_Laws of Motion, common to every Being of Nature.--Attraction and
Repulsion.--Inert Force.--Necessity._
Man is never surprised at those effects, of which he thinks he knows the
cause; he believes he does know the cause, as soon as he sees them act
in an uniform and determinate manner, or when the motion excited is
simple: the descent of a stone, that falls by its own peculiar weight,
is an object of contemplation to the philosopher only; to whom the mode
by which the most immediate causes act, and the most simple motion, are
no less impenetrable mysteries than the most complex motion, and the
manner by which the most complicated causes give impulse. The uninformed
are seldom tempted either to examine the effects which are familiar to
them, or to recur to first principles. They think they see nothing in
the descent of a stone, which ought to elicit their surprise, or become
the object of their research: it requires a NEWTON to feel that the
descent of heavy bodies is a phenomenon, worthy his whole, his most
serious attention; it requires the sagacity of a profound experimental
philosopher, to discover the laws by which heavy bodies fall, by which
they communicate to others their peculiar motion. In short, the mind
that is most practised in philosophical observation, has frequently the
chagrin to find, that the most simple and most common effects escape all
his researches, and remain inexplicable to him.
When any extraordinary, any unusual, effect is produced, to which our
eyes have not been accustomed; or when we are ignorant of the energies
of the cause, the action of which so forcibly strikes our senses, we
are tempted to meditate upon it, and take it into our consideration.
The European, accustomed to the use of GUNPOWDER, passes it by, without
thinking much of its extraordinary energies; the workman, who labours to
manufacture it, finds nothing marvellous in its properties, because he
daily handles the matter that forms its composition. The American, to
whom this powder was a stranger, who had never beheld its operation,
looked upon it as a divine power, and its energies as supernatural. The
uninformed, who are ignorant of the true cause of THUNDER, contemplate
it as the instrument of divine vengeance. The experimental philosopher
considers it as the effect of the electric matter, which, nevertheless,
is itself a cause which he is very far from perfectly understanding.--It
required the keen, the penetrating mind of a FRANKLIN, to throw light
on the nature of this subtle fluid--to develop the means by which
its effects might be rendered harmless--to turn to useful purposes, a
phenomenon that made the ignorant tremble--that filled their minds with
terror, their hearts with dismay, as indicating the anger of the gods:
impressed with this idea, they prostrated themselves, they sacrificed to
JUPITER, to deprecate his wrath.
Be this as it may, whenever we see a cause act, we look upon its effect
as natural: when this cause becomes familiar to the sight, when we are
accustomed to it, we think we understand it, and its effects surprise
us no longer. Whenever any unusual effect is perceived, without our
discovering the cause, the mind sets to work, becomes uneasy; this
uneasiness increases in proportion to its extent: as soon as it is
believed to threaten our preservation, we become completely agitated; we
seek after the cause with an earnestness proportioned to our alarm;
our perplexity augments in a ratio equivalent to the persuasion we are
under: how essentially requisite it is, we should become acquainted with
the cause that has affected us in so lively a manner. As it frequently
happens that our senses can teach us nothing respecting this cause
which so deeply interests us--which we seek with so much ardour, we have
recourse to our imagination; this, disturbed with alarm, enervated by
fear, becomes a suspicious, a fallacious guide: we create chimeras,
fictitious causes, to whom we give the credit, to whom we ascribe the
honour of those phenomena by which we have been so much alarmed. It is
to this disposition of the human mind that must be attributed, as will
be seen in the sequel, the religious errors of man, who, despairing of
the capacity to trace the natural causes of those perplexing phenomena
to which he was the witness, and sometimes the victim, created in his
brain (heated with terror) imaginary causes, which have become to him a
source of the most extravagant folly.
In Nature, however, there can be only natural causes and effects; all
motion excited in this Nature, follows constant and necessary laws: the
natural operations, to the knowledge of which we are competent, of which
we are in a capacity to judge, are of themselves sufficient to enable us
to discover those which elude our sight; we can at least judge of them
by analogy. If we study Nature with attention, the modes of action which
she displays to our senses will teach us not to be disconcerted by those
which she refuses to discover. Those causes which are the most remote
from their effects, unquestionably act by intermediate causes; by the
aid of these, we can frequently trace out the first. If in the chain of
these causes we sometimes meet with obstacles that oppose themselves
to our research, we ought to endeavour by patience and diligence to
overcome them; when it so happens we cannot surmount the difficulties
that occur, we still are never justified in concluding the chain to be
broken, or that the cause which acts is SUPER-NATURAL. Let us, then, be
content with an honest avowal, that Nature contains resources of which
we are ignorant; but never let us substitute phantoms, fictions, or
imaginary causes, senseless terms, for those causes which escape our
research; because, by such means we only confirm ourselves in ignorance,
impede our enquiries, and obstinately remain in error.
