on in the course of the argument, suggests a new hypothesis of cosmogony,
that is not absolutely absurd and improbable. Is there a system, an
order, an economy of things, by which matter can preserve that perpetual
agitation which seems essential to it, and yet maintain a constancy in
the forms which it produces? There certainly is such an economy; for this
is actually the case with the present world. The continual motion of
matter, therefore, in less than infinite transpositions, must produce
this economy or order; and by its very nature, that order, when once
established, supports itself, for many ages, if not to eternity. But
wherever matter is so poised, arranged, and adjusted, as to continue in
perpetual motion, and yet preserve a constancy in the forms, its
situation must, of necessity, have all the same appearance of art and
contrivance which we observe at present. All the parts of each form must
have a relation to each other, and to the whole; and the whole itself
must have a relation to the other parts of the universe; to the element
in which the form subsists; to the materials with which it repairs its
waste and decay; and to every other form which is hostile or friendly. A
defect in any of these particulars destroys the form; and the matter of
which it is composed is again set loose, and is thrown into irregular
motions and fermentations, till it unite itself to some other regular
form. If no such form be prepared to receive it, and if there be a great
quantity of this corrupted matter in the universe, the universe itself is
entirely disordered; whether it be the feeble embryo of a world in its
first beginnings that is thus destroyed, or the rotten carcass of one
languishing in old age and infirmity. In either case, a chaos ensues;
till finite, though innumerable revolutions produce at last some forms,
whose parts and organs are so adjusted as to support the forms amidst a
continued succession of matter.

Suppose (for we shall endeavour to vary the expression), that matter were