With the exposure of this crowning absurdity, we must close our direct examination of this "History of Creation." We have not room to consider some of the appendages to the theory, such as the assertion of the essential unity of the human and the brute intellect, the denial of the immaterial nature of mind, and the advocacy of the system of phrenology. These absurd and degrading doctrines are naturally connected with the atheistic hypothesis we have been considering. They are its legitimate children. But they have already been refuted so often and so conclusively, that any revival of them at the present day is hardly deserving of notice. If we should stop here, then, it may fairly be left to the judgment of our readers, whether we have not fulfilled the pledge given at the outset, by showing that this theory is faulty at every point, even when viewed from the author's own ground. The proposal of it is no new thing. In one or another form, varying in particulars, but agreeing in substance, it has been before the world ever since the days of Democritus, and more especially of his follower, Epicurus. Lucretius clothed it in sonorous and majestic verse, for it is a theme fitted above all others to excite the fancy, and to receive the richest embellishments from the imagination. Modern authors have promulgated it again and again, with little other change than what was requisite to adapt it to recent improvements in science, and to engraft upon it some of their own favorite hypotheses and fancies. The version of it by the French naturalist Lamarck was the latest and the most in vogue, till the appearance of the present volume. So frequently has it been confuted, that the revival of it at this late period seems little more than a harmless exercise of ingenuity, a poetical and scientific dream, and one need hardly take the pains to expose its assumptions and fallacies. The violent suppositions which it involves only remind one of the remark quoted from Pascal on a former page, that "unbelievers are the most credulous persons in the world." If set forth only as a novel and pleasing fancy, it may be classed with other ingenious fictions, that are published without a thought of deception. But if seriously proposed, it can be fitly characterized only by borrowing the homely but energetic language of Dr. Bentley.

"And now that I have finished all the parts which I proposed to discourse of, I will conclude all with a short application to the atheists. And I would advise them, as a friend, to leave off this dabbling and smattering in philosophy, this shuffling and cutting with atoms. It never succeeded well with them, and they always come off with the loss. Their old master, Epicurus, seems to have had his brains so muddled and confounded with them, that he scarce ever kept in the right way; though the main maxim of his philosophy was to trust to his senses, and follow his nose. I will not take notice of his doting conceit, that the sun and moon are no bigger than they appear to the eye, a foot or half a yard over; and that the stars are no larger than so many glow-worms. But let us see how he manages his atoms, those almighty tools that do every thing of themselves, without the help of a workman. When the atoms, says he, descend in infinite space (very ingeniously spoken, to make high and low in infinity), they do not fall plumb down, but decline a little from the perpendicular, either obliquely or in a curve; and this declination, says he, from the direct line is the cause of our liberty of will. But, I say, this declination of atoms in their descent was itself either necessary or voluntary. If it was necessary, how then could that necessity ever beget liberty? If it was voluntary, then atoms had that power of volition before; and what becomes then of the Epicurean doctrine of the fortuitous productions of worlds? The whole business is contradiction and ridiculous nonsense."—Bentley's Works, Vol. III., pp. 47, 48.

Custom and convenience lead us to speak of the "laws" of nature, and of the "powers and forces" of brute matter; and few persons, in adopting these phrases, are aware that they are using a figure of speech. Yet nothing is more certain than that all the researches of science have not been able to point out with certainty a single active cause apart from the operation of mind. We discern nothing but regularity and similarity of sequences; and the attribution of these effects to some occult qualities in the atoms or molecules in which they are manifested is wholly hypothetical, and even, when closely examined, is inconceivable. For this reason we affirm, that the theory of our author, professing to account for the whole work of creation "by the operation of law," is not only unsound and baseless in its particulars, but, when scrutinized as a whole, is absolutely unintelligible. He attempts to account for a string of hypothetical effects, such as spontaneous generation and the transmutation of species, by a series of hypothetical and inconceivable causes, such as the energies of lifeless matter. Let any one conceive, if he can, of any power, energy, or force inherent in a lump of matter,—a stone, for instance,—except this merely negative one, that it always and necessarily remains in its present state, whether this be of rest or motion. Let him point out, if he can, the nexus between what are usually denominated cause and effect in matter,—as when two bodies are drawn towards each other, if they are in opposite states of electricity. When he says that it is the nature, or law, of bodies thus electrified to attract each other, he offers no explanation of the phenomenon; he only refers it to a class of other results, of a similar character, previously observed. It is not pretended, that all or any of these results, formerly known, are more intelligible or explicable than the one in question. But the latter is classed with them, because, from their general similarity, from their taking place under the same outward circumstances, it is reasonably supposed that one cause, whatever it may be, is common to them all. And this is the whole business of the student of nature, to place together results which are so similar, that we may attribute them to a common cause, without assuming to know what that cause is. The sole office of science is the theory, not of causation, but of classification. It is all reducible to natural history, the essence of which consists in arrangement.

