Manner in Which Vision is Performed

Let us now attend a little to the manner in which vision is performed, by the medium of light acting on the organs of sight. If we take a common convex glass—a reading-glass, for example—and hold it at some distance from a candle or a window-sash, placing a piece of white paper behind the glass, at the distance of its focus, the image of the candle or sash will be painted on the paper, in an inverted position. This experiment may be performed with a better effect, by darkening a room, and placing the convex glass in a hole cut out of the window-shutter, when the rays of light, flowing from the objects without, and passing through the glass, will form a picture of the objects opposite the window, on the white paper, adorned with the most beautiful colors. In a manner similar to this are the images of external objects depicted on the back part of the inner coat or membrane of the eye. The rays of light, proceeding in all directions from surrounding objects, and falling on the eye, are transmitted through the pupil; and being refracted by the different humors (particularly by the crystalline humor, which acts the part of a convex lens), they converge to a focus on the retina, where the images of visible objects are painted in an inverted position; and, by means of the optic nerve, these images are conveyed to the mind.

The following figure will perhaps more distinctly illustrate this point. Let a b c x y represent the globe of the eye, and A B C an object at a certain distance from it. Now, it is well known page 40 that every point of a visible object sends out rays of light in all directions; and therefore, a certain portion of the rays which flow from the object A B C, will fall upon the cornea between x and y, and passing through the aqueous humor, m n, and the crystalline humor, o p, and the vitreous humor, D E, will be converted to a focus on the retina, and paint a distinct picture, a b c, of the object A B C, in an inverted position. The rays from the point A of the object, after being refracted by the different humors, will be brought to a point at a; those from B will be converged at b; and those from C at c; and of course the intermediate rays between A B and B C will be formed between a b and b c, and the object will become visible by means of its image or representation being painted on the retina, in all the colors and proportions which belong to it. If we take a bullock's eye, and cut off the three coats from the back part, and put a piece of thin white paper over that part, and hold the eye toward the window, or any bright object, we shall see the image of the object depicted upon the paper, and in an inverted position, as stated above.

Fig. 8

In order that we may more distinctly perceive the wonders of vision, and the numerous circumstances on which it depends, let us suppose ourselves placed on an eminence, which commands a view of a variegated and extensive landscape.—Let us suppose ourselves stationed on Arthur's Seat, or on the top of Salisbury Crags, in the vicinity of Edinburgh. Turning our face to the north-west, the city, with its castles, spires, and stately edifices, presents itself to our view. Beyond it, on the north and west, a beautiful country, adorned with villas, plantations, and fertile fields, stretches as far as the eye can reach, until the view is bounded by the castle of Stirling, at a distance of more than thirty miles. On the right hand, we behold the port of Leith, the shipping in the roads, the coast of Fife, the isles of Inchkeith and of May, and the frith of Forth gradually losing itself in the German ocean. If we suppose the length of this landscape to be forty miles, and its breadth twenty-five, it will, of course, comprehend an area of a thousand square miles.

The first circumstance which strikes the mind, is the immense multitude of rays of reflected light which flow in all directions, from the myriads of objects which compose the surrounding scene.—In order to form a rude idea of this infinity of radiations I fix my attention on a single object. I direct my eye to Nelson's monument, on the Calton Hill. From the parapet at the top, a thousand different points send forth a thousand different cones of rays, which, entering my eye, render the different parts of it distinctly visible, beside myriads of rays from the same points, which flow in every other direction through the open spaces of the atmosphere which surround them. How many thousands of millions, then, of different radiations must be issuing forth every moment from the whole mass of the monument! And if one object pours forth such a flood of rays, how immense must be the number of radiations which are issuing from all the objects which compose this extensive landscape! Myriads of rays, from myriads of objects, must be crossing each other in an infinity of directions, so that the mind is confounded at the apparent confusion which seems to exist in this immensity of radiations; yet every ray passes forward in the crowd, in the most perfect order, and, without being blended or confused with any other ray, produces its specific effect on every eye that is open to receive it. But this is not all: these millions of rays, which flow from the minutest points of the surrounding scene, before they can produce the sensation of vision, and form a picture of the landscape on the retina, must be compressed into a space little more than one-eighth of an inch in diameter, before they can enter the pupil of the eye; yet they all pass through this small aperture without the least confusion, and paint the images of their respective objects in exactly the same order in which these objects are arranged.—Another circumstance demands attention. The rays which proceed from the objects before me, are not all directed to the spot where I stand, but are diffused throughout every point of the surrounding space, ready to produce the same effect, wherever sentient beings are present to receive them. Were the whole inhabitants of Edinburgh placed on the sloping declivity of Arthur's Seat, and along the top of Salisbury Crags, and were millions of other spectators suspended in the surrounding atmosphere, similar sensations would be produced, and a scene similar to that which I now behold would be depicted in every eye. Amidst the infinity of cones of light, crossing each other in an infinity of directions, no confusion would ensue, but every spectator, whose eyes were in a sound state, would obtain a correct view of the scene before him; and hence it happens, that, whenever I shift my position to the right hand or to the left, other streams of light enter my eye, and produce the same effect.