In spite of our ignorance with respect to the meanderings of Nature,
(for of the essence of being, of their properties, their elements, their
combinations, their proportions, we yet know the simple and general
laws, according to which bodies move;) we see clearly, that some of
these laws, common to all beings, never contradict themselves; although,
on some occasions, they appear to vary, we are frequently competent to
discover that the cause becoming complex, from combination with other
causes, either impedes or prevents its mode of action being such as
in its primitive state we had a right to expect. We know that active,
igneous matter, applied to gunpowder, must necessarily cause it to
explode: whenever this effect does not follow the combination of the
igneous matter with the gunpowder--whenever our senses do not give us
evidence of the fact, we are justified in concluding, either that the
powder is damp, or that it is united with some other substance that
counteracts its explosion. We know that all the actions of man have a
tendency to render him happy: whenever, therefore, we see him labouring
to injure or destroy himself, it is just to infer that he is moved by
some cause opposed to his natural tendency; that he is deceived by some
prejudice; that, for want of experience, he is blind to consequences:
that he does not see whither his actions will lead him.
If the motion excited in beings was always simple; if their actions did
not blend and combine with each other, it would be easy to know, and we
should be assured, in the first instance, of the effect a cause would
produce. I know that a stone, when descending, ought to describe a
perpendicular: I also know, that if it encounters any other body which
changes its course, it is obliged to take an oblique direction, but if
its fall be interrupted by several contrary powers, which act upon it
alternately, I am no longer competent to determine what line it will
describe. It may be a parabola, an ellipsis, spiral, circular, &c. this
will depend on the impulse, it receives, and the powers by which it is
impelled.
The most complex motion, however, is never more than the result of
simple motion combined: therefore as soon as we know the general laws of
beings and their action, we have only to decompose, to analyse them, in
order to discover those of which they are combined; experience teaches
us the effects we are to expect. Thus it is clear, the simplest motion
causes that necessary junction of different matter, of which all bodies
are composed: that matter, varied in its essence, in its properties,
in its combinations, has each its several modes of action or motion,
peculiar to itself; the whole motion of a body is consequently the sum
total of each particular motion that is combined.
Amongst the matter we behold, some is constantly disposed to unite,
whilst other is incapable of union; that which is suitable to unite,
forms combinations, more or less intimate, possessing more or less
durability: that is to say, with more or less capacity to preserve their
union, to resist dissolution. Those bodies which are called SOLIDS,
receive into their composition a great number of homogeneous, similar,
and analogous particles, disposed to unite themselves with energies
conspiring or tending to the same point. The primitive beings, or
elements of bodies, have need of supports, of props; that is to say, of
the presence of each other, for the purpose of preserving themselves;
of acquiring consistence or solidity: a truth, which applies with equal
uniformity to what is called _physical_, as to what is termed _moral_.
It is upon this disposition in matter and bodies, with relation to each
other, that is founded those modes of action which natural philosophers
designate by the terms _attraction, repulsion, sympathy, antipathy,
affinities, relations_; that moralists describe under the names of
_love, hatred, friendship, aversion_. Man, like all the beings in
nature, experiences the impulse of attraction and repulsion; the motion
excited in him differing from that of other beings, only, because it is
more concealed, and frequently so hidden, that neither the causes which
excite it, nor their mode of action are known. This system of attraction
and repulsion is very ancient, although it required a NEWTON to develop
it. That love, to which the ancients attributed the unfolding, or
disentanglement of chaos, appears to have been nothing more than a
personification of the principle of attraction. All their allegories and
fables upon chaos, evidently indicate nothing more than the accord or
union that exists between analogous and homogeneous substances; from
whence resulted the existence of the universe: whilst discord or
repulsion, which they called SOIS, was the cause of dissolution,
confusion, and disorder; there can scarcely remain a doubt, but this was
the origin of the doctrines of the TWO PRINCIPLES. According to DIOGENES
LAERTIUS, the philosopher, EMPEDOCLES, asserted, that "_there is a
kind of affection by which the elements unite themselves; and a sort of
discord, by which they separate or remove themselves._"
However it may be, it is sufficient for us to know that by an invariable
law, certain bodies are disposed to unite with more or less facility;
whilst others cannot combine or unite themselves: water combines itself
readily with salt, but will not blend with oil. Some combinations are
very strong, cohering with great force, as metals; others are extremely
feeble, their cohesion slight and easily decomposed, as in fugitive
colours. Some bodies, incapable of uniting by themselves, become
susceptible of union by the agency of other bodies, which serve for
common bonds or MEDIUMS. Thus, oil and water, naturally heterogeneous,
combine and make soap, by the intervention of alkaline salt. From matter
diversely combined, in proportions varied almost to infinity, result
all physical and moral bodies; the properties and qualities of which are
essentially different, with modes of action more or less complex: which
are either understood with facility, or difficult of comprehension,
according to the elements or matter that has entered into their
composition, and the various modifications this matter has undergone.
