; and that one cannot conceive that the parts of a stone, without adding anything to it, may ever know themselves, whatever degree of motion, whatever figure, you may give them. I will only ask you now wherein that precise ranging and configuration of parts, which you speak of, consists? According to your opinion there must be a degree of motion wherein matter does not yet reason, and then another much like it wherein, on a sudden, it begins to reason and know itself. Now, who is it that knew how to pitch upon that precise degree of motion? Who is it that has discovered the line in which the parts ought to move? Who is it that has measured the dimensions so nicely as to find out and state the bigness and figure every part must have to keep all manner of proportions between themselves in the whole? Who is it that has regulated the outward form by which all those bodies are to be stinted? In a word, who is it that has found all the combinations wherein matter thinks, and without the least of which matter must immediately cease to think? If you say it is chance, I answer that you make chance rational to such a degree as to be the source of reason itself. Strange prejudice and intoxication of some men, not to acknowledge a most intelligent cause, from which we derive all intelligence; and rather choose to affirm that the purest reason is but the effect of the blindest of all causes in such a subject as matter, which of itself is altogether incapable of knowledge! Certainly there is nothing a man of sense would not admit rather than so extravagant and absurd an opinion.

SECT. XXIX. Sentiments of some of the Ancients concerning the Soul and Knowledge of Beasts.

The philosophy of the ancients, though very lame and imperfect, had nevertheless a glimpse of this difficulty; and, therefore, in order to remove it, some of them pretended that the Divine Spirit interspersed and scattered throughout the universe is a superior Wisdom that continually operates in all nature, especially in animals, just as souls act in bodies; and that this continual impression or impulse of the Divine Spirit, which the vulgar call instinct, without knowing the true signification of that word, was the life of all living creatures. They added, “That those sparks of the Divine Spirit were the principle of all generations; that animals received them in their conception and at their birth; and that the moment they died those divine particles disengaged themselves from all terrestrial matter in order to fly up to heaven, where they shone and rolled among the stars. It is this philosophy, at once so magnificent and so fabulous, which Virgil so gracefully expresses in the following verses upon bees:—

“ Esse apibus partem divinæ mentis , et haustus
Ætherios dixere: Deum namque ire per omnes
Terrasque , tractusque maris , cælumque profundum .
Hinc pecudes , armenta viros , genus omne ferarum ,
Quemque sibi tenues nascentem arcessere vitas.
Scilicet huc reddi deinde , ac resoluta referri
Omnia , nec morti esse locum , sed viva volare
Sideris in numerum , atque alto succedere cælo .”

That is:—

“Induced by such examples, some have taught
That bees have portions of ethereal thought,
Endued with particles of heavenly fires,
For God the whole created mass inspires.
Through heaven, and earth, and ocean depth He throws
His influence round, and kindles as He goes.
Hence flocks, and herds, and men, and beasts, and fowls,
With breath are quickened, and attract their souls.
Hence take the forms His prescience did ordain,
And into Him, at length, resolve again.
No room is left for death: they mount the sky,
And to their own congenial planets fly.”

Dryden's “ Virgil .”

That Divine Wisdom that moves all the known parts of the world had made so deep an impression upon the Stoics, and on Plato before them, that they believed the whole world to be an animal, but a rational and wise animal—in short, the Supreme God. This philosophy reduced Polytheism, or the multitude of gods, to Deism, or one God, and that one God to Nature, which according to them was eternal, infallible, intelligent, omnipotent, and divine. Thus philosophers, by striving to keep from and rectify the notions of poets, dwindled again at last into poetical fancies, since they assigned, as the inventors of fables did, a life, an intelligence, an art, and a design to all the parts of the universe that appear most inanimate. Undoubtedly they were sensible of the wonderful art that is conspicuous in nature, and their only mistake lay in ascribing to the work the skill of the Artificer.

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