Let me now attend to another circumstance, no less admirable than the preceding, and that is, the distinct impression which I have of the shape, color, and motion, of the multiplicity of objects I am now contemplating, and the small space within which their images are depicted at the bottom of my eye. Could a painter, after a long series of ingenious efforts, delineate the extensive landscape now before me on a piece of paper not exceeding the size of a silver sixpence, so that every object might be as distinctly seen, in its proper shape and color, as it now appears when I survey the scene around me, he would be incomparably superior to all the masters of his art that ever went before him. This effect, which far transcends the utmost efforts of human genius, is accomplished in a moment, in millions of instances, by the hand of Nature, or, in other words, by “the finger of God.” All the objects I am now surveying, comprehending an extent of a thousand square miles, are accurately delineated in the bottom of my eye, on a space less than half an inch in diameter. How delicate, then, must be the strokes of that divine pencil which has formed such a picture! I turn my eyes to the castle of Edinburgh, which appears one of the most conspicuous objects in my field of view.—Supposing that portion of it which strikes my eye to be 500 feet long, and 90 in hight, I find, by calculation, that it occupies only the six-hundred-thousandth part of the whole landscape, and consequently, fills in my eye no more than the twelve-hundred-thousandth part of an inch. I page 41 next direct my eye toward the Frith of Forth, and perceive a steamboat sailing between Queensferry and Newhaven. I distinctly trace its motion for the space of 40 minutes, at the end of which it reaches the chainpier at Newhaven, having passed over a space of five miles in length, which is but the eighth part of the lineal extent of the landscape in that direction; and, consequently, occupies, in the picture formed on my retina, a lineal space of only one-sixteenth of an inch in extent. And, if the boat be reckoned about 88 feet in length, its image is only the three-hundredth part of this extent; and, of course fills a space in the eye of only the four-thousand-eight-hundredth part of a lineal inch. Yet, my perception of the motion of the vessel could be produced by only a corresponding motion of its image in my eye; that is, by the gradual motion of a point one-four-thousand-eight-hundredth part of an inch in diameter, over a space one-sixteenth of an inch in length. How inconceivably fine and accurate, then, must be the impression of those strokes which the rays of light, from visible objects, produce on the retina of the eye! The mind is lost in wonder when it attempts to trace so exquisite and admirable an effect.

I take a reflecting telescope, and through it view some of the distant parts of the landscape. My wonder is still increased when I consider the new directions into which the rays of light are bent—the crossings and recrossings, the refractions and reflections, that take place between the mirrors and the lenses of the instrument, and the successive images that are formed—so that, instead of a scene of confusion, which previous to experience, might have been expected from the numerous additional bendings and intersections of the rays—I now perceive hundreds of objects, with the most perfect distinctness, which were before invisible. Rays of light from distant and minute objects, which a moment before made no sensible impression on my eye, being collected and variously modified by the telescope, now paint a vivid representation of their objects in their true figures, colors, and positions.