It is thus, from the reciprocity of their attraction, the primitive
imperceptible particles of matter, which constitute bodies, become
perceptible, form compound substances, aggregate masses; by the union
of similar and analogous matter, whose essences fit them to cohere. The
same bodies are dissolved, their union broken, whenever they undergo the
action of matter inimical to their junction. Thus by degrees are formed,
plants, metals, animals, men; each grows, expands, and increases in its
own system or order; sustaining itself in its respective existence,
by the continual attraction of analogous matter; to which it becomes
united, and by which it is preserved and strengthened. Thus, certain
aliments become fit for the sustenance of man, whilst others destroy his
existence: some are pleasant to him, strengthen his habit; others
are repugnant to him, weaken his system: in short, never to separate
physical from moral laws, it is thus that men, mutually attracted
to each other by their reciprocal wants, form those unions which we
designate by the terms, MARRIAGE, FAMILIES, SOCIETIES, FRIENDSHIPS,
CONNEXIONS: it is thus that virtue strengthens and consolidates them;
that vice relaxes or totally dissolves them.
Of whatever nature may be the combination of beings, their motion has
always one direction or tendency: without direction we could not have
any idea of motion: this direction is regulated by the properties of
each being; as soon as they have any given properties, they necessarily
act in obedience to them: that is to say, they follow the law invariably
determined by these same properties; which, of themselves, constitute
the being such as he is found, and settle his mode of action, which
is always the consequence of his manner of existence. But what is the
general direction, or common tendency, we see in all beings? What is
the visible and known end of all their motion? It is to conserve their
actual existence--to preserve themselves--to strengthen their several
bodies--to attract that which is favorable to them--to repel that
which is injurious them--to avoid that which can harm them--to resist
impulsions contrary to their manner of existence, and to their natural
tendency.
To exist, is to experience the motion peculiar to a determinate essence:
to conserve this existence, is to give and receive that motion from
which results its maintenance:--it is to attract matter suitable
to corroborate its being--to avoid that by which it may be either
endangered or enfeebled. Thus, all beings of which we have any
knowledge, have a tendency to conserve themselves, each after its
peculiar manner: the stone, by the firm adhesion of its particles,
opposes resistance to its destruction. Organized beings conserve
themselves by more complicated means, but which are, nevertheless,
calculated to maintain their existence against that by which it may
be injured. Man, both in his physical and in his moral capacity, is
a living, feeling, thinking, active being; who, every instant of his
duration, strives equally to avoid that which may be injurious, and to
procure that which is pleasing to him, or that which is suitable to his
mode of existence; all his actions tending solely to conserve himself.
ST. AUGUSTINE admits this tendency in all whether organized or not.
Conservation, then, is the common point to which all the energies, all
the powers, all the faculties of beings, seem continually directed.
Natural philosophers call this direction or tendency, SELF-GRAVITATION:
NEWTON calls it INERT FORCE: moralists denominate it in man, SELF-LOVE
which is nothing more than the tendency he has to preserve himself--a
desire of happiness--a love of his own welfare--a wish for pleasure--a
promptitude in seizing on every thing that appears favourable to
his conservation--a marked aversion to all that either disturbs his
happiness, or menaces his existence--primitive sentiments, that are
common to all beings of the human species; which all their faculties are
continually striving to satisfy; which all their passions, their wills,
their actions, have eternally for their object and their end. This
self-gravitation, then, is clearly a necessary disposition in man,
and in all other beings; which, by a variety means, contribute to the
preservation of the existence they have received, as long as nothing
deranges the order of their machine, or its primitive tendency.
Cause always produces effect; there can be no effect without cause.
