Page images
PDF
EPUB

the atmosphere, food, &c. In this consists the curative relations of remedies. There cannot be many conditions of life compatible with health; every other modification must constitute disease. The curative tendency of remedies is owing to their property of modifying life into a state compatible with health. A disease may be a disease of life, or a disease of structure; but even disease of structure must be, in some degree, governed by life; because disease is no disease, further than it relates to living body; for it has no relation with dead body. A disease of life may be either general, or partial; for the disease may have an affinity for that modification only of life which resides in a particular seat; or it may have an affinity for every modification of it. Disease of structure may be the same. Some diseases, as cancer, &c. have an affinity for every kind of structure; whereas others have an affinity for particular tissues only. Disease of life will naturally lead to disease of structure, and vice versa. These phenomena are governed by the immutable law of causation: the weaker cause must give way to the stronger one. Disease must be a real entity, as well as life. Before life can become diseased, the disease must have a greater affinity for life, than life has for the structure. Before the structure can become diseased, the disease must have a more powerful affinity for the structure, than the structure has for life. From these remarks, it follows, that disease is a change in the condition of life, or a change in the condition of the structure; and this change is occasioned by the matter which constitutes the disease entering into union, either with life, or with the structure.

We have now arrived at the last point of discussion, that is, the extinction of the principle of life. Death is only a negation of life, and not a real substance of itself. Death may take place in two ways: first, either by a sudden conversion of the vital principle into another form; or, secondly, by its gradual diminution and decay. Before life can be converted into another form, instantaneously, the substance which enters into union with it must be as minute as life itself. Our experience proves only one substance capable of doing this, that is, the electric matter. Lightning kills instantaneously, without changing the form of the organized structure. I know of only one way of accounting for this phenomenon; that is, that the electric matter is so minute as to pervade the body; and that its affinity is so powerful for life, as to convert life into another form. Before this can be done, it requires a large quantity of the electric matter. A smaller quantity would only diminish the quantity of life; and as life is continually replenished by its union with the atmosphere, this deficiency would be soon made up. But, if all the vital principle be at once con

verted into another form, the power of replenishing is lost: because there is no active life to convert the vital elements of the atmosphere into life. The electric matter will produce precisely the same effect on the life of vegetables; for these instantly wither, and fall into decay, after receiving its shock. In animals, in particular, there are sufficient indications after death to prove that lightning kills by converting life into another form. When death takes place gradually, the blood coagulates; but, when the animal is killed by lightning, the blood remains fluid. The structure, also, instantly begins to dissolve. When the animal dies gradually, the structure does not run very rapidly into a state of putrefaction; because some of the vital principle remains unexhausted, for many hours after apparent death; and this, according to its quantity, preserves the structure, for a longer or shorter time, from decay. On the contrary, when death is produced by lightning, life is entirely destroyed at once, so that the organized structure is left at liberty to become subject to the laws of chemistry. There are some poisons, such as that of the viper, for instance, which destroy life in a similar manner, but not so suddenly as the electric matter does, because its affinity for life is not so powerful as that of electricity. Any thing which has an affinity for life will, in some degree, change its condition. Its affinity with some things will tend to its replenishment; while its affinity with others, will tend to its destruction. This is the case with all substances throughout Nature. One thing leads to the destruction of another, whilst another thing leads to its preservation. What is destructive to one thing, is preservative to another; and what is preservative to one thing, is destructive to another. Disease is destructive to life, and life is destructive to disease, for a thing cannot alter the form of another without undergoing an alteration in its own form. Death is the height of disease, as it relates to body; for that disease is greatest which comes nearest to the destruction of life. Life is the principle which is preservative of the body, and the negation of this principle is death. This negation, as has been already observed, may take place either from the conversion, or exhaustion of life.

The exhaustion of the vital principle may take place from two causes: first, from an obstruction of the atmosphere into the body: secondly, from a want of power, in the vital principle, of converting the vital elements into life. The atmosphere may be prevented from entering the body in two ways: first, from a stoppage to its course, as in drowning, hanging, &c.; or, secondly, from a debility of the muscles of respiration. Natural death may be the effect of a decay of life; or the effect of weakness of the respiratory muscles.

Life is only destined to last a certain time. It becomes gradually decayed, till, at last, there is not sufficient in the body to carry on the vital movements. But, even after the vital movements have ceased, there remains still some of the vital principle in the body, for some hours. This may be proved by the application of stimuli, which will excite a contraction of the muscles. The relation of the stimuli is with life, and not with the muscles themselves; for, after a certain time, the muscles will not contract, although apparently perfect.

