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Title: Eureka
Author: Edgar Allan Poe
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Eureka: An Essay on The Material and Spiritual Universe.
Edgar Allan Poe


[To the few who love me and whom I love--to those who feel rather than
to those who think--to the dreamers and those who put faith in dreams
as in the only realities--I offer this book of Truths, not in its
character of Truth-Teller, but for the Beauty that abounds in its
Truth, constituting it true. To these I present the composition as an
Art-Product alone,--let us say as a Romance; or, if I be not urging
too lofty a claim, as a Poem.

What I here propound is true.--therefore it cannot die; or if by any
means it be now trodden down so that it die, it will "rise again to
the Life Everlasting."

Nevertheless, it is as a Poem only that I wish this work to be judged
after I am dead.]



It is with humility really unassumed--it is with a sentiment even of
awe--that I pen the opening sentence of this work: for of all
conceivable subjects, I approach the reader with the most solemn--the
most comprehensive--the most difficult--the most august.

What terms shall I find sufficiently simple in their sublimity--
sufficiently sublime in their simplicity--for the mere enunciation of
my theme?

I design to speak of the Physical, Metaphysical and Mathematical--of
the Material and Spiritual Universe--of its Essence, its Origin, its
Creation, its Present Condition, and its Destiny. I shall be so rash,
moreover, as to challenge the conclusions, and thus, in effect, to
question the sagacity, of many of the greatest and most justly
reverenced of men.

In the beginning, let me as distinctly as possible announce--not the
theorem which I hope to demonstrate--for, whatever the mathematicians
may assert, there is, in this world at least, no such thing as
demonstration--but the ruling idea which, throughout this volume, I
shall be continually endeavoring to suggest.

My general proposition, then, is this:--In the Original Unity of the
First Thing lies the Secondary Cause of All Things, with the Germ of
their Inevitable Annihilation.

In illustration of this idea, I propose to take such a survey of the
Universe that the mind may be able really to receive and to perceive
an individual impression.

He who from the top of Aetna casts his eyes leisurely around, is
affected chiefly by the extent and diversity of the scene. Only by a
rapid whirling on his heel could he hope to comprehend the panorama in
the sublimity of its oneness. But as, on the summit of Aetna, no man
has thought of whirling on his heel, so no man has ever taken into his
brain the full uniqueness of the prospect; and so, again, whatever
considerations lie involved in this uniqueness have as yet no
practical existence for mankind.

I do not know a treatise in which a survey of the Universe--using the
word in its most comprehensive and only legitimate acceptation--is
taken at all; and it may be as well here to mention that by the term
"Universe," wherever employed without qualification in this essay, I
mean, in most cases, to designate the utmost conceivable expanse of
space, with all things, spiritual and material, that can he imagined
to exist within the compass of that expanse. In speaking of what is
ordinarily implied by the expression "Universe," I shall take a phrase
of limitation--"the Universe of Stars." Why this distinction is
considered necessary will be seen in the sequel.

But even of treatises on the really limited, although always assumed
as the unlimited, Universe of stars, I know none in which a survey,
even of this limited Universe, is so taken as to warrant deductions
from its individuality. The nearest approach to such a work is made in
the "Cosmos" of Alexander Von Humboldt. He presents the subject,
however, not in its individuality but in its generality. His theme, in
its last result, is the law of each portion of the merely physical
Universe, as this law is related to the laws of every other portion of
this merely physical Universe. His design is simply synaeretical. In a
word, he discusses the universality of material relation, and
discloses to the eye of Philosophy whatever inferences have hitherto
lain hidden behind this universality. But however admirable be the
succinctness with which he has treated each particular point of his
topic, the mere multiplicity of these points occasions, necessarily,
an amount of detail, and thus an involution of idea, which preclude
all individuality of impression.

It seems to me that, in aiming at this latter effect, and, through it,
at the consequences, the conclusions, the suggestions, the
speculations, or, if nothing better offer itself, the mere guesses
which may result from it, we require something like a mental gyration
on the heel. We need so rapid a revolution of all things about the
central point of sight that, while the minutiae vanish altogether,
even the more conspicuous objects become blended into one. Among the
vanishing minutiae, in a survey of this kind, would be all exclusively
terrestrial matters. The Earth would be considered in its planetary
relations alone. A man, in this view, becomes Mankind; Mankind a
member of the cosmical family of Intelligences.

And now, before proceeding to our subject proper, let me beg the
reader's attention to an extract or two from a somewhat remarkable
letter, which appears to have been found corked in a bottle and
floating on the Mare Tenebrarum--an ocean well described by the Nubian
geographer, Ptolemy Hephaestion, but little frequented in modern days
unless by the Transcendentalists and some other divers for crotchets.
The date of this letter, I confess, surprises me even more
particularly than its contents; for it seems to have been written in
the year two thousand eight hundred and forty-eight. As for the
passages I am about to transcribe, they, I fancy, will speak for
themselves.

"Do you know, my dear friend," says the writer, addressing, no doubt,
a contemporary, "Do you know that it is scarcely more than eight or
nine hundred years ago since the metaphysicians first consented to
relieve the people of the singular fancy that there exist but two
practicable roads to Truth? Believe it if you can! It appears,
however, that long, long ago, in the night of Time, there lived a
Turkish philosopher called Aries and surnamed Tottle. [Here, possibly,
the letter-writer means Aristotle; the best names are wretchedly
corrupted in two or three thousand years.] The fame of this great man
depended mainly upon his demonstration that sneezing is a natural
provision, by means of which over-profound thinkers are enabled to
expel superfluous ideas through the nose; but he obtained a scarcely
less valuable celebrity as the founder, or at all events as the
principal propagator, of what was termed the deductive or apriori
philosophy. He started with what he maintained to be axioms, or self-
evident truths; and the now well understood fact that no truths are
self-evident really does not make in the slightest degree against his
speculations; it was sufficient for his purpose that the truths in
question were evident at all. From axioms he proceeded, logically, to
results. His most illustrious disciples were one Tuclid, a
geometrician" [meaning Euclid], "and one Kant, a Dutchman, the
originator of that species of Transcendentalism which, with the change
merely of a C for a K, now bears his peculiar name.

"Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme, until the advent of one Hogg,
surnamed 'the Ettrick shepherd,' who preached an entirely different
system, which he called the a posteriori or inductive. His plan
referred altogether to sensation. He proceeded by observing,
analyzing, and classifying facts--instantiae Naturae, as they were
somewhat affectedly called--and arranging them into general laws. In a
word, while the mode of Aries rested on noumena, that of Hogg depended
on phenomena; and so great was the admiration excited by this latter
system that, at its first introduction, Aries fell into general
disrepute. Finally, however, he recovered ground, and was permitted to
divide the empire of Philosophy with his more modern rival; the
savants contenting themselves with proscribing all other competitors,
past, present, and to come; putting an end to all controversy on the
topic by the promulgation of a Median law, to the effect that the
Aristotelian and Baconian roads are, and of right ought to be, the
sole possible avenues to knowledge. 'Baconian,' you must know, my dear
friend," adds the letter-writer at this point, "was an adjective
invented as equivalent to Hogg ian, while more dignified and
euphonious.

"Now I do assure you most positively"--proceeds the epistle--"that I
represent these matters fairly; and you can easily understand how
restrictions so absurd on their very face must have operated, in those
days, to retard the progress of true Science, which makes its most
important advances, as all History will show, by seemingly intuitive
leaps. These ancient ideas confined investigation to crawling; and I
need not suggest to you that crawling, among varieties of locomotion,
is a very capital thing of its kind; but because the snail is sure of
foot, for this reason must we clip the wings of the eagles? For many
centuries so great was the infatuation, about Hogg especially, that a
virtual stop was put to all thinking, properly so called. No man dared
utter a truth for which he felt himself indebted to his soul alone. It
mattered not whether the truth was even demonstrably such; for the
dogmatizing philosophers of that epoch regarded only the road by which
it professed to have been attained. The end, with them, was a point of
no moment whatever:--'the means!' they vociferated--'let us look at
the means!'--and if, on scrutiny of the means, it was found to come
neither under the category Hogg, nor under the category Aries (which
means ram), why then the savants went no farther, but, calling the
thinker a fool and branding him a 'theorist,' would never,
thenceforward, have anything to do either with him or with his truths.

"Now, my dear friend," continues the letter-writer, "it cannot be
maintained that, by the crawling system exclusively adopted, men would
arrive at the maximum amount of truth, even in any long series of
ages; for the repression of imagination was an evil not to be
counterbalanced even by absolute certainty in the snail processes. But
their certainty was very far from absolute. The error of our
progenitors was quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who fancies
he must necessarily see an object the more distinctly, the more
closely he holds it to his eyes. They blinded themselves, too, with
the impalpable, titillating Scotch snuff of detail; and thus the
boasted facts of the Hogg-ites were by no means always facts--a point
of little importance but for the assumption that they always were. The
vital taint, however, in Baconianism--its most lamentable fount of
error--lay in its tendency to throw power and consideration into the
hands of merely perceptive men--of those inter-Tritonic minnows, the
microscopical savants, the diggers and pedlers of minute facts, for
the most part in physical science, facts all of which they retailed at
the same price upon the highway; their value depending, it was
supposed, simply upon the fact of their fact, without reference to
their applicability or inapplicability in the development of those
ultimate and only legitimate facts, called Law.

"Than the persons"--the letter goes on to say--"than the persons thus
suddenly elevated by the Hogg-ian philosophy into a station for which
they were unfitted, thus transferred from the sculleries into the
parlors of Science, from its pantries into its pulpits; than these
individuals a more intolerant, a more intolerable, set of bigots and
tyrants never existed on the face of the earth. Their creed, their
text, and their sermon were, alike, the one word 'fact;' but, for the
most part, even of this one word they knew not even the meaning. On
those who ventured to disturb their facts, with the view of putting
them in order and to use, the disciples of Hogg had no mercy whatever.
All attempts at generalization were met at once by the words
'theoretical,' 'theory,' 'theorist;'all thought, to be brief, was very
properly resented as a personal affront to themselves. Cultivating the
natural sciences to the exclusion of Metaphysics, the Mathematics, and
Logic, many of these Bacon-engendered philosophers--one-idead, one-
sided, and lame of a leg--were more wretchedly helpless--more
miserably ignorant, in view of all the comprehensible objects of
knowledge, than the veriest unlettered hind who proves that he knows
something at least, in admitting that he knows absolutely nothing.

"Nor had our forefathers any better right to talk about certainty,
when pursuing, in blind confidence, the a priori path of axioms, or of
the Ram. At innumerable points this path was scarcely as straight as a
ram's-horn. The simple truth is, that the Aristotelians erected their
castles upon a basis far less reliable than air; for no such things as
axioms ever existed or can possibly exist at all. This they must have
been very blind indeed not to see, or at least to suspect; for, even
in their own day, many of their long-admitted 'axioms' had been
abandoned: 'ex nihilo nihil fit,' for example, and a 'thing cannot act
where it is not,' and 'there cannot be antipodes,' and 'darkness
cannot proceed from light.' These and numerous similar propositions
formerly accepted, without hesitation, as axioms, or undeniable
truths, were, even at the period of which I speak, seen to be
altogether untenable. How absurd in these people, then, to persist in
relying upon a basis, as immutable, whose mutability had become so
repeatedly manifest!

"But, even through evidence afforded by themselves against themselves,
it is easy to convict these a priori reasoners of the grossest
unreason; it is easy to show the futility, the impalpability, of their
axioms in general. I have now lying before me"--it will be observed
that we still proceed with the letter--"I have now lying before me a
book printed about a thousand years ago. Pundit assures me that it is
decidedly the cleverest ancient work on its topic, which is 'Logic.'
The author, who was much esteemed in his day, was one Miller, or Mill;
and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some importance, that he
rode a mill-horse whom he called Jeremy Bentham;--but let us glance at
the volume itself.