Impulse is always followed by some motion, more or less sensible; by
some change, more or less remarkable in the body which receives it.
But motion, and its various modes of displaying itself, is, as has been
already shewn, determined by the nature, the essence, the properties,
the combinations of the beings acting. It must, then, be concluded that
motion, or the modes by which beings act, arises from some cause; that
as this cause is not able to move or act, but in conformity with the
manner of its being or its essential properties, it must equally be
concluded, that all the phenomena we perceive are necessary; that every
being in Nature, under the circumstances in which it is placed, and with
the given properties it possesses, cannot act otherwise than it does.
Necessity is the constant and infallible relation of causes with their
effects. Fire consumes, of necessity, combustible matter plated within
its circuit of action: man, by fatality, desires either that which
really is, or appears to be serviceable to his welfare. Nature, in all
the extraordinary appearances she exhibits, necessarily acts after her
own peculiar essence: all the beings she contains, necessarily act each
after its own a individual nature: it is by motion that the whole has
relation with its parts; and these parts with the whole: it is thus
that in the general system every thing is connected: it is itself but
an immense chain of causes and effects, which flow without ceasing, one
from the other. If we reflect, we shall be obliged to acknowledge that
every thing we see is necessary; that it cannot be otherwise than it is;
that all the beings we behold, as well as those which escape our
sight, act by invariable laws. According to these laws, heavy
bodies fall--light bodies ascend--analogous substances attract each
other--beings tend to preserve themselves--man cherishes himself; loves
that which he thinks advantageous--detests that which he has an idea may
prove unfavourable to him.--In fine, we are obliged to admit, there
can be no perfectly independent energy--no separated cause--no detached
action, in a nature where all the beings are in a reciprocity of
action--who, without interruption, mutually impel and resist each
other--who is herself nothing more than an eternal circle of motion,
given and received according to necessary laws; which under the same
given incidents, invariably produce the same effect.
Two examples will serve to throw the principle here laid down, into
light--one shall be taken from physics, the other from morals.
In a whirlwind of dust, raised by elemental force, confused as it
appears to our eyes, in the most frightful tempest excited by contrary
winds, when the waves roll high as mountains, there is not a single
particle of dust, or drop of water, that has been placed by CHANCE, that
has not a cause for occupying the place where it is found; that does
not, in the most rigorous sense of the word, act after the manner in
which it ought to act; that is, according to its own peculiar essence,
and that of the beings from whom it receives this communicated force.
A geometrician exactly knew the different energies acting in each case,
with the properties of the particles moved, could demonstrate that after
the causes given, each particle acted precisely as it ought to act, and
that it could not have acted otherwise than it did.
In those terrible convulsions that sometimes agitate political
societies, shake their foundations, and frequently produce the overthrow
of an empire; there is not a single action, a single word, a single
thought, a single will, a single passion in the agents, whether they act
as destroyers, or as victims, that is not the necessary result of the
causes operating; that does not act, as, of necessity, it must act, from
the peculiar essence of the beings who give the impulse, and that of the
agents who receive it, according to the situation these agents fill in
the moral whirlwind. This could be evidently proved by an understanding
capacitated to rate all the action and re-action, of the minds and
bodies of those who contributed to the revolution.
In fact, if all be connected in Nature, if all motion be produced,
the one from the other, notwithstanding their secret communications
frequently elude our sight; we ought to feel convinced of this truth,
that there is no cause, however minute, however remote, that does not
sometimes produce the greatest and most immediate effects on man. It
may, perhaps, be in the parched plains of Lybia, that are amassed
the first elements of a storm or tempest, which, borne by the winds,
approach our climate, render our atmosphere dense, and thus operating
on the temperament, may influence the passions of a man, whose
circumstances shall have capacitated him to influence many others, who
shall decide after his will the fate of many nations.
Man, in fact, finds himself in Nature, and makes a part of it: he acts
according to laws, which are appropriate to him; he receives in a manner
more or less distinct, the action and impulse of the beings who surround
him; who themselves act after laws that are peculiar to their essence.
Thus he is variously modified; but his actions are always the result of
his own energy, and that of the beings who act upon him, and by whom he
is modified. This is what gives such variety to his determinations--what
generally produces such contradiction in his thoughts, his opinions,
his will, his actions; in short, in that motion, whether concealed or
visible, by which he is agitated. We shall have occasion, in the sequel,
to place this truth, at present so much contested, in a clearer light:
it will be sufficient for our purpose at present to prove, generally,
that every thing in Nature is necessary--that nothing to be found in it
can act otherwise than it does.