To conclude this subject, it would appear, from the view which we have taken of it, that there is a principle inherent in every animal and vegetable; and that this principle is the cause of all the phenomena exhibited in animated beings. It receives its supply from air and food, which it converts into life and structure. It is differently modified in every individual body, and in every part and tissue of that body. It is, like all other things in Nature, destined to last for a certain time only; it then falls into decay. The tendency of every thing is to destruction, or a change of form; and life is subject to the same law. It preserves the entity, and identity of the body, during its existence in the body, and governs the physical movements of its different tissues. Being differently modified in every seat, it forms bones, muscles, vessels, nerves, brain, liver, heart, &c. in these seats, according to its peculiar modification. These tissues, again, in their turn, by their different functions, contribute towards the replenishment of life; so that the vital movements depend upon a circular chain of causes and effects, the existence and action of one part of the body depending upon the existence and action of other parts. When this arrangement of movements is destroyed, the vital principle becomes exhausted, and the body falls into decay and dissolution. It becomes an useless lump of matter, fit only to be consigned to the earth, to become nourishment again for some other animated beings, and to follow the same chain of causes and effects as it did before. All the phenomena of Nature are governed by different modifications of the same laws. They depend upon a chain of causation; one cause producing an effect, and this effect, again, becoming a cause for another effect. Beginning at the other end of the chain, we proceed, step by step, from effects to causes; and we find again that these causes are only the effects of prior causes, till, at last, all causes and effects are swallowed up in the great CAUSE of causation.

VOL. I. PART I.

F

66.

ON MANNERS.

SOME authors have considered Manners as synonimous with customs and habits, and have even extended the term to human character in general. Without disputing the propriety of this enlarged signification, when adequately explained, we may, on the present occasion, limit the subject

to a narrower scope.

Let us consider it as the external behaviour,-the outward demeanour, the form and manner in which human operations and purposes are executed.

--

In this sense, it will be obvious, that Manners do not include the actions of man, but the style in which they are performed; nor his habits, except so far as relate to modes of habitual conduct; nor will the term extend to customs, which are a species of habit; nor to the moral conduct of human beings; nor to their intellectual operations, except so far as the feelings and faculties indicate themselves in peculiar modes, and influence the external deportment. Thus a character, in which the moral and the intellectual qualities predominate, will mingle with all that it performs a spirit of propriety and a nicety of taste, of which you will observe little, if any, trace in those in whom the animal qualities chiefly exist. There is a harmony in the works of Nature, which always indicates the qualities of which they are principally composed.

It is this analysis of character which is alone interesting to the philosophic mind.

Indeed, mere unassociated observations, unconnected with principles, or with general and comprehensive truths, would not be fitting, or useful, to bring before the Society. To render them acceptable, we must trace them farther than the mere exterior, and investigate how far that exterior indicates the nature of the internal character. We ought not to rest satisfied with a mere surface-view of these peculiarities; we should search into their rise, the source from whence they spring, and attempt to deduce, as it were, the philosophy of

manners.

[ocr errors]

In this way, it would, perhaps, appear, that the manners of an individual, if they do not form an index, are, at least, the result of the peculiar nature of his moral feelings and intellectual endowments. The external behaviour must originate from an internal source; it is the result of our aggregate thoughts and feelings; it is an effect proceeding from the state of the inward powers and faculties.

Manners indeed are to actions what circumstances are to principal facts: they are but adjuncts; yet, sometimes, they shew the qualities of that to which they belong, more certainly than these qualities would otherwise be known: they constitute the circumstantial evidence of character: they are the satellites which revolve around the patron orb; and, as they shine with lustre, or are "dimly seen," so may we infer the brightness or the opacity of the orb itself.

Manners are composed of the natural and the artificial.

A large department is obviously artificial. There are but few persons who act, at all times, in a simply natural manner; they scarcely do so in any state of society, still less in a civilized and refined one. Let us take, for example, the ordinary routine of social meetings. Artificial ceremonies enter into the very first stage of human intercourse. The most barbarous community has some peculiar modes which custom has established as essential or proper. Such are the rude courtesies of primitive life;-the tokens of respect,—the style of salutation and greeting, of welcome and departure. How the peculiar methods which are observed on these occasions became first in use, or why they were adapted in preference to others, which, if they had no higher claims to wisdom, would be, at least, as significant; and, if they were not more rational, might have equally indicated sincerity; it is, perhaps, at this distance of time, impossible to know, and difficult to conjecture.

If such be the case in the most unpolished periods, it is still more obvious that it must be so in refined and ancient communities. Man delights in change. Though wedded long to some old prejudices, his spirit has a native tendency to diversify his pursuits and his modes of conduct. Manners are regulated by Fashion. We all know how changeable are the movements of this intangible personage,-unstable as the wind, her laws vary with the slightest breath: philosophy is distanced in attempting the race of investigation,-speculation is soon at fault; and, after we have hunted the fleeting shadow through some few of its devious paths, it breaks off into a new track, the scent is lost, and we have to begin the chace again.

Where so much is dependent upon individual caprice,where there is no principle to refer to, and where, indeed, the matter is perhaps not sufficiently important to attempt to establish one, the multitude of instances defy all power of analysis. History cannot furnish us the means of accurately judging; its parent, Tradition, can supply only the materials for speculation. In the early career of nations, the voice of history is silent. At the time when the small number of the

« PreviousContinue »