"Ah!--'Ability or inability to conceive,' says Mr. Mill, very
properly, 'is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic
truth.' Now, that this is a palpable truism no one in his senses will
deny. Not to admit the proposition, is to insinuate a charge of
variability in Truth itself, whose very title is a synonym of the
Steadfast. If ability to conceive be taken as a criterion of Truth,
then a truth to David Hume would very seldom be a truth to Joe; and
ninety-nine hundredths of what is undeniable in Heaven would be
demonstrable falsity upon Earth. The proposition of Mr. Mill, then, is
sustained. I will not grant it to be an axiom; and this merely because
I am showing that no axioms exist; but, with a distinction which could
not have been cavilled at even by Mr. Mill himself, I am ready to
grant that, if an axiom there be, then the proposition of which we
speak has the fullest right to be considered an axiom--that no more
absolute axiom is; and, consequently, that any subsequent proposition
which shall conflict with this one primarily advanced, must be either
a falsity in itself--that is to say, no axiom--or, if admitted
axiomatic, must at once neutralize both itself and its predecessor.

"And now, by the logic of their own propounder, let us proceed to test
any one of the axioms propounded. Let us give Mr. Mill the fairest of
play. We will bring the point to no ordinary issue. We will select for
investigation no commonplace axiom--no axiom of what, not the less
preposterously because only impliedly, he terms his secondary class--
as if a positive truth by definition could be either more or less
positively a truth; we will select, I say, no axiom of an
unquestionability so questionable as is to be found in Euclid. We will
not talk, for example, about such propositions as that two straight
lines cannot enclose a space, or that the whole is greater than any
one of its parts. We will afford the logician every advantage. We will
come at once to a proposition which he regards as the acme of the
unquestionable--as the quintessence of axiomatic undeniability. Here
it is:--'Contradictions cannot both be true--that is, cannot coexist
in nature.' Here Mr. Mill means, for instance,--and I give the most
forcible instance conceivable,--that a tree must be either a tree or
not a tree--that it cannot be at the same time a tree and not a tree;
all which is quite reasonable of itself, and will answer remarkably
well as an axiom, until we bring it into collation with an axiom
insisted upon a few pages before; in other words--words which I have
previously employed--until we test it by the logic of its own
propounder. 'A tree,' Mr. Mill asserts, 'must be either a tree or not
a tree.' Very well: and now let me ask him, why. To this little query
there is but one response--I defy any man living to invent a second.
The sole answer is this:--'Because we find it impossible to conceive
that a tree can be anything else than a tree or not a tree.' This, I
repeat, is Mr. Mill's sole answer; he will not pretend to suggest
another; and yet, by his own showing, his answer is clearly no answer
at all; for has he not already required us to admit, as an axiom, that
ability or inability to conceive is in no case to be taken as a
criterion of axiomatic truth? Thus all, absolutely all, his
argumentation is at sea without a rudder. Let it not be urged that an
exception from the general rule is to be made, in cases where the
'impossibility to conceive' is so peculiarly great as when we are
called upon to conceive a tree both a tree and not a tree. Let no
attempt, I say, be made at urging this sotticism; for, in the first
place, there are no degrees of 'impossibility,' and thus no one
impossible conception can be more peculiarly impossible than another
impossible conception; in the second place, Mr. Mill himself--no doubt
after thorough deliberation--has most distinctly and most rationally
excluded all opportunity for exception, by the emphasis of his
proposition, that, in no case, is ability or inability to conceive to
be taken as a criterion of axiomatic truth; in the third place, even
were exceptions admissible at all, it remains to be shown how any
exception is admissible here. That a tree can be both a tree and not a
tree, is an idea which the angels, or the devils, may entertain, and
which no doubt many an earthly Bedlamite, or Transcendentalist, does.

"Now I do not quarrel with these ancients," continues the letter-
writer, "so much on account of the transparent frivolity of their
logic--which, to be plain, was baseless, worthless, and fantastic
altogether--as on account of their pompous and infatuate proscription
of all other roads to Truth than the two narrow and crooked paths--the
one of creeping and the other of crawling--to which, in their ignorant
perversity, they have dared to confine the Soul--the Soul which loves
nothing so well as to soar in those regions of illimitable intuition
which are utterly incognizant of 'path.'

"By the bye, my dear friend, is it not an evidence of the mental
slavery entailed upon those bigoted people by their Hoggs and Rams,
that, in spite of the eternal prating of their savants about roads to
Truth, none of them fell, even by accident, into what we now so
distinctly perceive to be the broadest, the straightest, and most
available of all mere roads--the great thoroughfare--the majestic
highway of the Consistent? Is it not wonderful that they should have
failed to deduce from the works of God the vitally momentous
consideration that a perfect consistency can be nothing but an
absolute truth? How plain--how rapid our progress since the late
announcement of this proposition! By its means, investigation has been
taken out of the hands of the ground moles, and given as a duty,
rather than as a task, to the true, to the only true thinkers--to the
generally educated men of ardent imagination. These latter--our
Keplers, our Laplaces--'speculate'--'theorize'--these are the terms;
can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which they would be received
by our progenitors, were it possible for them to be looking over my
shoulders as I write? The Keplers, I repeat, speculate--theorize--and
their theories are merely corrected--reduced--sifted--cleared, little
by little, of their chaff of inconsistency--until at length there
stands apparent an unencumbered Consistency--a consistency which the
most stolid admit, because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and
unquestionable Truth.

