ARGUMENTS TO PROVE THE EXISTENCE OF GOD AND OBSERVATIONS time, brought to the view and contemplation of this frame of things. Let him see the sun in his glory and strength; succeeded by the moon in THE arguments which are used to her brightness, and the stars in their prove the existence of God, are distin- brilliancy and number; let him comguished by logicians into two kinds, mand the extensive prospect of ocean à priori, and à posteriori. The first and land, mountain and valley; let of these (arguments à priori) are found him survey the tribes of animated exed upon principles anterior, and inde- istence, whether they swim in the pendent with regard to the works of water, or fly in the air, or graze in the nature. The arguments of this class field, of every nature and every form; are not very easy and obvious; they let him perceive the vegetable world, require a penetration of genius, a from the awful forest to the peaceful closeness of application, and a com- meadow and flowery garden; let him mand of leisure, in order to perceive behold himself, his form erect, his their force, which fall to the lot of powers of thought and expression! comparatively but few. But to a The first impression made by such a mind which distinctly perceives that survey would be, There is a God; and force, perhaps there is no kind of the first utterance would be, "These argument more conclusive. I submit are thy wondrous works, Parent of with the greatest deference the follow-good; thyself how wondrous then!" ing propositions.- 1. Nothing can produce nothing. 2. Something is; therefore something must have been always, or from eternity. 3. That which has been from eternity, must either be one being, a being independent and self-existent; or a succession of beings, caused by and dependent one upon another. 4. There cannot have been an eternal succession of beings. Succession implies that one thing exists before another; and to say that succession is eternal, is to say that things equally eternal, exist one before another; which is absurd. 5. Therefore, there must be a First Being; a Being uncaused, self-existent, eternal; the cause of all other beings; and that Being is God. But the other kind of arguments, à posteriori, i. e. from the effect to the cause, from the works of nature to the Author of their existence, is in general the more obvious and convincing. The great Creator has manifested himself in his works; the heavens declare his glory; the firmament sheweth his handiwork; day unto day, and night unto night, proclaim his being, and wisdom, and power. We are the less interested in the stupendous and infinitely varied works of nature, because we see them every day, and have gradually risen up among them from unconscious infancy. But suppose a creature, possessed of the powers of observation and intelligence, only equal to our own when fully matured; suppose such a creature to be all at once, and for the first Have the researches of modern and experimental philosophy come to any other conclusion? By no means. The great discoveries in modern science are discoveries of final causes; of the adaptation of means to an end; of the fitness of parts to a whole; of ingenuity, contrivance, and design. In anatomy, physiology, chemistry, astronomy, in every science which has attained any thing like maturity and decision, this is most eminently the case. It is true, that in some phenomena of nature we do not discern the final cause; but it is equally true, that those phenomena of nature we do not understand. Nature, through all her works, in the stupendous, in the minute, in the planet, in the insect; nature, whenever her works are understood, proclaims the mighty God.I shall be excused the introduction of the following observations in proof of what has been just stated. Final Cause; or Phenomena of Nature, tending to prove Intelligence and Design in its Operations and Laws. By final cause, I understand the end or purpose for which an effect is produced. It is to be carefully distinguished from the efficient cause, which is the energy or power by which an effect is produced. Final cause supposes the existence of mind; an dimplies its exercise in forecast, contrivance, and design. Efficient cause, is the proof of power; final cause, is the equal proof of intelligence. In a watch, the final cause is to ascertain | Saturn. In that case, our organs of the progress of time; in a musket, the vision could not collect the sun's rays, final cause is, to project a ball with scattered and diverging as they must force and velocity; in a telescope, be, at such a distance from him, and the final cause is, to assist vision. we must subsist in comparative darkSuppose now you were to meet with ness. The beauteous spring, the a person, who seriously maintained fruitful summer, would be unknown; that the spring, box, chain, fusee, our rivers, our ocean, would be uniwheels, balance, index, case, glass, versal ice; our blood would stiffen in &c. of the watch; the trigger, spring, its windings; and drear, and solitary, flint, pan, barrel, gunpowder, &c. of and everlasting winter, would assert the musket; the lenses, tubes, &c. of its reign! the telescope-suppose you were to meet with a person who should seriously maintain that all these things jumped into their present happy form, order, and arrangement, by a