From a consideration of the innumerable modifications of the rays of light, and of the immense variety of effects they produce in every region of the earth—I am led to investigate what proportion of the solar light falls upon our globe, in order to produce so diversified a scene of sublimity and beauty. Supposing the sun's rays to be chiefly confined, in their effects, within the limits of the planetary system, since they diverge in every direction, they must fill a cubical space 3,600,000,000 miles in diameter; which consequently will contain about 24,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 of cubical miles, so that an eye, placed in any point of this vast space, would receive a distinct impression from the solar rays. The solidity of the earth is about 264,000,000,000 cubical miles, and, therefore it receives only the £1/9 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0° part of the light which fills the sphere of the solar system. So that the light which cheers all the inhabitants of the world, and unvails such a variety of beautiful and magnificent objects, is nothing more than a single stream of celestial radiance out of ninety thousand billions of similar streams, which the great source of light is every moment diffusing throughout surrounding worlds. But the solar rays are not confined within the bounds of the planetary system; their influence extends, in every direction, as far as the nearest stars, filling a cubical space at least 40,000,000,000,000 miles n diameter, and which contains 33,500,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, or, thirty-three thousand five hundred sextillions of cubical miles. And were we to institute comparisons and calculations with respect to the possible variety of effects they might produce throughout this immense region, whole pages might be filled with figures, ciphers, and computations. We might compute how many globes similar to the earth, or any of the larger planets, might be contained within this vast space, allowing several hundreds of cubical miles of empty space around each globe—how many myriads of refractions and reflections the rays of light would suffer, in regard to the peculiar objects connected with every one of these globes—how many eyes of sentient beings might be affected by the diversities of color, shape, and motion which would thus be produced—and what a variety of shades of light and color, and what a diversity of scenery would be produced, according to the distances of the respective globes from the central luminary. After what we have just now stated, however, we may rest satisfied with joining in the pious exclamation of one who had just finished a devout survey of the structure of the human frame: “Marvelous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well. How precious are thy thoughts unto me, O God!” (or, as the words might be rendered), “How precious are thy wonderful contrivances concerning me, O God! how great is the sum of them? If I should count them they are more in number than the sand.” In what direction soever I turn mine eyes, whatever portion of thy works I investigate, “I am still with thee.”^* Thine infinity and unsearchable wisdom are impressed on every object, so that I feel myself every moment encompassed by thine immensity, and am irresistibly led to wonder and adore.

Another circumstance worthy of attention, is the power which the pupil of the eye possesses of contracting or enlarging the aperture or hole through which the light is admitted. When the light is too weak, the pupil is enlarged; when it is too strong, it is again contracted. Accordingly we find, that when we enter a darksome apartment, though, at first, nothing can be accurately distinguished, yet, in the course of a minute or two, when the pupil has had time to dilate, we can perceive most objects with considerable distinctness. And, on the other hand, when we pass from a dark room to an apartment lighted up with a number of lusters, we feel uneasy at the sudden glare, until the pupil has contracted itself, and excluded a portion of the superfluous rays. Were it not for this property, we should, for the most part, either be surrounded with a disagreeable gloom, or oppressed with an excessive splendor.—It is for this reason that we are unable to look upon the sun without being dazzled, and are under the necessity of closing the eyelids, or of turning away the head, when a strong light suddenly succeeds to darkness.

Again, it may not be improper to observe, how wisely the Author of Nature has fixed the distance at which we ordinarily see near objects most distinctly. This distance is generally from five to eight inches from the eye. But, had the eye been formed for distinct vision, at the distance of only one inch, the object would have obstructed the light, and room would have been wanting for the performance of many necessary operations, which require the hand to intervene between the eye and the object. And had the limits of distinct vision for near objects been beyond two or three feet, sufficient light would not have been afforded for the inspection of minute objects, and we could neither have written a letter nor have read a book with the same convenience and ease we are now enabled to do.