"I have often thought, my friend, that it must have puzzled these
dogmaticians of a thousand years ago to determine, even, by which of
their two boasted roads it is that the cryptographist attains the
solution of the more complicated cyphers; or by which of them
Champollion guided mankind to those important and innumerable truths
which, for so many centuries, have lain entombed amid the phonetical
hieroglyphics of Egypt. In especial, would it not have given these
bigots some trouble to determine by which of their two roads was
reached the most momentous and sublime of all their truths--the truth,
the fact, of gravitation? Newton deduced it from the laws of Kepler.
Kepler admitted that these laws he guessed--these laws whose
investigation disclosed to the greatest of British astronomers that
principle, the basis of all (existing) physical principle, in going
behind which we enter at once the nebulous kingdom of Metaphysics.
Yes! these vital laws Kepler guessed; that it is to say, he imagined
them. Had he been asked to point out either the deductive or inductive
route by which he attained them, his reply might have been--'I know
nothing about routes, but I do know the machinery of the Universe.
Here it is. I grasped it with my soul, I reached it through mere dint
of intuition.' Alas, poor ignorant old man! Could not any
metaphysician have told him that what he called 'intuition' was but
the conviction resulting from deductions or inductions of which the
processes were so shadowy as to have escaped his consciousness, eluded
his reason, or bidden defiance to his capacity of expression? How
great a pity it is that some 'moral philosopher' had not enlightened
him about all this! How it would have comforted him on his death-bed
to know that, instead of having gone intuitively and thus
unbecomingly, he had, in fact, proceeded decorously and legitimately--
that is to say, Hogg-ishly, or at least Ram-ishly--into the vast halls
where lay gleaming, untended, and hitherto untouched by mortal hand,
unseen by mortal eye, the imperishable and priceless secrets of the
Universe!

"Yes, Kepler was essentially a theorist; but this title, now of so
much sanctity, was, in those ancient days, a designation of supreme
contempt. It is only now that men begin to appreciate that divine old
man--to sympathize with the prophetical and poetical rhapsody of his
ever memorable words. For my part," continues the unknown
correspondent, "I glow with a sacred fire when I even think of them,
and feel that I shall never grow weary of their repetition;--in
concluding this letter, let me have the real pleasure of transcribing
them once again:--'I care not whether my work be read now or by
posterity. I can afford to wait a century for readers when God himself
has waited six thousand years for an observer. I triumph. I have
stolen the golden secret of the Egyptians. I will indulge my sacred
fury.'"

Here end my quotations from this very unaccountable if not impertinent
epistle; and perhaps it would be folly to comment, in any respect,
upon the chimerical, not to say revolutionary, fancies of the writer--
whoever he is--fancies so radically at war with the well-considered
and well-settled opinions of this age. Let us proceed, then, to our
legitimate thesis, The Universe.

This thesis admits a choice between two modes of discussion:--We may
ascend or descend. Beginning at our own point of view, at the Earth on
which we stand, we may pass to the other planets of our system, thence
to the Sun, thence to our system considered collectively, and thence,
through other systems, indefinitely outwards; or, commencing on high
at some point as definite as we can make it or conceive it, we may
come down to the habitation of Man. Usually, that is to say, in
ordinary essays on Astronomy, the first of these two modes is, with
certain reservations, adopted: this for the obvious reason that
astronomical facts, merely, and principles, being the object, that
object is best fulfilled in stepping from the known because proximate,
gradually onward to the point where all certitude becomes lost in the
remote. For my present purpose, however, that of enabling the mind to
take in, as if from afar and at one glance, a distant conception of
the individual Universe--it is clear that a descent to small from
great--to the outskirts from the centre (if we could establish a
centre)--to the end from the beginning (if we could fancy a
beginning)--would be the preferable course, but for the difficulty, if
not impossibility, of presenting, in this course, to the
unastronomical, a picture at all comprehensible in regard to such
considerations as are involved in quantity--that is to say, in number,
magnitude, and distance.

Now, distinctness--intelligibility, at all points, is a primary
feature in my general design. On important topics it is better to be a
good deal prolix than even a very little obscure. But abstruseness is
a quality appertaining to no subject per se. All are alike, in
facility of comprehension, to him who approaches them by properly
graduated steps. It is merely because a stepping-stone, here and
there, is heedlessly left unsupplied in our road to the Differential
Calculus, that this latter is not altogether as simple a thing as a
sonnet by Mr. Solomon Seesaw.

By way of admitting, then, no chance for misapprehension, I think it
advisable to proceed as if even the more obvious facts of Astronomy
were unknown to the reader. In combining the two modes of discussion
to which I have referred, I propose to avail myself of the advantages
peculiar to each, and very especially of the iteration in detail which
will be unavoidable as a consequence of the plan. Commencing with a
descent, I shall reserve for the return upwards those indispensable
considerations of quantity to which allusion has already been made.

Let us begin, then, at once, with that merest of words, "Infinity."
This, like "God," "spirit," and some other expressions of which the
equivalents exist in all languages, is by no means the expression of
an idea, but of an effort at one. It stands for the possible attempt
at an impossible conception. Man needed a term by which to point out
the direction of this effort--the cloud behind which lay, forever
invisible, the object of this attempt. A word, in fine, was demanded,
by means of which one human being might put himself in relation at
once with another human being and with a certain tendency of the human
intellect. Out of this demand arose the word "Infinity;" which is thus
the representative but of the thought of a thought.

As regards that infinity now considered--the infinity of space--we
often hear it said that "its idea is admitted by the mind, is
acquiesced in, is entertained, on account of the greater difficulty
which attends the conception of a limit." But this is merely one of
those phrases by which even profound thinkers, time out of mind, have
occasionally taken pleasure in deceiving themselves. The quibble lies
concealed in the word "difficulty." "The mind," we are told,
"entertains the idea of limitless, through the greater difficulty
which it finds in entertaining that of limited, space." Now, were the
proposition but fairly put, its absurdity would become transparent at
once. Clearly, there is no mere difficulty in the case. The assertion
intended, if presented according to its intention, and without
sophistry, would run thus:--"The mind admits the idea of limitless,
through the greater impossibility of entertaining that of limited,
space."

It must be immediately seen that this is not a question of two
statements between whose respective credibilities--or of two arguments
between whose respective validities--the reason is called upon to
decide; it is a matter of two conceptions, directly conflicting, and
each avowedly impossible, one of which the intellect is supposed to be
capable of entertaining, on account of the greater impossibility of
entertaining the other. The choice is not made between two
difficulties; it is merely fancied to be made between two
impossibilities. Now of the former, there are degrees, but of the
latter, none--just as our impertinent letter-writer has already
suggested. A task may be more or less difficult; but it is either
possible or not possible--there are no gradations. It might be more
difficult to overthrow the Andes than an ant-hill; but it can be no
more impossible to annihilate the matter of the one than the matter of
the other. A man may jump ten feet with less difficulty than he can
jump twenty, but the impossibility of his leaping to the moon is not a
whit less than that of his leaping to the dog-star.

