Buffon's Natural History. Volume X (of 10)

The Air being lighter and more fluid than water, is subject to the influence of a greater number of powers. It is constantly agitated by the effects of the sun and moon, by the immediate action of the sea, and by the rarefaction and condensation of heat and cold. The winds are, as it may be said, its currents; they force and collect the clouds, they give rise to meteors, and transport the moist vapours of the ocean to the surfaces of islands and continents; from them proceed storms, and they diffuse and distribute the fertile dews and rains over the land; they interfere with the regular motions of the sea, agitate the waters, sometimes stop, and at others precipitate the cur rents, elevate the waves, and excite dreadful storms and tempests. Forced by them the troubled ocean rises towards the heavens, and with a tremendous noise and violence, rushes against those immoveable barriers, which it can neither destroy nor surmount.

The earth being elevated above the level of the sea, it is thus defended against its irruptions. Its surface is beautifully enamelled with various flowers, and a constant renewing verdure; it is inhabited by numberless species of inhabitants, among which, man, placed to assist the intentions of Nature, presides over every other being, finds a place of perfect repose, and a delightful habitation. He alone is endowed with knowledge, and dignified with the faculty of admiration; the Almighty has rendered him capable of distinguishing the wonders of the universe, and a witness of his increasing miracles. Animated by a ray of divinity, he participates the mysteries of the Deity. It is by this ray that he is enabled to think and reflect, and that he perceives and understands the wonderful works of his Creator.

The external throne of the Divine magnificence is Nature; and man, by contemplating her, advances by degrees to the internal throne of the Almighty. He is formed to adore his Creator, and to have dominion over every other creature; he is the vassal of heaven, and the lord of the earth; by him this nether globe is peopled, ennobled, and enriched; he establishes order, subordination, and harmony among living beings, and even to Nature herself he gives polish, extension, cultivation, and embellishment; for he cuts down the thistle and the bramble, and, by his care, multiplies the vine and the rose. In those dreary desarts where man has not inhabited, we find them over-run with thorns and briars; the trees deformed, broken and corrupted, and the seeds which ought to renew and embellish the scene, are choaked by surrounding rubbish, and reduced to sterility. Nature, whom we find in other situations adorned with the splendour of youth, has here the appearance of old age and decrepitude. Here the earth, overloaded with the spoils of its productions, instead of presenting a scene of beautiful verdure, exhibits only a rude mass of coarse herbage, and trees loaded with parasitical plants, as lichens, agaries, and other impure and corrupted fruits; the low grounds are covered with putrid and stagnant waters; these miry lands being neither solid nor fluid, are not only impassable but are entirely useless to the inhabitants of both land and water; and the marshes abounding with stinking aquatic plants, serve only to nourish venomous insects, and to harbour infectious animals. There is, indeed, between the putrid marshes of the low ground, and the decayed forests of the high parts of the country, a species of lands, or savannas, but which are very different from our meadows; for in them there is an abundance of noxious herbs which spring up and check the growth of the useful kinds: instead of that delicate enamelled turf, which may be considered as the down of the earth, they are covered over with coarse vegetables and hard prickly plants, which are so interwoven, that they appear to have more connection with each other, than with the soil; and by a constant and successive generation at length form a kind of rough mat several feet thick. In these uncultivated and desolate regions, there is no road, no communication, and no vestige of intelligence. Man, when seeking to destroy the wild beasts, is compelled to follow their tracks, and to be constantly on the watch, lest he should become a victim to their savage fury; alarmed and terrified by their frequent roarings, and even awed by the profound silence of those dreary solitudes, he shrinks back and exclaims; "Uncultivated Nature is hideous and unflourishing; it is I alone who can render her agreeable and vivacious. Let us drain the marshes, and give animation to the waters, by converting them into brooks and canals; let us make use of that active and devouring element, whose power we have discovered; let us apply fire to this burthensome load of vegetables, and to those decaying forests which are already half destroyed; let us complete the work by destroying with iron what cannot be removed by fire; and then instead of coarse reeds and water-lilies, from which the toad is said to extract his poison, we shall soon behold the ranunculus, truffles, and other mild and salutary herbs spring up; that land, which was formerly impassable, will become a flourishing pasture for flocks of cattle, where they will find plenty of food, and where, by the excellence of their sustenance, they will increase and multiply, and thus reward us for our labours and the protection we have given them. Let us go still further, and subject the ox to the yoke; let his strength and weight of body be employed to plough the ground, which acquires fresh vigour from culture. Thus will the operations of Nature be assisted, and acquire double strength and splendor from the skill and industry of man.”