We are not attempting to perplex a plain matter of science by introducing into its discussion a metaphysical subtilty. The principle here contended for is one of the first dictates of the inductive philosophy, and as such it has been frankly acknowledged and acted upon by all the great improvers of science in modern days. When Newton discovered that the planets circle round the sun in the same manner in which a stone thrown by the hand describes a curve before reaching the earth, he may be said to have explained the former phenomenon by bringing it into the same class with certain results which have long been familiar to us. But the explanation was only relative, not absolute. The latter phenomenon is, in reality, no more explicable than the former; he did not pretend to know the cause of the stone's falling to the ground, any more than of the revolution of the planets. It was something to be able to arrange these apparently heterogeneous results in the same class, and gravity was a convenient name to apply to the whole. But the supposition, that gravity was an occult cause, inherent in matter, he earnestly repelled, and declared that it was "inconceivable."[2] Franklin showed, that a thunder-cloud and the charged conductor of an electrical machine manifested the same phenomena, and might therefore be classed together; sparks were obtained from both, Leyden jars were charged from them, other bodies were attracted and repelled in a similar way, so that it was reasonable to believe that the same agency was acting in both cases. What this agency was he did not even guess. The cause of electric action, whether in the excited cloud, or the excited tube, was just as obscure as ever. Chemists observed, that different substances, when brought into close contact, sometimes remained distinct, and sometimes united with each other in various but regular proportions; and these capacities of coalescing with one class of bodies, and of remaining unaffected by another, are called chemical "affinities." This is a convenient generalization, and has properly received a specific name; though the common appellation throws no light on the cause of the phenomena, which remains an impenetrable secret. To say that certain action is caused by the operation of chemical affinities is only to arrange it with a large class of other observed appearances, equally obscure as to their origin and essential character.

Let us go a step further, and suppose that the progress of discovery has made known certain facts lying behind the phenomena in question, to which they may all be referred. Let us suppose, that all bodies which gravitate towards each other are found to be embosomed in a subtile, ambient fluid, which connects them, as it were, into one system; that the positive and negative states of electricity are resolvable into the presence of two fluids standing in certain relations to each other; and that substances show chemical affinity for each other only when they are in opposite electrical conditions. Still, we have only advanced a step in the generalization, and the real, efficient cause of the appearances is still hidden from us by an impenetrable veil. Gravitation is now referred to the communication of motion by impulse; electricity, to the combination and separation of different fluids; affinity, to the attraction or repulsion of these fluids. The latter classes of phenomena are more general, but not a whit more explicable, than the former. We have now fewer causes to seek for, but not one of these few has been discovered. When we have resolved electricity or gravitation into the presence of an elastic medium, it is a mere figure of speech to say, that we have discovered the cause of the electric phenomena or of gravity. That is just as far off as ever; for we have yet to discover the principle whence flow necessarily all the phenomena observable in fluids. It is the sole end and the highest ambition of science to discover as many as possible of the relationships which bind facts together, and thus to carry the generalization to the farthest point. Its office is not to discover causes, but to generalize effects. The investigation of real causes is quite given up, as a hopeless undertaking.