Since all this is undeniable; since the choice of the mind is to be
made between impossibilities of conception; since one impossibility
cannot be greater than another; and since, thus, one cannot be
preferred to another: the philosophers who not only maintain, on the
grounds mentioned, man's idea of infinity but, on account of such
supposititious idea, infinity itself--are plainly engaged in
demonstrating one impossible thing to be possible by showing how it is
that some one other thing--is impossible too. This, it will be said,
is nonsense, and perhaps it is; indeed I think it very capital
nonsense, but forego all claim to it as nonsense of mine.

The readiest mode, however, of displaying the fallacy of the
philosophical argument on this question, is by simply adverting to a
fact respecting it which has been hitherto quite overlooked--the fact
that the argument alluded to both proves and disproves its own
proposition. "The mind is impelled," say the theologians and others,
"to admit a First Cause, by the superior difficulty it experiences in
conceiving cause beyond cause without end." The quibble, as before,
lies in the word "difficulty;" but here what is it employed to
sustain? A First Cause. And what is a First Cause? An ultimate
termination of causes. And what is an ultimate termination of causes?
Finity--the Finite. Thus the one quibble, in two processes, by God
knows how many philosophers, is made to support now Finity and now
Infinity; could it not be brought to support something besides? As for
the quibbles, they, at least, are insupportable. But, to dismiss them;
what they prove in the one case is the identical nothing which they
demonstrate in the other.

Of course, no one will suppose that I here contend for the absolute
impossibility of that which we attempt to convey in the word
"Infinity." My purpose is but to show the folly of endeavoring to
prove Infinity itself, or even our conception of it, by any such
blundering ratiocination as that which is ordinarily employed.

Nevertheless, as an individual, I may be permitted to say that I
cannot conceive Infinity, and am convinced that no human being can. A
mind not thoroughly self-conscious, not accustomed to the
introspective analysis of its own operations, will, it is true, often
deceive itself by supposing that it has entertained the conception of
which we speak. In the effort to entertain it, we proceed step beyond
step, we fancy point still beyond point; and so long as we continue
the effort, it may be said, in fact, that we are tending to the
formation of the idea designed; while the strength of the impression
that we actually form or have formed it, is in the ratio of the period
during which we keep up the mental endeavor. But it is in the act of
discontinuing the endeavor--of fulfilling (as we think) the idea--of
putting the finishing stroke (as we suppose) to the conception--that
we overthrow at once the whole fabric of our fancy by resting upon
some one ultimate, and therefore definite, point. This fact, however,
we fail to perceive, on account of the absolute coincidence, in time,
between the settling down upon the ultimate point and the act of
cessation in thinking. In attempting, on the other hand, to frame the
idea of a limited space, we merely converse the processes which
involve the impossibility.

We believe in a God. We may or may not believe in finite or in
infinite space; but our belief, in such cases, is more properly
designated as faith, and is a matter quite distinct from that belief
proper--from that intellectual belief--which presupposes the mental
conception.

The fact is, that, upon the enunciation of any one of that class of
terms to which "Infinity" belongs--the class representing thoughts of
thought--he who has a right to say that he thinks at all, feels
himself called on, not to entertain a conception, but simply to direct
his mental vision toward some given point in the intellectual
firmament, where lies a nebula never to be solved. To solve it,
indeed, he makes no effort; for with a rapid instinct he comprehends,
not only the impossibility, but, as regards all human purposes, the
inessentiality of its solution. He perceives that the Deity has not
designed it to be solved. He sees, at once, that it lies out of the
brain of man, and even how, if not exactly why, it lies out of it.
There are people, I am aware, who, busying themselves in attempts at
the unattainable, acquire very easily, by dint of the jargon they
emit, among those thinkers-that--they-think with whom darkness and
depth are synonymous, a kind of cuttle-fish reputation for profundity;
but the finest quality of Thought is its self-cognizance; and, with
some little equivocation, it may be said that no fog of the mind can
well be greater than that which, extending to the very boundaries of
the mental domain, shuts out even these boundaries themselves from
comprehension.

It will now be understood that in using the phrase, "Infinity of
Space," I make no call upon the reader to entertain the impossible
conception of an absolute infinity. I refer simply to the "utmost
conceivable expanse" of space--a shadowy and fluctuating domain, now
shrinking, now swelling, with the vacillating energies of the
imagination.

Hitherto, the Universe of Stars has always been considered as
coincident with the Universe proper, as I have defined it in the
commencement of this Discourse. It has been always either directly or
indirectly assumed--at least since the dawn of intelligible
Astronomy--that, were it possible for us to attain any given point in
space, we should still find, on all sides of us, an interminable
succession of stars. This was the untenable idea of Pascal when making
perhaps the most successful attempt ever made, at periphrasing the
conception for which we struggle in the word "Universe." "It is a
sphere," he says, "of which the centre is everywhere, the
circumference nowhere." But although this intended definition is, in
fact, no definition of the Universe of stars, we may accept it, with
some mental reservation, as a definition (rigorous enough for all
practical purposes) of the Universe proper--that is to say, of the
Universe of space. This latter, then, let us regard as "a sphere of
which the centre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere." In fact,
while we find it impossible to fancy an end to space, we have no
difficulty in picturing to ourselves any one of an infinity of
beginnings.

As our starting-point, then, let us adopt the Godhead. Of this
Godhead, in itself, he alone is not imbecile, he alone is not impious,
who propounds--nothing. "Nous ne connaissons rien," says the Baron de
Bielfeld--"Nous ne connaissons rien de la nature ou de l'essence de
Dieu--pour savoir ce qu'il est, il faut ĂȘtre Dieu meme."--"We know
absolutely nothing of the nature or essence of God--in order to
comprehend what He is, we should have to be God ourselves."