From the preceding descriptions and remarks, it will evidently appear, with what admirable skill the different parts of the organs of vision are constructed, and how nicely they are adapted to the several ends they were intended to subserve.—Were any one of these parts deficient, or obstructed in its functions, vision would either be impeded, or rendered painful and distressing, or completely destroyed. If any of the humors of the eye were wanting—if they were less transparent—if they were of a different refractive power—or if they were of a greater or less convexity than they now are, however minute the alteration might be, vision would inevitably be obstructed, and every object would appear confused and indistinct. If the retina, on which the images of objects are painted, were flat, instead of being concave, while objects in the middle of the view appeared distinct, every object toward the sides would appear dim and confused. If the cornea were as opaque as the sclerotica, to which it is joined, or if the retina were not connected with the optic nerve, no visible object could possibly be perceived. If one of the six muscles of the eye were wanting, or impeded in its functions, we could not turn it to the right; if a second were deficient, we could not turn it to the left; if a third, we could not lift it upward; if a fourth, we could not move it downward; and if it were deprived of the other two muscles, it would be apt to roll about in frightful contortions. If the eyes were placed in any other part of the body than the head—if they were much more prominent than they now are—if they were not surrounded by the bony socket in which they are lodged—and if they were not frequently covered by the eyelid—they would be exposed to a thousand accidents from which they are now protected. If they wanted moisture, and if they were not frequently wiped by the eyelids, they would become less transparent, and more liable to be inflamed; and if they were not sheltered by the eyebrows, the sweat and moisture of the forehead would frequently annoy them. Were the light which acts upon them devoid of color—were it not reflected from objects in every direction—were its motion less swift, or its particles much larger than they now are—in short, were any one circumstance connected with the structure of this organ, and with the modification of the rays of light, materially different from its present arrangement, we should either be subjected to the hourly recurrence of a thousand painful sensations, or be altogether deprived of the entertainments of vision.

How admirable an organ, then, is the eye, and how nicely adapted to unvail to our view the glories of the universe! Without the application of any skill or laborious efforts on our part, it turns in every direction, transports us to every surrounding object, depicts the nicest shades and colors on its delicate membranes, and

“Takes in, at once, the landscape of the world
At a small inlet, which a grain might close,
And half creates the wondrous world we see.“—Young.

—How strikingly does it display, in every part of its structure and adaptations, the marks of benevolent design, and of Infinite Intelligence!—However common it is to open our eyes, and to behold, in an instant, the beauties of an extensive landscape, and however little we may be accustomed to admire this wonderful effect—there is not a doctrine in religion, nor a fact recorded in Revelation, more mysterious and incomprehensible. An excellent French writer has well observed—“The sight of a tree and of the sun, which God shows me, is as real and as immediate a Revelation as that which led Moses toward the burning bush. The only difference between both these actions of God on Moses and me is, that the first is out of the common order and economy; whereas the other is occasioned by the sequel and connection of those laws which God has established for the regulation both of man and nature.”

If then, the eye of man (who is a depraved inhabitant of a world lying partly in ruins), is an organ so admirably fitted for extending our prospects of the visible creation—we may reasonably conclude, that organized beings of superior intelligence and moral purity, possess the sense of vision in a much greater degree of perfection than man in his present state of degradation—and that they may be enabled, by their natural organs, to penetrate into regions of the universe far beyond what man, by the aid of artificial helps, will ever be able to descry. It may not be altogether extravagant, nor even beyond the reality of existing facts, to suppose, that there are intelligences page 43 in the regions of Jupiter or Saturn, whose visual organs are in so perfect a state, that they can descery the mountains of our moon, and the continents, islands, and oceans which diversify our globe, and are able to delineate a map of its surface, to mark the period of its diurnal rotation, and even to distinguish its cities, rivers, and volcanoes. It is quite evident, that it must be equally easy to Divine Wisdom and Omnipotence, to form organs with powers of vision far surpassing what I have now supposed, as to form an organ in which the magnificent scene of heaven and earth is depicted, in a moment, within the compass of half an inch. There are animals whose range of vision is circumscribed within the limits of a few feet or inches; and, had we never perceived objects through an organ in the same state of perfection as that with which we are furnished, we would have formed as little conception of the sublimity and extent of our present range of sight, as we can now do of those powers of vision which would enable us to descry the inhabitants of distant worlds. The invention of the telescope shows, that the penetrating power of the eye may be indefinitely increased; and, since the art of man can extend the limits of natural vision, it is easy to conceive, that, in the hand of Omnipotence, a slight modification of the human eye might enable it, with the utmost distinctness, to penetrate into regions to which the imagination can set no bounds. And therefore it is not unreasonable to believe, that, in the future world, this will be one property, among others, of the resurrection-body, that it will be furnished with organs of vision far superior to the present, in orrder to qualify its intelligent inhabitant for taking an ample survey of the “riches and glory” if the empire of God.