How beautiful is cultivated Nature! How lovely does she appear when decorated by the hand of man! He is himself her chief ornament, her noblest production, and by multiplying his own species he increases the most precious of her works. She even seems to multiply in proportion to his attention, for by his art he developes all that she has concealed in her bosom. What a source of unknown treasures has been brought to light! flowers, fruits and grains, matured to perfection, and multiplied to infinity; the usual species of animals transported, propagated and increased, without number; the noxious and destructive kinds diminished and driven from the habitations of men; gold, and iron a more useful metal, extracted from the bowels of the earth; torrents restrained, rivers directed in their courses and confined within their banks, and even the ocean itself subdued, investigated and traversed from one hemisphere to the other; the earth rendered active, fertile, and accesible, in every part; the vallies and plains changed into blooming meadows, rich pastures, and cultivated fields; the hills surrounded with vines and fruits, and their summits crowned with useful trees; the desarts converted into populous cities, whose inhabitants spread from its centre to its utmost extremities; roads and communications opened, established, and frequented, as so many proofs of the union and strength of society. There are besides a thousand other monuments of power and glory, which clearly demonstrate that man is the lord of the earth; that he has changed and improved its surface; and that from the earliest periods of time he alone has divided the empire of the world between him and Nature.

It is by the right of conquest, however, that he reigns; he rather enjoys than possesses, and it is by perpetual activity and vigilance that he preserves his advantage; if those are neglected every thing languishes, changes, and returns to the absolute dominion of Nature, she resumes her power, and destroys the operations of man; envelopes with moss and dust his most pompous monuments, and in the progress of time entirely effaces them, leaving him to regret having lost by his negligence what his ancestors had acquired by their industry. Those periods in which man loses his empire, those ages in which every thing valuable perishes, commence with war, and are completed by famine and depopulation. Although the strength of man depends solely upon the union of numbers, and his happiness is derived from peace, he is, nevertheless, so regardless of his own comforts as to take up arms and to fight, which are never-failing sources of ruin and misery. Incited by insatiable avarice, or blind ambition, which is still more insatiable, he becomes callous to the feelings of humanity; regardless of his own welfare, his whole thoughts turn upon the destruction of his own species, which he soon accomplishes. The days of blood and carnage over, and the intoxicating fumes of glory dispelled, he beholds, with a melancholy eye, the earth desolated, the arts buried, nations dispersed, an enfeebled people, the ruins of his own happiness, and the loss of his real power.

Omnipotent God! by whose presence Nature is supported, and harmony among the laws of the universe maintained; who seest from thy immoveable throne in the empyrean all the celestial spheres rolling under thy feet without deviation or disorder; who, from the bosom of repose, every instant renewest their vast movements, and who alone governs in profound peace an infinite number of heavens and of earths, restore, restore tranquillity to a troubled world! Let the earth be silent! Let the presumptuous tumults of war and discord be dispelled by the sound of thy voice! Merciful God! author of all beings, whose paternal regards extend to every created object, and to man, thy principal favourite; thou hast illumined his mind with a ray of thy immortal light; penetrate also his heart with a shaft of thy love; thy divine sentiment, when universally diffused, will unite the most hostile spirits; man will no longer dread the sight of man, nor will his hand any longer continue to be armed with murdering steel; the devouring flames of war will no longer stop the sources of generations; the human species, which are now weakened, mutilated, and prematurely mowed down, will germinate anew, and multiply without number. Nature, groaning under the pressure of calamity, sterile and abandoned, will soon resume with additional vigour her former fecundity; and we, beneficent God! shall aid, cultivate, and incessantly contemplate her operations, that we, at every moment, may be enabled to offer thee a fresh tribute of gratitude and admiration.

SECOND VIEW

INDIVIDUALS of whatever kind, or however numerous, are of no estimation in the universe; it is species alone that are existences in Nature, for they are as ancient and permanent as herself. To have a clear and distinct idea of this subject we must not consider a species as a collection or succession of similar individuals, but as a whole, independently of number or time, always active, and always the same; a whole which was considered but as one in the works of the creation, and therefore constitutes only a unit in Nature. Of these units the human species is to be placed in the first rank; all the others, from the elephant to the mite, from the cedar to the hyssop, belong to the second and third orders. Notwithstanding that they are different in form, substance, and even life, yet each sustains its appointed destination, and subsists independently of others, while the whole, in a general view, represents animated Nature, who has hitherto supported, and will continue to support, herself in the same manner as she is seen at present. Her duration is not to be estimated by a day, a year, an age, nor any given period of time, for time itself relates only to individuals, to beings whose existence is limited. It is not so with respect to species, for their existence is constant; their permanence produces duration, and their differences give rise to number. It is in this light that we must consider species, and give to each an equal right to the indulgence and support of Nature; for so she has certainly considered them, by bestowing on each the means of existing as long as herself.