lucky chance; and that all talk of a watchmaker, gunsmith, or optician, is mere weakness and superstition, the reverse of true philosophy; would you not instantly conclude that person was mad? But such is the madness of every man who excludes intelligence and wisdom, contrivance and design, from the works of nature; and this is what we now proceed to establish. Our first proof and illustration of final cause in nature, shall be taken from astronomical phenomena. It is very well known that the planet which we inhabit, revolves round the sun at a mean distance from it, of somewhat more than ninety-five millions of miles. Now it requires but a very slender acquaintance with science, in order to perceive, that a distance from the sun, materially nearer, or materially further off, would be utterly incompatible with the existence and well-being of nature upon the surface of our globe, constituted as that nature now is. If, for instance, the earth's path lay materially nearer to the sun; in that case, the rays of the sun falling upon us in a more parallel, collected, concentrated form, would yield a light more destructive than useful, more calculated to blind than enlighten; and the heat which would be transmitted, would dry up the ocean, consume the animal and vegetable tribes, and leave the surface of the globe a scene of awful fiery desolation. Contrary effects, but effects no less terrible, would take place, if the orbit of our planet, instead of being smaller, were much larger than it now is; say, for instance, as that of Jupiter or Both these kinds of ruin would ensue, if our planet, instead of moving in an orbit slightly elliptical, as it now does, were to move in a very great ellipse; in such an orbit as the comets actually have. In such an eccentric course, and with things constituted upon our globe as they now are, at its perihelion, or least distance from the sun, the whole earth must become metallic, or vitreous, or aeriform ; and at its aphelion, or greatest distance from the sun, it must be desolated and locked in with thick - ribbed ice. We see, therefore, how necessary the present magnitude of the earth's orbit is, to the well-being and order, nay, to the very existence, of things upon its surface. But let us reflect a little, how many other things go to the production of this one thing; how many intermediate and connecting particulars are necessary to bring about this due and suitable magnitude of the orbit of our earth. 1. In the first place there is required a specific, constant, never-failing law of gravitation. It is not enough that there is such a thing as gravitation; not enough that matter attracts mat ter. For the accomplishment of our purpose, it must attract in a fixed certain proportion. Let us, for instance, suppose that matter attracted matter the same at all distances; and that ten or ten thousand miles made no difference in the centripetal force. It is easy to perceive, that in this case, the present planetary arrangement would not subsist,-no, not for a moment. The planet Jupiter has a proportionate bulk to the earth of more than twelve hundred to one, and yet the velocity with which he moves in his orbit, is less than that of the earth by more than one half. If, therefore, the force of attraction were the same at all distances, it is obvious that Jupiter would break in upon the earth's path, or fall into the body of the sun; or rather, perhaps, the earth, and Jupiter, and all the planets, if not the sun himself, must fly off, to fall into or revolve round some larger and more distant sun. But the fact of the case is, that while the proportionate bulk of Jupiter to that of the earth, is more than as twelve hundred to one, his density or attractive power is not more than as three hundred to one. Or let us suppose, that instead of the present law of attraction, the force of it increased as the distance increased, or decreased at the same rate; or increased or decreased as the cube of the distance ;-in any, in all of these cases, it is manifest the present planetary order,-the present magnitude of the earth's orbit, could not subsist at all. The truth is, that one, and one only law does in fact, and that one, and one only law, can meet the case which is required, and that law is-that the force of attraction shall be INVERSELY as the square of the distance. For example, a body which, at a given distance from the earth, say, ten times its own diameter, would weigh a hundred pounds; at only half that distance, would weigh four hundred pounds; and at a third of that distance, nine times as much. So likewise, a power which at ten times the diameter of the earth, would support a thousand pounds, at twice that distance could support four thousand. But why this law? why a centripetal force of this proportion? why this proportion rather than any other of the millions, which, for aught we can see, were equally possible? Intelligence, wisdom, final cause, account for this; --nothing else can !! 