I have dwelt somewhat particularly on the functions of the eye, in order to show, that it is only when we take a minute inspection of the operations of the Creator, that his Infinite Wisdom and Intelligence are most distinctly perceived. The greater part of Christians will readily admit, that the Wisdom of God is manifested in very object; but few of them take the trouble to require, in what particular contrivances and adaptations this wisdom is displayed; and, therefore, rest satisfied with vague and general views, which seldom produce any deep impression on the mind. “The works of the Lord,” which are “great” and admirable, “must be sought out by all those who have pleasure therein;” and the more minutely they are inspected, the more exquisite and admirable do all his arrangements appear.

Were we to enter into an investigation of the visual organs of the lower animals, and to consider the numerous varieties which occur in their structure, position, and movements, and how nicely the peculiar organization of the eye is adapted to the general structure of the animal, and to its various necessities and modes of existence—the operation if the same inscrutable Wisdom and Intelligence would meet our eye at every step. Birds, for exsimple, which procure their food by their beak, have the power of seeing distinctly at a very small distance; and, as their rapid motions through the air renders it necessary that they shoud descry subjects at a considerable distance, they have two peculiar mechanical contrivances, connected with their organs of vision, for producing both these effects. One of these contrivances consists in a flexible rim, formed of bone, which surrounds the broadest part of the eye; and, by occasionally pressing upon its orb, shortens its focal distance, and thus enables it to inspect very near objects. The other consists of a peculiar muscle, which draws back, as occasion requires, the crystalline humor, by which means it can take a distinct view of a distant landscape, and can pass from the sight of a very near to the sight of a distant object, with rapidity and ease. In fishes, which live in a medium of a different refractive power from that of air, the crystalline humor has a greater degree of convexity, and more nearly approaches to a globular form than that of land animals—which conformation is essentially requisite to distinctness of vision in the watery element. A fish, of course, cannot see distinctly in air, nor a quadruped under water; and every person who has dived into the water with his eyes open, knows that though he may perceive the general forms and colors of objects, his vision is obscure and indistinct.—In hares and rabbits, the eyes are very convex and prominent, so that they can see nearly quite round them; whereas, in dogs, which pursue these animals, the visual organs are placed more in the front of the head, to look rather before than behind them.—Some animals, as cats and owls, which pursue their prey in the dark, have the pupil of their eye so formed as to be capable of great expansion, so that a few rays of light may make a lively impression on their retina; while the eagle, which is able to look directly at the sun, has its pupil capable of being contracted almost to a point.—Insects, such as the beetle, the fly, and the butterfly, whose eyes are incapable of motion, have several thousands of small transparent globes, set in a convex hemisphere, every one of which is capable of forming an image of an object; so that they are enabled to view the objects around them without moving their heads.—But it would be beyond the limits of my plan to prosecute this subject any further: enough has already been stated, to show that the eyes of men and of other animals are masterpieces of art, which far transcend the human understanding; and that they demonstrate the consummate wisdom of Him who planned and constructed the organical functions of the various tribes of animated existence.

I shall conclude this branch of my subject, by presenting an instance or two of the mechanism of the bones, and the movements it is fitted to produce.

The bones of the human frame are articulated, or connected together in different ways, but most frequently in the following manner:—Either, first, a bone with a round head is articulated with a cavity, and plays with it as a ball in the socket; or, second, they are connected together by a hinge-like articulation, which enables a bone to move up or down, backward or forward, like a door upon its hinges. An idea of these two motions, and the purposes they serve, may be obtained, by considering the construction of the pedestal of a telescope, and the joints on which it moves. One of the joints is of the nature of a hinge, by which a vertical motion, or a motion upward and downward, is produced. A horizontal motion, or a motion toward the right hand or the left, is produced by a pivot moving in a socket; so that, by these two motions, the telescope can be made to point in any direction. Such is the nature of the articulations in the bones, and the movements they produce; and whenever one or other of these motions, or both of them combined, is requisite for the comfort and convenience of the individual, such a power of motion is uniformly found to exist. If the movement of a joint in every direction would in any particular case be found incon- page 44 venient, the hinge-like articulation is fixed upon: but if a motion in every direction is required for the convenient use of particular members, and for the variety of evolutions which a sentient being may have occasion to make, the ball and socket articulation is combined with the former.