"We should have to be God ourselves!"--With a phrase so startling as
this yet ringing in my ears, I nevertheless venture to demand if this
our present ignorance of the Deity is an ignorance to which the soul
is everlastingly condemned.

By Him, however--now, at least, the Incomprehensible--by Him, assuming
Him as Spirit, that is to say, as not Matter--a distinction which, for
all intelligible purposes, will stand well instead of a definition--by
Him, then, existing as Spirit, let us content ourselves with supposing
to have been created, or made out of Nothing, by dint of His Volition,
at some point of Space which we will take as a centre, at some period
into which we do not pretend to inquire, but at all events immensely
remote--by Him, then again, let us suppose to have been created--what?
This is a vitally momentous epoch in our considerations. What is it
that we are justified, that alone we are justified, in supposing to
have been primarily created?

We have attained a point where only Intuition can aid us; but now let
me recur to the idea which I have already suggested as that alone
which we can properly entertain of intuition. It is but the conviction
arising from those inductions or deductions of which the processes are
so shadowy as to escape our consciousness, elude our reason, or defy
our capacity of expression. With this understanding, I now assert that
an intuition altogether irresistible, although inexpressible, forces
me to the conclusion that what God originally created--that that
Matter which, by dint of His Volition, He first made from His Spirit,
or from Nihility, could have been nothing but Matter in its utmost
conceivable state of--what?--of Simplicity.

This will be found the sole absolute assumption of my Discourse. I use
the word "assumption" in its ordinary sense; yet I maintain that even
this my primary proposition is very far indeed from being really a
mere assumption. Nothing was ever more certainly--no human conclusion
was ever, in fact, more regularly--more rigorously deduced--but, alas!
the processes lie out of the human analysis--at all events are beyond
the utterance of the human tongue.

Let us now endeavor to conceive what Matter must be, when, or if, in
its absolute extreme of Simplicity. Here the Reason flies at once to
Imparticularity--to a particle--to one particle--a particle of one
kind--of one character--of one nature--of one size--of one form--a
particle, therefore, "without form and void"--a particle positively a
particle at all points--a particle absolutely unique, individual,
undivided, and not indivisible only because He who created it by dint
of His Will can by an infinitely less energetic exercise of the same
Will, as a matter of course, divide it.

Oneness, then, is all that I predicate of the originally created
Matter; but I propose to show that this Oneness is a principle
abundantly sufficient to account for the constitution, the existing
phenomena, and the plainly inevitable annihilation, of at least the
material Universe.

The willing into being the primordial Particle has completed the act,
or more properly the conception, of Creation. We now proceed to the
ultimate purpose for which we are to suppose the Particle created--
that is to say, the ultimate purpose so far as our considerations yet
enable us to see it--the constitution of the Universe from it, the
Particle.

This constitution has been effected by forcing the originally and
therefore normally One into the abnormal condition of Many. An action
of this character implies reaction. A diffusion from Unity, under the
conditions, involves a tendency to return into Unity--a tendency
ineradicable until satisfied. But on these points I will speak more
fully hereafter.

The assumption of absolute Unity in the primordial Particle includes
that of infinite divisibility. Let us conceive the Particle, then, to
be only not totally exhausted by diffusion into Space. From the one
Particle, as a centre, let us suppose to be radiated spherically--in
all directions--to immeasurable but still definite distances in the
previously vacant Space--a certain inexpressibly great yet limited
number of unimaginably yet not infinitely minute atoms.

Now, of these atoms, thus diffused, or upon diffusion, what conditions
are we permitted--not to assume, but to infer, from consideration as
well of their source as of the character of the design apparent in
their diffusion? Unity being their source, and difference from Unity
the character of the design manifested in their diffusion, we are
warranted in supposing this character to be at least generally
preserved throughout the design, and to form a portion of the design
itself; that is to say, we shall be warranted in conceiving continual
differences at all points from the uniquity and simplicity of the
origin. But, for these reasons, shall we be justified in imagining the
atoms heterogeneous, dissimilar, unequal, and inequidistant? More
explicitly--are we to consider no two atoms as, at their diffusion, of
the same nature, or of the same form, or of the same size?--and, after
fulfilment of their diffusion into Space, is absolute inequidistance,
each from each, to be understood of all of them? In such arrangement,
under such conditions, we most easily and immediately comprehend the
subsequent most feasible carrying out to completion of any such design
as that which I have suggested--the design of variety out of unity--
diversity out of sameness--heterogeneity out of homogeneity--
complexity out of simplicity--in a word, the utmost possible
multiplicity of relation out of the emphatically irrelative One.
Undoubtedly, therefore, we should be warranted in assuming all that
has been mentioned, but for the reflection, first, that supererogation
is not presumable of any Divine Act; and, secondly, that the object
supposed in view appears as feasible when some of the conditions in
question are dispensed with, in the beginning, as when all are
understood immediately to exist. I mean to say that some are involved
in the rest, or so instantaneous a consequence of them as to make the
distinction inappreciable. Difference of size, for example, will at
once be brought about through the tendency of one atom to a second, in
preference to a third, on account of particular inequidistance; which
is to be comprehended as particular inequidistances between centres of
quantity, in neighboring atoms of different form--a matter not at all
interfering with the generally-equable distribution of the atoms.
Difference of kind, too, is easily conceived to be merely a result of
differences in size and form, taken more or less conjointly;--in fact,
since the Unity of the Particle Proper implies absolute homogeneity,
we cannot imagine the atoms, at their diffusion, differing in kind,
without imagining, at the same time, a special exercise of the Divine
Will at the emission of each atom, for the purpose of effecting in
each a change of its essential nature;--and so fantastic an idea is
the less to be indulged, as the object proposed is seen to be
thoroughly attainable without such minute and elaborate interposition.
We perceive, therefore, upon the whole, that it would be
supererogatory, and consequently unphilosophical, to predicate of the
atoms, in view of their purposes, anything more than difference of
form at their dispersion, with particular inequidistance after it--all
other differences arising at once out of these, in the very first
processes of mass-constitution. We thus establish the Universe on a
purely geometrical basis. Of course, it is by no means necessary to
assume absolute difference, even of form, among all the atoms
radiated--any more than absolute particular inequidistance of each
from each. We are required to conceive merely that no neighboring
atoms are of similar form--no atoms which can ever approximate, until
their inevitable reunition at the end.