2. The second thing necessary to the production, and to the continuance of the present orbit of the earth, is a proportionate momentum of velocity, or projectile force. It was a law discovered by the celebrated Kepler, that a two-fold velocity will balance a four-fold attraction; that if the force with which a body gravitates towards the sun be as four, a centrifugal force, which is as two, will prevent it from falling into the sun, and so make it describe a curve. It is by the operation of this law, that the planet which sustains us, keeps its due and regular course. The earth is said to move in its orbit at the rate of seventy-five thousand miles in the space of one hour; and it requires this prodigious velocity to balance the centripetal force. But if, instead of seventy-five thousand miles in one hour, the earth's motion in its orbit were only thirty, or twenty, or ten thousand in the same, it is manifest the force of gravity must prevail, and we should fall into the sun; or, if double that distance in the same time, we must fly totally off from the sun, or into so fearfully elongated an ellipse, as must prove equally ruinous and dreadful. Now, whatever may have originally communicated, or whatever may continue to communicate to the earth, its momentum of velocity, or centrifugal force, this much is evident, that with a most surprising exactness that momentum is adjusted to the central force, or the power of the earth's gravitation! But why this adjustment of velocity? why not swifter? why not slower? Knowledge, foresight, contrivance, will furnish the answer to this: all other solution is absurd, the ignotum per ignotius of nonsense or atheism." 3. The third particular which must go to produce the just and suitable magnitude of the earth's orbit, is a certain given DIRECTION to its velocity. A right momentum is not sufficient; the line, the direction of it, must be right also, or the effect will be lost. With a radius drawn from the centre of attraction,what innumerable angles may be formed! but of all those angles, not one will do, but that which is a right one, or nearly so: any considerable deviation from this, either towards the centre of gravity or from it, would be death to us all; death to all that breathes and lives; death to the whole scheme of nature upon the face of the earth! But of the millions of angles which might be made; of the millions of directions which were possible,-why this one, this one only? Because a wise Intelligence perceived this alone was the right one. No marksman, taking the most exact aim, ever elevated or depressed his piece, with half such nicety, as the first supreme Power levelled the direction of the earth's velocity. 4. There is yet another particular which is equally indispensable to this end, this due proportionate orbit of the earth; and that is, a due and proportionate distance and relation of all the other planets. An error in this particular would have rendered all the other precautions vain. Let us suppose, for instance, that the planet Jupiter, instead of revolving round the sun at the immense distance he now does, had moved in a much lower orbit; say half the diameter of that in which he actually moves. And it would only require a greater degree of velocity to sustain Jupiter in an orbit so contracted. But it is evident, that as the bulk of that planet is so much superior to our own, being, as we have already noticed, as twelve hundred to one; and as his power of attraction must be in the same ratio ;and as his attractive influence over our earth must increase as he approached unto it ;-were he moving in such an orbit, he must affect and disturb the course of the earth in such a manner, as is utterly incompatible, not only with our comfort and convenience, but most likely with our very existence also. Does all this look like the work of chance? Is it in the province of fortuitous accident, to combine so many particulars; and to combine them in such exact ratios and proportions, where the odds against them are almost infinite? Does not the planetary system discover a perfect discernment which runs through all the laws of matter, of motion, of distance, of power? Does it not shew design, foresight, the adaptation of one thing to another, of one thing to many things, to an extent unparalleled by finite genius? It does not affect the argument to say, that the orbit of the earth was antecedent to the constitution of things upon its surface. For the perception of fitness, the evidence of design, the proof of final cause, is the same; whether it appear in accommodating the terrestrial globe to its place, or its place to itself. We will not dispute whether the engineer makes the cylinder for the piston, or the piston for the cylinder; that for which we contend, that for which we will contend, is, that the one is made for the other. Hence we may fairly conclude, that if final causes furnish no decisive proofs of wisdom, we shall search for it in vain in that man who denies its existence. WITH feelings like those above described, we turn from the feverish lucubrations of our modern poetlings, from the bards of Fleet-street and the Strand. Holborn Hill, whatever the worthy parishioners of St. Andrew's may think, makes but an indifferent Parnassus; and if we are "to drink deep or taste not," we would rather decline the Helicon that runs down Gutter-lane. With all possible tenderness to some of our metropolitan sons of song, let us tell the truth. The poet cannot breathe the air of cities— he sickens and dies in soul within the bills of mortality-his nature recoils from every object around himhis foot, from the smooth pavementhis eye, from the dead brick wallhis ear, from the hum of men-his soul, from their sordid occupations. His proper walk is on the broad green earth-the mountain air, his atmosphere-his music, the breath of winds-the glorious sun, his companion. He goes on his way conversing with his own high thoughts. Lost to himself, he lives in the grandeur of the world that surrounds him-and while he pours forth his love and adoration in involuntary bursts of passion, he forgets that he himself becomes an object of wonder and admiration to others. No, he is not a poet, whatever he may think to the contrary, who à priori contemplates publication with Mr. Murray, or with Messrs. Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. He is not a poet who has genius and inspiration in his mouth, but celebrity and profit at his heart; who vacillates between the hazard of printing at his own risk, and the certainty of sharing the emoluments of his muse with his bookseller; who looks forward to the reports of the next month's magazines and reviews with a species of trepidation, and dispatches letters and copies of his work to their editors "with the author's respectful compliments." Such. gentlemen as these we hold in consi "Less than smallest dwarfs Like that pygmean race derable esteem: they live-and have not most probably been made in vain. But these are our second and third rate geniuses, who bring up the rear We know that in poetry, as in every of literature;-and let them continue thing else, there will be a beginning, to fill their proper station; let them not a middle, and an end;-a superiority, forget to water the pots of mignionette the fortune of few-an excellence, to at the window of their lodgings on the be attained by many-and a mediofirst or second floor; let them celebrate crity, by more-and a minimum, by their games to Flora, in Covent Gar- no means rare. We do not quarrel den Market, and hang in mute delight with all this: our object is to preserve Over the vegetable wonders of a green- these proportions in the public taste, grocer's shop. When the daisy begins and to range every individual in his to peep in the gardens of the Temple | proper station. or Gray's Inn, be the prize their own. Or in some wild enthusiastic ramble to Camden Town or Hampstead, should a tuft of new-blown primroses or nettles meet their view, be theirs the pungent refreshment of bathing their faces amidst its bloom. But let them not lay their unbidden hands upon the bay; nor dare, with lisping and conceited tongues, to imitate the deep and divine melodies of the masters of the lyre. We should be sorry to detract from the real merits of modern poetry. In some instances they are great, in many respectable, but in none do they at all approach to the height of those simple and sublime models to which it is the duty of the literary censor to recall, from time to time, the wandering affections of the public. If this be neglected, inferior works will naturally become the standards of taste;-one vitiated and affected style of thought and phrase will only give way to another still more erroneous. It is not in the gloomy energy of Byron, nor in the seductive brilliancy of Moore, nor in the characteristic description and animated action of Scott, that we are to look for the perfection of a great and genuine poet. A violent and dissipated misanthrope can never deserve that name. The noblest heights of poetry are approachable only by souls of sublime and godlike impulse-devoted to wisdom and to virtue-simple, pure, and dignified-meditative and profound. We cannot boast of the wisdom and virtue of the Corsair of the dignity, purity, and simplicity, of Lalla Rookh-of the reach of thought, and profound genius, displayed in the Lady of the Lake. In the entrance-hall of the Royal Academy, at Somerset House, there stands an awful and majestic figure. By our good fellow-townsmen of the west end, on their annual visits to the exhibition, it is generally supposed to be the statue of royalty-by our compatriots, per contra, from the east, it is surmised to be a fac-simile of the city Magog, or the beau ideal of an antique Lord Mayor. It is in fact a cast of the Farnese Hercules. By the side of this stupendous union of superhuman force and dignity, has it ever been thy lot, O reader! to behold the slim and dapper figure, the jerking gait, and the vapid smile, of a modern dandy? or, when the deep-pealing notes of the organ, to which the massy walls of some old cathedral vibrate and respond, are still dwelling on thine ear, hast thou known the Take the qualities of these distineffect produced upon the tympanum guished writers as you find them;by the unexpected treble of a two-impassioned vigour-dazzling brillipenny trumpet? We know not how we can more truly express, than by these illustrations, the immense interval between the patriarchs of song, "in bulk as huge Titanian or Earth-born, that warred with and their modern rivals, who war only on the time and patience of their readers: No. 44.-Vol. IV. ancy-unrivalled vivacity-neither separately nor conjoined, will they be found equal to that plain heroic magnitude of mind, which is the true criterion of a great poet. And when, strong in the justice of our cause, we take our station at the gates of the temple of Apollo, and prescribe to votaries like these, stations inferior indeed, but yet 3 I "Where one step higher |