For example, let any person for a moment consider the joints of his fingers, and compare them with the joint at his wrist, where the hand is connected with the fore-arm. If he hold the back of his hand upward, he will find that he can move his fingers upward or downward; but he cannot turn them to the right hand or to the left, so as to make them describe a circular motion. He will also find that his wrist is capable of a similar movement, so that the hand may be bent in a vertical direction. But, in addition to this motion, it is also capable of being turned in a horizontal direction, or from one side to another. In the former case, we have an example of the hinge articulation; in the latter, it is combined with an articulation which produces nearly the same effect as a pivot moving in a socket. Now, had the joints of the fingers been capable of the same motions as the wrist, the hand would have lost its firmness, and been incapable of performing a variety of mechanical operations which require objects to be held with a steady grasp. On the other hand, if the wrist had been confined to a vertical motion, the hand would have been incapable of one out of a hundred varied movements which it can now perform with the greatest ease.^* In this case, we could not have bored a hole with a gimlet, cut down corn with a sickle, digged the earth with a spade, sewed clothes with a needle, tossed up a ball, or turned up the palm of the hand, for any of the useful purposes for which that motion was ordained. In short, without the rotatory motion of the wrist, the greater part of the operations connected with gardening, agriculture, cookery, washing, spinning, weaving, painting, carving, engraving, building, and other mechanical arts, could not be performed; and such of them as could be effected, would be accomplished only with the greatest inconvenience and labor. Any person may convince himself of this, by holding his hand in a horizontal position, and preventing his wrist joint from turning round, and then by trying what operations he can easily perform without the rotatory motion; and he will soon perceive with what exquisite skill the numerous movements of our animal frames have been contrived by the Great Author of our existence. In each hand there are 27 bones, all of which are essential to the different motions we wish to perform. Every finger is composed of three bones, connected together by articulations, muscles, and ligaments. If, instead of three, each

^* The horizontal motion of the wrist, or that motion by which the palm of the hand is alternately turned up and down, is produced chiefly by the motions of the two bones of the fore-arm, called the radius and the ulna, one of which is articulated to the humerus, or bone connected with the shoulder.—In the following representation (fig. 9), C is the humerus or shoulder bone; B is the elbow where the two bones of the fore-arm are connected with the humerus; D is the radius, which joins the wrist, on the side where the thumb is, and E the ulna, which joins the wrist, on the side where the little finger is. In fig. 10, G is the radius; fig. 11, H is the ulna. The ulna has a hooked process marked e, which catches round the lower end of the humerus, forming with it a hinge joint. This bone projects beyond the head of the humerus, forming, when the arm is bent, the point of the elbow. The radius has a small round head B, on which it turns, without any motion of the humerus—bound to the ulna by ligaments—and as the bones of the wrist are attached to the lower end of this bone alone, and not to the ulna,—when the radius revolves the whole hand turns with it. This alternate rolling is what anatomists call pronation and supination. Flexion and extension of the arm are performed by means of the ulna, which carries the radius along with it in all its movements. While the larger part of the ulna is above, the larger part of the radius is below, so that while the former presents a large surface for articulation at the elbow, the latter does the same at the wrist, and this inverse arrangement, likewise, contributes to the uniform diameter of the fore-arm. While the fore-arm is thus attached to the humerus, the radius is attached to the wrist, so that when we turn the palm of the hand the radius rolls on the ulna by the help of a groove or hollow near each end of the bone, carrying the hand with it. So admirable, in deed, is this contrivance, that both motions may be performed at the same time; for while we are bending the arm, we may also be rotating or turning it upon its axis. To facilitate these motions, a tubercle of the radius plays into a socket of the ulna, near the elbow,—while near the wrist, the radius finds the socket, and the ulna the tubercle.