Observe, now, how all the phraseology employed in speaking of these successive generalizations of science is borrowed from the action of mind. The word action itself has no real significance, except when applied to the doings of an intelligent agent; we cannot speak of the doings of matter, as we could if the word action were applicable to it in any other than a figurative sense. Again, in speaking of the similarity of facts and the regularity of sequences, we refer them to a law of nature, just as if they were sentient beings acting under the will of a sovereign. Parts of pure matter—the chemical elements, for instance—do not act at all; being brute and inert, it is only by a strong metaphor that they are said to be subject to law. Again, we attribute force, power, &c., to the primitive particles of matter, and speak of their natural agencies. Just so, we talk of tone in coloring, and of a heavy or light sound; though, of course, in their proper significance, tone belongs only to sound, and heaviness to gravitating bodies. These modes of speech are proper enough, if their figurative character be kept in view; but it is a little too bad, when a whole scientific theory is made to rest upon a metaphor as its sole support. Agency is the employment of one intelligent being to act for another; force and power are applicable only to will; they are characteristic of volition. It is a violent trope to apply either of these words to senseless matter. Chemical affinities are spoken of, as if material elements were united by family ties, and manifested choice, and affection or aversion.

An obvious corollary from these remarks is, that all causation is an exertion of mind, and is only figuratively applied to matter. It necessarily implies power, will, and action. An efficient cause—we are not speaking now of a mere antecedent—is that which is necessarily followed by the effect, so that, if it were known, the effect might be predicted antecedently to all experience. Cicero describes it with philosophical accuracy. "Causa ea est, quae id efficit, cujus est causa. Non sic causa intelligi debet, ut quod cuique antecedat, id ei causa sit; sed quod cuique EFFICIENTER antecedat. Causis enim efficientibus quamque rem cognitis, posse denique sciri quid futurum esset." Now, in the world of matter, we discover nothing but antecedents and consequents; the former are the mere signs, not the causes, of the latter; no necessary connection—no connection at all, except sequence in time—can be discerned between them. Consequently, from an examination of the former, we could not determine a priori, that they must be followed by the latter, or by any other result whatever. Our knowledge here, if knowledge it can be called, is wholly empirical, or founded on experience. As we have seen, it is absurd to say, that one atom of matter literally acts on another. On the other hand, in the world of mind, we are directly conscious of action, and even of causation. All mental exertion is true action; every determination of the will implies effort, or the direction and use of power. The result to be accomplished is preconsidered, or meditated, and therefore is known a priori, or before experience; the volition succeeds, which is a true effort, or a power in action; and this, if the power be sufficient, is necessarily followed by the effect. Volition is a true cause; but in a finite mind it is not always an adequate cause. If I will to shut my eyes, the effect immediately follows as a necessary consequence. But if I will to stop the beating of my heart, or to move a paralyzed limb, the effect does not follow, because the power exerted is inadequate to the end proposed. The action of the will is still causative, but it is insufficient.

It was from overlooking the distinction here made, that Hume, Kant, and other metaphysicians were led to deny all knowledge of causation even in the action of mind. They confounded sufficiency with efficiency, and supposed, because the power did not always accomplish the end proposed, that it did not tend towards it, or exert any effect upon it. As the sufficiency of the volition can only be known a posteriori, or after experience, they imagined that there could be no cause but that which is infinite, or one which is invariably followed by the whole effect contemplated. They overlooked the fact, that, in the consciousness of effort,—as in the attempt to control the action of mind, to command the attention, &c.,—we have direct and full evidence of power in action, which is necessarily causal in its nature. The mental nisus is true force, exerted with a foreknowledge of the effect to be produced, and necessarily followed by a result,—a partial one it may be,—but one which is a true effect, whether it answers the whole intention, or not. Here, then, we discern that necessary connection between two events, that absolute efficient agency, which was vainly sought in the world of matter.

If these considerations are well founded, the whole framework of what are called "secondary causes" falls to pieces. The laws of nature are only a figure of speech; the powers and active inherent properties of material atoms are mere fictions. Mind alone is active; matter is wholly passive and inert. There is no such thing as what we usually call the course of nature; it is nothing but the will of God producing certain effects in a constant and uniform manner; which mode of action, however, being perfectly arbitrary, is as easy to be altered at any time as to be preserved. All events, all changes, in the external world, from the least even unto the greatest, are attributable to his will and power, which, being infinite, is always and necessarily adequate to the end proposed. The laws of motion, gravitation, affinity, and the like, are only expressions of the regularity and continuity of one infinite cause. The order of nature is the effect of divine wisdom, its stability is the result of divine beneficence.

"Estne Dei sedes nisi terra, et pontus, et aer, Et coelum, et virtus? Superos quid quaerimus ultra? Jupiter est quodcunque vides, quocunque moveris."