Motion, alternately communicated and received, establishes the
connection or relation between the different orders of beings: when they
are in the sphere of reciprocal action, attraction approximates
them; repulsion dissolves and separates them; the one strengthens and
preserves them; the other enfeebles and destroys them. Once combined,
they have a tendency to conserve themselves in that mode of existence,
by virtue of their _inert force_; in this they cannot succeed, because
they are exposed to the continual influence of all other beings, who
perpetually and successively act upon them; their change of form, their
dissolution, is requisite to the preservation of Nature herself: this is
the sole end we are able to assign her--to which we see her tend without
intermission--which she follows without interruption, by the destruction
and reproduction of all subordinate beings, who are obliged to submit to
her laws--to concur, by their mode of action, to the maintenance of her
active existence, so essentially requisite to the GREAT WHOLE.
It is thus each being is an individual, who, in the great family,
performs his necessary portion of the general labour--who executes the
unavoidable task assigned to him. All bodies act according to laws,
inherent in their peculiar essence, without the capability to swerve,
even for a single instant, from those according to which Nature herself
acts. This is the central power, to which all other powers, essences,
and energies, are submitted: she regulates the motions of beings, by the
necessity of her own peculiar essence: she makes them concur by various
modes to the general plan: this appears to be nothing more than the
life, action, and maintenance of the whole, by the continual change of
its parts. This object she obtains, in removing them, one by the other;
by that which establishes, and by that which destroys, the relation
subsisting between them; by that which gives them, and that which
deprives them of, their forms, combinations, proportions, and qualities,
according to which they act for a time, after a given mode; these are
afterwards taken from them, to make them act after a different manner.
It is thus that Nature makes them expand and change, grow and decline,
augment and diminish, approximate and remove, forms and destroys them,
according as she finds it requisite to maintain the whole; towards the
conservation which this Nature is herself essentially necessitated to
have a tendency.
This irresistible power, this universal necessity, this general energy,
then, is only a consequence of the nature of things; by virtue of which
every thing acts, without intermission, after constant and immutable
laws: these laws not varying more for the whole than for the beings of
which it is composed. Nature is an active living whole, to which all its
parts necessarily concur; of which, without their own knowledge, they
maintain the activity, the life, and the existence. Nature acts and
exists necessarily: all that she contains, necessarily conspires to
perpetuate her active existence. This is the decided opinion of PLATO,
when he says, "_matter and necessity are the same thing; this necessity
is the mother of the world._" In point of fact, we cannot go beyond this
aphorism, MATTER ACTS, BECAUSE IT EXISTS; AND EXISTS, TO ACT. If it be
enquired how, or for why, matter exists? We answer, we know not: but
reasoning by analogy, of what we do not know by that which we do, we
should be of opinion it exists necessarily, or because it contains
within itself a sufficient reason for its existence. In supposing it to
be created or produced by a being distinguished from it, or less known
than itself, (which it may be, for any thing we know to the contrary,)
we must still admit, that this being is necessary, and includes a
sufficient reason for his own existence. We have not then removed any of
the difficulty, we have not thrown a clearer light upon the subject, we
have not advanced a single step; we have simply laid aside a being,
of which we know some few of the properties, but of which we are still
extremely ignorant, to have recourse to a power, of which it is utterly
impossible we can, as long as we are men, form any distinct idea; of
which, notwithstanding it may be a truth, we cannot, by any means we
possess, demonstrate the existence. As, therefore, these must be at best
but speculative points of belief, which each individual, by reason of
its obscurity, may contemplate with different optics, under various
aspects, they surely ought to be left free for each to judge after his
own fashion: the Hindoo can have no just cause of enmity against
the Christian for his faith: this has no moral right to question
the Mussulman upon his; the numerous sects of each of the various
persuasions spread over the face of the earth, ought to make it a creed
to look with an eye of complacency on the deviation of the others;
and rest upon that great moral axiom, which is strictly conformable
to Nature, which contains the whole of man's happiness--"_Do not unto
another, that which do you not wish another should do unto you_;" for it
is evident, according to their own doctrines, out of all the variety of
systems, one only can be right.
We shall see in the sequel, how much man's imagination labours to
form an idea, of the energies of that Nature he has personified, and
distinguished from herself: in short, we shall examine some of the
ridiculous and pernicious inventions, which, for want of understanding
Nature, have been imagined to impede her course, to suspend her eternal
laws, to place obstacles to the necessity of things.