Let us now consider the species as having changed places with the individual. In our preceding observations we have seen the relation which Nature holds in respect to man; let us now then take a view in what light she would appear to a being who represented the whole human species. We perceive that in the spring the fields renew their verdure, the buds and flowers expand, the bees revive from their state of torpor, the swallows return to our climates, the nightingale chaunts her song of love, the lamb frisks, and the bull laws with desire, and all animated creatures are eager to unite and multiply their species; and we can then have no ideas but those of reproduction and the increase of life. But when the dark season of cold and frost approaches, these same beings become indifferent to and avoid each other; many of the feathered race desert our clime, and the inhabitants of the waters lose their freedom under the massy congelations of ice; various animals dig retreats for themselves in the ground, where they fall into a state of torpor; the earth becomes hard, the plants wither, and the trees, deprived of their foliage, are covered with frost and snow; every object excites the idea of languor and annihilation. These appearances, however, of renovation and destruction, images, as it were, of life and death, although they seem general, are only individual and particular. Man, as an individual, concludes in this manner, but the being whom we have supposed as a representative of the species, thinks and judges in a manner more exalted and general; in that constant succession of destruction and renovation, and in those various vicissitudes, he perceives only permanence and duration. The different seasons in one year appear to him the same as those of the preceding, the same as those of millions of ages. The animal which may be the thousandth in the order of generation is the same to him as the first. In a word, if man had no period to his existence, and if all the beings by which he is surrounded existed in the same manner as they do at present, the idea of time would vanish and the individual would in fact become the species.

Let us then consider Nature for a few moments under this new aspect. Man certainly comes into the world enveloped in darkness. His mind is equally naked with his body; he is born without knowledge and without defence, and brings nothing with him but passive qualities. He is compelled to receive the impressions of objects on his organs; even the light shines on his eyes long before he is able to recognize it. To Nature he is at first indebted for every thing, without making her any return. No sooner, however, do his senses acquire strength and activity, and he can compare his sensations, than he reflects upon the universe; he forms ideas, which he retains, extends, and combines. Man, after receiving instruction, is no longer a simple individual, for he then, in a great measure, represents the whole human species. He receives from his parents the knowledge which had been transmitted to them from their forefathers; and thus, by the divine arts of writing and printing, the present age, in some sort, becomes identified with those that are past. This accumulation of experience in one man, almost extends the limits of his being to infinity. He is born no more than a simple individual, like other animals, capable only of attending to present sensations; but he becomes afterwards nearly the being which we supposed to represent the whole species; he reads what has past, sees the present, and judges of the future; and in the torrent of time, which carries off and absorbs all the individuals of the universe, he perceives that the species are permanent, and Nature invariable. As the relations of objects are always the same, to him the order of time appears to be nothing; he considers the laws of renovation as only counterbalancing those of permanency. An uninterrupted succession of similar beings, is, in effect, only equivalent to the perpetual existence of one of them.

What purposes then are gained by this immense train of generations, this profusion of germs, many thousands of which are abortive for one that is brought into life? Does not this perpetual propagation of beings, which are alternately destroyed and renewed, uniformly exhibit the same scene, and occupy the same proportion in Nature? From what cause proceed all these changes of life and death, these laws of growth and decay, all these individual vicissitudes, and reiterated representations of the same identical thing? They certainly arise from the very essence of Nature, and depend on the first establishment of the universal machine; the whole of which is fixed and stable, but each of its parts being endowed with the power of motion, the general movements of the celestial bodies have produced the particular ones of this terrestrial globe. The penetrating forces by which these immense bodies are animated, and by which they act reciprocally upon each other at a distance, at the same time animate every particle of matter; and this strong propensity, which every part has towards each other, is the first bond of beings, the ground of consistence and permanency in Nature, and the support of harmony in the universe. From these great combinations the smaller relations are derived. The earth moving on its own axis having separated the portions of duration into day and night; all its animated inhabitants have their stated periods of light and darkness, of their times of waking and sleeping. The action of the senses, and the motions of the members which form a great part of the animal economy, are related to this first combination; for in a world where perpetual darkness reigned, would there be senses alive to the enjoyment of light.

As the inclination of the axis of the earth, in its annual course round the sun, produces considerable variations of heat and cold, which we call seasons, all its vegetables have also, either wholly or partially, their seasons of life and death. The fall of the leaves, and the decay of fruits, the withering of herbs and the destruction of insects, depend entirely on this second combination. In those climates where there is not this variation, by the inclination not being so material, the life of the vegetable is not suspended, and every insect completes the stated period of its existence. Where the four seasons, in fact, make but one, as under the line, the surface of the earth is constantly covered with flowers, the trees have a perpetual foliage, and Nature seems to enjoy a continual spring.