Although the immediate and perpetual tendency of the disunited atoms
to return into their normal Unity is implied, as I have said, in their
abnormal diffusion, still it is clear that this tendency will be
without consequence--a tendency and no more--until the diffusive
energy, in ceasing to be exerted, shall leave it, the tendency, free
to seek its satisfaction. The Divine Act, however, being considered as
determinate, and discontinued on fulfilment of the diffusion, we
understand, at once, a reaction--in other words, a satisfiable
tendency of the disunited atoms to return into One.

But the diffusive energy being withdrawn, and the reaction having
commenced in furtherance of the ultimate design--that of the utmost
possible Relation--this design is now in danger of being frustrated,
in detail, by reason of that very tendency to return which is to
effect its accomplishment in general. Multiplicity is the object; but
there is nothing to prevent proximate atoms from lapsing at once,
through the now satisfiable tendency--before the fulfilment of any
ends proposed in multiplicity--into absolute oneness among themselves;
there is nothing to impede the aggregation of various unique masses,
at various points of space,--in other words, nothing to interfere with
the accumulation of various masses, each absolutely One.

For the effectual completion of the general design, we thus see the
necessity for a repulsion of limited capacity--a separate something
which, on withdrawal of the diffusive Volition, shall at the same time
allow the approach, and forbid the junction, of the atoms; suffering
them infinitely to approximate, while denying them positive contact;
in a word, having the power--up to a certain epoch--of preventing
their coalition, but no ability to interfere with their coalescence in
any respect or degree. The repulsion, already considered as so
peculiarly limited in other regards, must be understood, let me
repeat, as having power to prevent absolute coalition, only up to a
certain epoch. Unless we are to conceive that the appetite for Unity
among the atoms is doomed to be satisfied never; unless we are to
conceive that what had a beginning is to have no end--a conception
which cannot really be entertained, however much we may talk or dream
of entertaining it--we are forced to conclude that the repulsive
influence imagined, will, finally, under pressure of the Uni-tendency
collectively applied, but never and in no degree until, on fulfilment
of the Divine purposes, such collective application shall be naturally
made, yield to a force which, at that ultimate epoch, shall be the
superior force precisely to the extent required, and thus permit the
universal subsidence into the inevitable, because original and
therefore normal, One. The conditions here to be reconciled are
difficult indeed; we cannot even comprehend the possibility of their
conciliation; nevertheless, the apparent impossibility is brilliantly
suggestive.

That the repulsive something actually exists, we see. Man neither
employs, nor knows, a force sufficient to bring two atoms into
contact. This is but the well-established proposition of the
impenetrability of matter. All Experiment proves, all Philosophy
admits it. The design of the repulsion--the necessity for its
existence--I have endeavored to show, but from all attempt at
investigating its nature have religiously abstained; this on account
of an intuitive conviction that the principle at issue is strictly
spiritual--lies in a recess impervious to our present understanding--
lies involved in a consideration of what now, in our human state, is
not to be considered--in a consideration of Spirit in itself. I feel,
in a word, that here the God has interposed, and here only, because
here and here only the knot demanded the interposition of the God.

In fact, while the tendency of the diffused atoms to return into Unity
will be recognized, at once, as the principle of the Newtonian
Gravity, what I have spoken of as a repulsive influence prescribing
limits to the (immediate) satisfaction of the tendency, will be
understood as that which we have been in the practice of designating
now as heat, now as magnetism, now as electricity; displaying our
ignorance of its awful character in the vacillation of the phraseology
with which we endeavor to circumscribe it.

Calling it, merely for the moment, electricity, we know that all
experimental analysis of electricity has given, as an ultimate result,
the principle, or seeming principle, heterogeneity. Only where things
differ, is electricity apparent; and it is presumable that they never
differ where it is not developed at least, if not apparent. Now, this
result is in the fullest keeping with that which I have reached
unempirically. The design of the repulsive influence I have suggested
to be that of preventing immediate Unity among the diffused atoms; and
these atoms are represented as different each from each. Difference is
their character--their essentiality--just as no-difference was the
essentiality of their course. When we say, then, that an attempt to
bring any two of these atoms together would induce an effort, on the
part of the repulsive influence, to prevent the contact, we may as
well use the strictly convertible sentence that an attempt to bring
together any two differences will result in a development of
electricity. All existing bodies, of course, are composed of these
atoms in proximate contact, and are therefore to be considered as mere
assemblages of more or fewer differences; and the resistance made by
the repulsive spirit, on bringing together any two such assemblages,
would be in the ratio of the two sums of the differences in each,--an
expression which, when reduced, is equivalent to this: The amount of
electricity developed on the approximation of two bodies is
proportional with the difference between the respective sums of the
atoms of which the bodies are composed. That no two bodies are
absolutely alike, is a simple corollary from all that has been here
said. Electricity, therefore, existing always, is developed whenever
any bodies, but manifested only when bodies of appreciable difference,
are brought into approximation.

To electricity--so, for the present, continuing to call it--we may not
be wrong in referring the various physical appearances of light, heat,
and magnetism; but far less shall we be liable to err in attributing
to this strictly spiritual principle the more important phenomena of
vitality, consciousness, and Thought. On this topic, however, I need
pause here merely to suggest that these phenomena, whether observed
generally or in detail, seem to proceed at least in the ratio of the
heterogeneous.

Discarding now the two equivocal terms, "gravitation" and
"electricity," let us adopt the more definite expressions,
"attraction" and "repulsion." The former is the body, the latter the
soul; the one is the material, the other the spiritual, principle of
the Universe. No other principles exist. All phenomena are referable
to one, or to the other, or to both combined. So rigorously is this
the case, so thoroughly demonstrable is it that attraction and
repulsion are the sole properties through which we perceive the
Universe--in other words, by which Matter is manifested to Mind--that,
for all merely argumentative purposes, we are fully justified in
assuming that Matter exists only as attraction and repulsion--that
attraction and repulsion are matter; there being no conceivable case
in which we may not employ the term "Matter" and the terms
"attraction" and "repulsion," taken together, as equivalent, and
therefore convertible, expressions in Logic.

