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even when standing still, we get a proof of contrivance, and of a contriving mind, having been employed about it. In the form and obvious relation of its parts we see enough to convince us of this. If we pull the works in pieces, for the purpose of a closer examination, we are still more fully convinced. But, when we see the watch going, we see proof of another point, viz. that there is a power somewhere and somehow or other, applied to it; a power in action; that there is more in the subject than the mere wheels of the machine; that there is a secret spring or a gravitating plummet; in a word, that there is force and energy, as well as mechanism.
So then, the watch in motion establishes to the observer two conclusions: one; that thought, contrivance, and design, have been employed in the forming, proportioning, and arranging of its parts; and that, whoever or wherever he be, or were, such a contriver there is, or was: the other; that force or power, distinct from mechanism, is, at this present time, acting upon it. If I faw a handmill even at rest, I should see contrivance; but, if I faw it grinding, I should t)e assured that a hand was at the windlass, though in
2 G another another room. It is the fame in nature. Id the works of nature we trace mechanism; and this alone proves contrivance: but living, active, moving, productive nature, proves also the exertion of a power at the centre j for, wherever the power resides, may be denominated the centre.
The intervention and disposition of what are called "second causes" fall under the fame observation. This disposition is or is not mechanism, according as we can or cannot trace it by our senses, and means of examination. That is all the difference there is; and it is a difference which respects our faculties, not the things themselves. Now where the order of second causes is mechanical, what is here feid of mechanism strictly applies to it. But it would be always' mechanism (natural chy* mistry, for instance, would be mechanism) if our senses were acute enough to descry it. Neither mechanism, therefore in the works of nature, nor the intervention of what are called second causes, (for I think that they are the fame thing,) excuse the necessity of an agent distinct from both. . . „•
If, in tracing these causes, it be faid, that we find certain general properties of matter, which have nothing in them that bespeaks intelligence, I answer, that, still, the managing of these properties, the pointing and directing them to the uses which we see made of them, demands intelligence in the highest degree. For example, suppose animal secretions to be elective attractions, and that such and such attractions univerfally belong to such and such substances; in all which there is no intellect concerned; still the choice and collocation of these substances, the fixing upon right substances and disposing them in right places, must be an act of intelligence. What mischief would follow, were there a single transposition of the secretory organs; a single mistake in arranging the glands which compose them?
There may be many second causes, and many courses of second causes, one behind another, between what we observe of nature, and the Deity; but there must be intelligence somewhere; there must be more in nature than whatWe see; and, amongst the things unseen, there must be an intelligent, designing, author. The philosopher beholds with astonishment the production of things around him. Uuconlci<ms particles of matter take their stati<mB> and severally range themselves in an % 'j 2 O 2 order, order, so as to become collectively plants or animals, i. e. organized bodies, with parts bearing strict and evident relation to one another, and to the utility of the whole: and it should seem that these particles could not move in any other way than as they do, for they testify not the smallest sign of choice, or liberty, or discretion. There may be plastic natures, particular intelligent beings, guiding these motions in each case: or they may be the result of trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed beforehand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in action by a power at the centre. But in either case, there must be intelligence.
The minds of most men are fond of what they call a principle, and of the appearance of simplicity, in accounting for phenomena. Yet this principle, this simplicity is sometimes nothing more than in the name; which name, comprises, perhaps, under it a diversified, multifarious, or progressive operation, distinguishable into parts. The power, in organized bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, is one of these principles. Give a philosopher this, and he can get on. But he does not reflect, what this principle, (if such he
chuse chuse to call it,) what this mode of production requires; how much it presupposes; what an apparatus of instruments, some of which arer strictly mechanical, is necessary to its success; what a train it includes of operations and; changes, one succeeding another, one related to another, one ministring to another; all advancing, by intermediate, and, frequently, by sensible steps, to their ultimate result. Yet, because the whole of this complicated action is wrapped up in a single term, generation, we are to set it down as an elementary principle; and to suppose, that, when we have resolved the things which we see into this principle, we have sufficiently accounted for their origin, without the necessity of a designing, intelligent Creator. The truth is, generation is not a principle, but a process. We might as well call the casting of metals, a principle: , we. might, so far as appears to me, as well call spinning and weaving principles: and then, referring the texture of cloths, the fabric of muslins and callicoes, the patterns of diapers and damasks, to these as principles, pretend to ,dispense with intention, thought, and. contrivance, on the part of the artist; or to dispense, indeed, with the necessity of any artist 2 G 3 at