It may be asked, if divine power, instead of operating immediately throughout the universe, might not have endowed material atoms at the outset with certain properties and energies, the gradual evolution of which in after ages would produce all the phenomena of nature, without the necessity of his incessant presence, agency, and control. Certainly, we may not put bounds to omnipotence; though we may assert of a given hypothesis respecting its exercise, that it is inconceivable, or involves wholly incongruous ideas. The necessary attributes of matter, according to our conception of it, are extension, figure, impenetrability, and inertness; the properties of mind are thought, sensation, activity, and will. These attributes are essential, not arbitrary or contingent; for they make up our whole idea of the substances in which they inhere. We can no more suppose them to be interchangeable, than we can literally attribute dimensions to an odor, or capacity to a sound. To speak of an extended thought, an impenetrable sensation, an inert activity, is to talk nonsense; it is equally absurd to attribute thought to extension, sensation to figure, activity to inertness,[3] or causal agency to matter. True, mind may be superadded to matter, without being confounded with it, and without any exchange of properties. And in fact, this is the only conceivable form of the hypothesis now before us; namely, the theory of the ancient metaphysicians, that every particle of matter and every aggregate of it is accompanied, or animated, by a distinct mind. "Ea quoque [sidera] rectissime et animantia esse, et sentire atque intelligere, dicantur." If this be a more intelligible and plausible supposition than that of one infinite mind, pervading the universe, and producing all physical changes by its irresistible power, the materialist is welcome to the benefit of it.

As respects the manner in which all physical effects are produced by the direct action of the Deity, we are not bound to offer any explanation, as the subject confessedly transcends the limit of the human faculties. It is enough for us, that the supposition is the only conceivable one, the only mode of accounting for the phenomena of the material world. But as man is made in the image of his Creator, in the union for a time of his spirit with his corporeal frame we may find at least an intelligible illustration of the connection of God with the universe. Discarding the word mind, as the fruitful source of vague speculation and error, let us look for a moment at that of which it is a mere synonyme,—at the man himself. The sentient, thinking being, which I call self, is an absolute unit. Duality or complexity cannot be predicated of it in any intelligible sense. Personality is indivisible; I am one. This being is capable of acting in different ways; and for convenience of speech and classification, these modes of action have been arranged as the results of different faculties; though, in truth, it is no more proper to attribute to the person distinct powers and organs for comparison, memory, and judgment, than to give to the body separately a walking faculty, a lifting faculty, a jumping faculty, and so on. In the one case, these faculties are but different aspects of mental power; in the other, but different applications of muscular strength. Of course, the complex material frame, with its numberless adaptations and arrangements, in which this being is lodged, is truly foreign from the man himself, having a kind of connection with him, in reality, but one degree more intimate than that of his clothes. The body is the curiously contrived machine through which the man communicates with the material world. The eye is but his instrument to see with, the ear is his trumpet for communicating sound to him, the leg is his steed, and the arm his soldier. Many of these instruments and parts may be removed, or become unfit for use, without impairing, in the slightest degree, his distinct personality and intelligence. The particles of all of them are in a state of constant flux and renovation, so that man changes his body only a little more frequently than he does his coat. His whole corporeal frame is connected with him but for a while, and is then thrown aside, like an old garment, for which he has no farther use.

But during the period of its existence, how close and intimate in appearance is this union with the body! Sensation extends to every part of it, every fibre is instinct with life, and the direction of the will is absolute and immediate over every muscle and joint, as if the whole fabric and its tenant were one homogeneous system. The will tires not of its supremacy, and is not wearied with the number of volitions required of it to keep every joint in action, and every organ performing its proper function. It would not delegate the control of the fingers to an inferior power, nor contrive mechanical or automatic means for moving the extremities. Within its sphere, it is sole sovereign, and is not perplexed with the variety and constant succession of its duties, extending to every part of the complex structure of which it is the animating and directing spirit. Sensation is not cumbered with the multitude of impressions it receives, nor is the fineness of perception dulled by repeated exercise. The sharpness of its edge rather improves by use, and we become more heedful of its lightest intimations. Is it irreverent, then, to suppose that this union of body and soul shadows forth the connection between the material universe and the Infinite One? How else, indeed, can we attach any meaning to the attributes of omnipresence and omnipotence? The unity of action, the regularity of antecedence and consequence in outward events, which we commonly designate by the lame metaphor of law, then become the fitting expression of the consistent doings of an all-wise Being, in whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. The Creator, then, is no longer banished from his creation, nor is the latter an orphan, or a deserted child. It is not a great machine, that was wound up at the beginning, and has continued to run on ever since, without aid or direction from its artificer. As well might we conceive of the body of a man moving about, and performing all its appropriate functions, without the principle of life, or the indwelling of an immortal soul. The universe is not lifeless or soulless. It is informed by God's spirit, pervaded by his power, moved by his wisdom, directed by his beneficence, controlled by his justice.

"Spiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet."

The harmony of physical and moral laws is not a mere fancy, nor a forced analogy; they are both expressions of the same will, manifestations of the same spirit.

The objection, that it is beneath the dignity of the Almighty—[Greek: autourgein hapanta]—to put his hand to every thing—is founded on a false analogy, as is seen by the form in which Aristotle states it. "If it befit not the state and majesty of Xerxes, the great king of Persia, that he should stoop to do all the meanest offices himself, much less can this be thought suitable for God." The two cases do not correspond in the very feature essential to the argument. An earthly potentate, unable to execute with his own hand all the affairs of which he has control, is obliged to delegate the larger portion of them to his servants; selecting the lightest part for himself, he gratifies his pride by calling it also the noblest, though the distinction is factitious, there being no real difference, in point of honor or dignity, between them. Omnipotence needs no minister, and is not exhausted or wearied by the cares of a universe. Power in action is more truly sublime than power in repose; and surely it is not derogatory to divine energy to sustain and continue that which it was certainly not beneath divine wisdom to create and appoint. Rightly considered, to guide the falling of a leaf from a tree is an office as worthy of omnipotence, as the creation of a world. "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered."

Equally lame is the oft-repeated comparison of the universe to a machine of man's device, which is considered the more perfect the less mending or interposition it requires. A machine is a labor-saving contrivance, fitted to supply the weakness and deficiencies of him who uses it. Where the want does not exist, it is absurd to suppose the creation of the remedy. Human conceptions of the Deity are for ever at fault in imputing to him the errors and deficiencies which belong to our own limited faculties and dependent condition. Hence the idea of the Epicureans, that sublime indifference and unbroken repose are the only states of being worthy of the gods. Viewed in the light of true philosophy, no less than of Christianity, how base and grovelling does this conception appear! The sublime description of the pagan poet becomes the fitting expression and defence of the very theory it was designed to controvert:—

"Nam (proh sancta Deum tranquilla pectora pace, Quae placidum degunt aevum, vitamque serenam!) Quis regere immensi summam, quis habere profundi Indu manu validas potis est moderanter habenas? Quis pariter coelos omneis convertere? et omneis Ignibus aetheriis terras suffire feraceis? Omnibus inque locis esse omni tempore presto? Nubibus ut tenebras faciat, coelique serena Concutiat sonitu? tum fulmina mittat, et aedeis Saepe suas disturbet?"

Returning to the theory of our author, may we not now characterize it as at once unfounded in its details, inconceivable in its operation, and vulgar and mechanical in its design? Considered in their proper aspect, and by the light of a sound philosophy, whatever well accredited facts or legitimate deductions he has gleaned from the whole field of modern science afford the most striking evidence and illustration of that view of creation which is directly at variance with his own hypothesis. He has, in fact, exposed the insufficiency of what are called organic or mechanical laws to supply the losses, and bridge over the interruptions, that have occurred in the world's history. Geology has rendered at least one signal service to the cause of natural religion, by effectually doing away with the old atheistic objection, that, for aught we know, the present constitution of things never had a beginning, but has gone on for ever renewing itself in an endless series of generations. Science now tells us distinctly, that time was when "the earth was without form and void," no animated thing appearing "upon the face of the deep"; that afterwards, "the waters were gathered together unto one place, and the dry land appeared." Then "the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind." Next was fulfilled the command, "Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven." Then appeared "the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind." Last of all, "God created man in his own image, male and female created he them." We are not merely quoting Scripture; we are repeating the facts positively affirmed by the geologists, and incorporated by our author into his "history"—as authentic leaves taken from the "stone book"—in the same order in which they are narrated in the first chapter of Genesis. The coincidence in the order of succession is certainly remarkable.