Now, had both bones been joined to the upper arm at the elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist, the motions now stated could not have been accomplished. The first bone was to be at liberty at one end, and the second at the other, by which means the two motions may be performed together. The bone which carries the fore-arm may be swinging upon its hinge at the elbow, at the very time that the other bone which carries the hand may be turning round it in its grooves. Had there been only a single bone in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket at the elbow, it might, in a certain degree, have accomplished the purpose intended; but in this case, the turning of the hand and arm would have been effected by a comparatively slow and laborious motion. Such is the wonderful care and accuracy with which our All-Wise and Benevolent Creator has contrived and adjusted every minute part and motion connected with our animal frame to subserve our convenience and pleasure. No one who is acquainted with the minute and exquisite mechanism of the human body, will dare to call in question, the skill, the design, and the forethought of the Great Artificer of that wonderful frame; and he must possess a cold and unfeeling heart, who can behold with apathy, and without reverence and gratitude, the multitudinous mass of splendid and exquisite contrivances of which he every moment feels the pleasure and advantage.

Fig. 9

Fig. 10

Fig. 11

In the human hand, in particular we perceive an instrument far superior to that of any similar part connected with the structure of the lower animals. In this hand we perceive the sensibilities to changes of temperature, to touch, and to motion, combined with a facility in the joints of unfolding and moving in every possible degree and direction, and in a manner inimitable by any artifice of joints and levers. In all the movements of human beings, it is the hand that guides them in their industry and mental acquisitions. By its assistance they have drained unwholesome marshes—transformed deserts into fruitful fields—turned the course of rivers—banked out the headlong sea—cleared the thickest forests, and caused cities, temples, and palaces to arise where the wild beasts of the forests formerly roamed at large. In short, by this instrument Man has been enabled to prosecute his course along pathless oceans and through the region of the clouds—to measure time and space—to investigate the wonders of the earth and of the heavens, and to promote his progress toward intellectual perfection,—and, without it, scarcely any science or department of human knowledge could be acquired or cultivated—supposing the whole human race to have been destitute of this instrument.

page 45 finger were composed of only one bone, it would be quite impossible for us to grasp a single object.

The same admirable contrivance may be perceived in the movements of which the head is susceptible. It was requisite, in order to our convenience and comfort, that we should be enabled to move our head backward or forward—to look up toward the heavens, or downward to the ground. It was also expedient that it should have a power of turning to the right or to the left, so as to take in a considerable portion of a circle, without being under the necessity of turning round the whole body. Accordingly we find that both these motions are provided for, in the manner in which the head is connected with the vertebræ. The head rests upon the uppermost of these bones, to which it is connected by a hinge Joint, similar to those in the fingers, which allows it to move backward and forward; and by means of a round, longish process, or projection, which moves in a socket, it is enabled to move horizontally, as upon an axis. Had the first motion been wanting, we could not have looked up to the zenith, without lying flat on our back; nor could we have looked to the ground, without placing our bodies in a prone position; and, in much a case, we could never have seen our own feet, unless when they were bent considerably forward. Had the second motion been wanting, we could have looked to nothing, except the objects directly before us, without the trouble of turning round the whole body, either to the right or to the left. But, in the construction of our corporeal system, everything is so arranged and adapted to another, as at once to contribute to ease and facility of motion, in all the varied operations and movements we have occasion to perform; which circumstance forcibly demonstrates both the benevolent intentions and the admirable wisdom of Him “whose hands have made and fashioned us,” and who “breathed into our nostrils the breath of life.”