Both in animals and plants, their particular constitution is relatively to the general temperature of the earth, and which temperature depends upon its situation and distance from the sun. If they were removed to a greater distance, neither our animals, nor our plants, could live or vegetate; the water, sap, blood, and all their liquors, would lose their fluidity; if on the contrary they were more near they would vanish and dissipate in vapour. Ice and fire are the elements of death, and temperate heat the first support of life. The living particles so generally diffused through all organized bodies are related, not only by their activity but number, to the particles of light which strike and penetrate almost all matter with their heat; for in every place where the sun can heat the earth with its rays, the surface will be covered with verdure, and peopled with animals; even ice is no sooner dissolved into water than it swarms with inhabitants. Water, indeed, is apparently more fertile than the earth; from heat it receives motion and life. In one season the sea produces more animals than the earth sustains; but its production of vegetables is infinitely less. And because that the inhabitants of the ocean have not a sufficient and permanent supply of vegetables, they are compelled to feed upon each other; and it is to this necessity that their immense multiplication may be referred.

As in the beginning every species was created, the first individual of each has served for a model to their descendants. The body of each animal or vegetable is a mould, to which are assimilated indifferently the organic particles of all animals or vegetables which have been destroyed by death, or consumed by time. The brute particles, of which part of their composition was formed, returned to the common mass of inanimate matter; but the organic particles, whose existence is permanent, are again resumed by organized bodies: they are extracted at first from the earth by vegetables, and then absorbed by animals who feed thereon; and thus serve for the support, growth, and expansion of both. By this constant and perpetual circulation from body to body, they serve to animate all organized beings. These living substances in quantity are always the same, and differ only in form and appearance. In fertile ages, and when population is the greatest, the whole surface of the earth seems to be covered with men, domestic animals, and useful plants. But in the times of famine and depopulation, the ferocious animals, poisonous insects, parasitical plants, and useless herbs, resume, in their turn, dominion over the earth. To man these changes are material, but to Nature they are perfectly indifferent. The silk worm so inestimable to the former, is to the latter only a caterpillar of the mulberry tree. Though this caterpillar, which so materially assists in the supply of our luxuries, should disappear; though the plants, from which our domestic animals procure their nourishment, should be devoured by other caterpillars; though still others should destroy the substance of our corn before the harvest; in short, though man and the larger animals should be starved by the inferior tribes, Nature would not be less abundant nor less alive; she never protects one at the expence of another, but especially supports the whole. As to individuals she is regardless of number; she considers them only as successive images of the same impression; as passing shadows of which the species is the substance.

In earth, air, and water, then, there exists a certain quantity of organic matter which cannot be destroyed, but which is constantly assimilated in a certain number of moulds, that are perpetually undergoing destruction and renewal: these moulds, or rather individuals, tho’ varying in number in every species, are nevertheless always the same, that is, proportioned to the quantity of living matter; and this appears to be absolutely the case, for if there were any redundance of this matter, or if it were not at all times fully occupied by the individuals of the species which exist, it would, most assuredly, form itself into new species, for being alive it would not remain without action; and once uniting with brute matter is sufficient to form organized bodies; and it is by this constant combination, and invariable proportion, that Nature preserves her form and consistence.

The laws of Nature, both with respect to the number of species and of their support and equilibrium, being fixed and constant, she would invariably have the same appearance, and be in all climes absolutely the same, if her complexion did not so completely vary in almost every individual form. The figure of each species is an impression, in which the principal characters are so strongly engraven as never to be effaced; but the accessory parts and shades are so greatly varied that no two individuals have a perfect resemblance to each other; and in all species there are a number of varieties. The human species, which has such superior pretensions, varies from white to black, from small to great, &c. The Laplander, the Patagonian, the Hottentot, the European, the American, and the Negro, though the offspring of the same parents, have by no means the resemblance of brothers.

It is evident, therefore, that every species is subject to individual differences, but that each of them does not equally possess the constant varieties which are perpetuated through successive generations; the more dignified the species, the less changeable is its figure, and the less are the varieties of it. The multiplication of animals being inversely in proportion to their magnitude, as the possibility of variation must be in exact proportion to the numbers they produce, there consequently must be more varieties among the small than the large animals; and also, for the same reason, there will be a greater number of species which seem to approach each other; for the unity of the species in the large animals is more fixed, and the nature of their separation more extended. What a number of various and similar species surround those of the squirrel, the rat, and other small quadrupeds, while the massy elephant stands alone, without a compeer, and at the head of the whole.