Geology farther informs us, that, at different times, all the animated tribes which had peopled the earth's surface passed away, or became extinct, and were replaced by new species of different organization and characteristics; and probably at many other periods, as well as on occasions of some great catastrophe in the earth's crust, races wholly unlike any that had preceded them were introduced, from time to time, as new inhabitants of the globe. Here, then, was an absolute necessity for the continuous operation of an intelligent creative power, apart from the blind mechanical laws, which, at the utmost, could only allow each species, once introduced, to continue its kind. The marvellous adaptations of these new races to the altered conditions of the earth's surface when they appeared, then, become additional proofs of the wisdom and constant oversight of a designing Creator. They came not till all things were ready; they appeared when the extinction of former tribes had left a gap for them in the scale of being. The gradual development of what are called the powers of nature,—or, to speak more intelligibly, the successive improvements in the habitations intended for higher and higher races of animated life,—and the similarity of plan on which these races were organized, the scheme being preserved in all its essential features through countless generations, show unity of design, and prove that the works of creation, however separated in time, must be attributed to one intelligent author. The same conclusion follows almost irresistibly from the gradations at present observable both in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, so that all the races may be arranged, not indeed in a linear series, but in families or groups, bearing analogous relations to each other, and showing a general progress from the more simple to the more complex forms. Surely, these facts, so clearly explained by our author, instead of sustaining the corpuscular philosophy, directly militate with it, and afford the most satisfactory proof of the doctrine of the theist, and the theory of continuous divine agency. We have hardly ever met with a book that furnished more complete materials for its own refutation.

After all, the question is a very simple one. We have only to decide whether it is more likely, that the complex system of things in the midst of which we live,—the beautiful harmonies between the organic and inorganic world, the nice arrangements and curious adaptations that obtain in each, the simplicity and uniformity of the general plan to which the vast multitude of details may be reduced,—was built up, and is now sustained, by one all-wise and all-powerful Being, or by particles of brute matter, acting of themselves, without direction, interference, or control. We cannot now say, that possibly the system never had a beginning, but has always existed under the form in which it now appears to us; geology has disproved that supposition most effectually. Choose ye, then, between mind and matter, between an intelligent being and a stone, for the parentage and support of this wonderful system. For our own part, we will adopt the conclusion of one of the most eloquent of those old pagan philosophers, on whose eyes the light of immediate revelation never dawned:—"Hic ego non mirer esse quemquam, qui sibi persuadeat, corpora quaedam solida atque individua vi et gravitate ferri, mundumque effici ornatissimum et pulcherrimum ex corum corporum concursione fortuita? Quod si mundum efficere potest concursus atomorum, cur porticum, cur templum, cur domum, cur urbem non potest, quae sunt minus operosa, et multo quidem faciliora? Certe ita temere de mundo effutiunt, ut mihi quidem nunquam hunc admirabilem coeli ornatum, qui locus est proximus, suspexisse videantur."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: N. A. Review, Vol. LVI., pp. 339-351.]

[Footnote 2: "It is inconceivable, that inanimate brute matter should, without the mediation of something else, which is not material, operate upon and affect other matter without mutual contact, as it must, if gravitation, in the sense of Epicurus, be essential and inherent in it. And this is one reason why I desired you would not ascribe innate gravity to me. That gravity should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so that one body may act upon another at a distance through a vacuum, without the mediation of any thing else, by and through which their action and force may be conveyed from one to another, is to me so great an absurdity, that I believe no man, who has in philosophical matters a competent faculty of thinking, can ever fall into it. Gravity must be caused by an agent acting constantly according to certain laws."—Newton's letter in Bentley's Works, Vol. III., pp. 211, 212.]

[Footnote 3: And yet, so strong is the propensity to metaphor, that scientific men talk of the vis inertiae as a true force, though the ideas expressed by the two Latin words are certainly incongruous. The mistake here arises from confounding inertness, or resistance to force,—a merely negative idea,—with the true force which is necessary to overcome it; or rather, since force can only be measured by its results, and must always be adequate to the effect produced, inquirers have adopted the convenient hypothesis of two antagonistic forces, not always recollecting that one of them is merely passive.]

THE END