The above are only two or three out of a hundred of similar instances, which might be produced to show the benevolent care which has been exercised in arranging and articulating the system of bones of which the propwork of the human frame is composed. Were we to enter into an investigation of the actions and uses of the various muscles, the wonderful system of veins and arteries, the action of the heart, stomach, and bowels; the process of respiration, and insensible perspiration, and the system of nerves, glands, lymphatics, and lacteals—a thousand instances of Divine wisdom and beneficence would crowd upon our view, which could not fail to excite the pious and contemplative mind to join in the devotions of the “sweet singer of Israel:” “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well'—But as I intended to present only a few specimens of the Wisdom of God, as displayed in the construction of the material world, I shall conclude this department of my subject with a single reflection.^*

We have reason to believe that it is owing, in part, to want of attention to the Divine wisdom and beneficence, as exhibited in the construction of the visible world, that many professed Christians entertain so vague and confused ideas respecting the wisdom and goodness of Deity, as displayed in the economy of Redemption. The terms, Wisdom, Goodness, and Beneficence, in their mouths, become words almost without meaning, to which no precise or definite ideas are attached; because they have never considered the instances and the evidences of these attributes, as displayed in the material creation. And if our minds have not been impressed with a sense of the wisdom and beneficence of God, in those objects which are presented to the external senses, we cannot be supposed to have luminous and distinct ideas of those spiritual objects and arrangements which are removed beyond the sphere of our corporeal organs. For all our ideas in relation to Religion and its objects, are primarily derived from the intimations we receive of external objects, through the medium of our senses; and, consequently, the more clearly we perceive the agency of God in his visible operations, the more shall we be qualified to perceive the wisdom and harmony of his dispensations, as recorded in the volume of inspiration.

We live in a world, all the arrangements of which are the effects of infinite wisdom. We are surrounded with wonders on every hand; and therefore we cease to admire, or to fix our attention on any one of the wonders daily performed by God. We have never been accustomed to contemplate, or to inhabit a world where benevolence and wisdom are not displayed; and therefore we are apt to imagine that the circumstances of our terrestrial existence could not have been much otherwise than they actually are. We behold the sun in the morning ascending from the east—a thousand shining globes are seen in the canopy of the sky when he has disappeared in the west. We open our eyelids, and the myriads of objects which compose an extensive landscape are in a moment painted on our retina,—we wish to move our bodies, and in an instant the joints and muscles of our hands and feet perform their several functions. We spread out our wet clothes to dry, and in a few hours the moisture is evaporated. We behold the fields drenched with rain, and in a few days it disappears and is dispersed through the surrounding atmosphere, to be again embodied into clouds. These are all common operations, and therefore thoughtless and ungrateful man seldom considers the obligations he is under to the Author of his existence, for the numerous enjoyments which flow from these wise arrangements. But were the globe we inhabit, and all its appendages, to remain in their present state—and were only the principle of evaporation and the refractive and reflective properties of the air to be destroyed—we should soon feel, by the universal gloom which would ensue, and by a thousand other inconveniences we should suffer, what a miserable world was allotted for our abode. We should most sensibly perceive the wisdom and goodness we had formerly overlooked, and would most ardently implore the restoration of those arrangements for which we were never sufficiently grateful. And why should we not now—while we enjoy so many comforts flowing from the plans of Infinite Wisdom—have our attention directed to the benevolent contrivances within us and around us, in order that grateful emotions may be hourly arising in our hearts to the Father of our spirits? For the essence of true religion consists chiefly in gratitude to the God of our life, and the Author of our salvation; and every pleasing sensation we feel from the harmonies and the beauties of nature, ought to inspire us with this sacred emotion.—“Hearken unto this, O man! stand still and consider the wonderful works of God. Contemplate the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of Him who is perfect in knowledge.” “He hath made the earth by his power, he hath established the world by his wisdom. When he uttereth his voice, there is a noise of waters in the heavens; he causeth the vapors to ascend from the ends of the earth, and bringeth the winds out of his treasuries.” While it is shameful for man to be inattentive to the wonders which surround him, what can be more pleasing and congenial to a rational and devout mind than contemplations on the works of the Most High? “What can be more gratifying.” says Sturm, “than to contemplate in the heavens, in the earth, in the water, in the night and day, and, indeed, throughout all nature, the proofs which they afford of the wisdom and purity, and the goodness of our great Creator and Preserver! What can be more delightful than to recognize, in the whole creation, in all the natural world, in everything we see, traces of the ever-working providence and tender mercy of the great Father of all.”