I said, just now, that what I have described as the tendency of the
diffused atoms to return into their original Unity, would be
understood as the principle of the Newtonian law of Gravity; and, in
fact, there can be but little difficulty in such an understanding, if
we look at the Newtonian Gravity in a merely general view, as a force
impelling Matter to seek Matter; that is to say, when we pay no
attention to the known modus operandi of the Newtonian force. The
general coincidence satisfies us; but, on looking closely, we see, in
detail, much that appears incoincident, and much in regard to which no
coincidence, at least, is established. For example: the Newtonian
Gravity, when we think of it in certain moods, does not seem to be a
tendency to oneness at all, but rather a tendency of all bodies in all
directions--a phrase apparently expressive of a tendency to diffusion.
Here, then, is an incoincidence. Again; when we reflect on the
mathematical law governing the Newtonian tendency, we see clearly that
no coincidence has been made good, in respect of the modus operandi,
at least, between Gravity as known to exist and that seemingly simple
and direct tendency which I have assumed.

In fact, I have attained a point at which it will be advisable to
strengthen my position by reversing my processes. So far, we have gone
on a priori, from an abstract consideration of Simplicity, as that
quality most likely to have characterized the original action of God.
Let us now see whether the established facts of the Newtonian
Gravitation may not afford us, a posteriori, some legitimate
inductions.

What does the Newtonian law declare? That all bodies attract each
other with forces proportional with their quantities of matter and
inversely proportional with the squares of their distances. Purposely,
I have given, in the first place, the vulgar version of the law; and I
confess that in this, as in most other vulgar versions of great
truths, we find little of a suggestive character. Let us now adopt a
more philosophical phraseology:--Every atom, of every body, attracts
every other atom, both of its own and of every other body, with a
force which varies inversely as the squares of the distances between
the attracting and attracted atom. Here, indeed, a flood of suggestion
bursts upon the mind.

But let us see distinctly what it was that Newton proved--according to
the grossly irrational definitions of proof prescribed by the
metaphysical schools. He was forced to content himself with showing
how thoroughly the motions of an imaginary Universe, composed of
attracting and attracted atoms obedient to the law he announced,
coincide with those of the actually existing Universe so far as it
comes under our observation. This was the amount of his demonstration;
that is to say, this was the amount of it, according to the
conventional cant of the "philosophies." His successors added proof
multiplied by proof--such proof as a sound intellect admits--but the
demonstration of the law itself, persist the metaphysicians, had not
been strengthened in any degree. "Ocular, physical proof," however, of
attraction, here upon Earth, in accordance with the Newtonian theory,
was at length, much to the satisfaction of some intellectual
grovellers, afforded. This proof arose collaterally and incidentally
(as nearly all important truths have arisen) out of an attempt to
ascertain the mean density of the Earth. In the famous Maskelyne,
Cavendish and Bailly experiments for this purpose, the attraction of
the mass of a mountain was seen, felt, measured, and found to be
mathematically consistent with the theory of the British astronomer.

But in spite of this confirmation of that which needed none--in spite
of the so-called corroboration of the "theory" by the so-called
"ocular and physical proof," in spite of the character of this
corroboration, the ideas which even really philosophical men cannot
help imbibing of Gravity--and, especially, the ideas of it which
ordinary men get and contentedly maintain--are seen to have been
derived, for the most part, from a consideration of the principle as
they find it developed--merely in the planet upon which they stand.

Now, to what does so partial a consideration tend--to what species of
error does it give rise? On the Earth we see and feel only that
Gravity impels all bodies towards the centre of the Earth. No man in
the common walks of life could be made to see or feel anything else--
could be made to perceive that anything, anywhere, has a perpetual,
gravitating tendency in any other direction than to the centre of the
Earth; yet (with an exception hereafter to be specified) it is a fact
that every earthly thing (not to speak now of every heavenly thing)
has a tendency not only to the Earth's centre but in every conceivable
direction besides.

Now, although the philosophic cannot be said to err with the vulgar in
this matter, they nevertheless permit themselves to be influenced,
without knowing it, by the sentiment of the vulgar idea. "Although the
Pagan fables are not believed," says Bryant, in his very erudite
"Mythology," "yet we forget ourselves continually, and make inferences
from them as from existing realities." I mean to assert that the
merely sensitive perception of Gravity, as we experience it on Earth,
beguiles mankind into the fancy of concentralisation or especiality
respecting it--has been continually biasing towards this fancy even
the mightiest intellects--perpetually, although imperceptibly, leading
them away from the real characteristics of the principle; thus
preventing them, up to this date, from ever getting a glimpse of that
vital truth which lies in a diametrically opposite direction--behind
the principle's essential characteristics--those, not of
concentralization or especiality, but of universality and diffusion.
This "vital truth" is Unity as the source of the phenomenon.

Let me now repeat the definition of Gravity:--Every atom, of every
body, attracts every other atom, both of its own and of every other
body, with a force which varies inversely as the squares of the
distances of the attracting and attracted atom.

Here let the reader pause with me, for a moment, in contemplation of
the miraculous, of the ineffable, of the altogether unimaginable,
complexity of relation involved in the fact that each atom attracts
every other atom; involved merely in this fact of the Attraction,
without reference to the law or mode in which the Attraction is
manifested; involved merely in the fact that each atom attracts every
other atom at all, in a wilderness of atoms so numerous that those
which go to the composition of a cannon-ball exceed, probably, in mere
point of number, all the stars which go to the constitution of the
Universe.

Had we discovered, simply, that each atom tends to some one point, a
favorite with all, we should still have fallen upon a discovery which,
in itself, would have sufficed to overwhelm the mind; but what is it
that we are actually called on to comprehend? That each atom
attracts--sympathizes with the most delicate movements of every other
atom, and with each and with all at the same time, and forever, and
according to a determinate law of which the complexity, even
considered by itself solely, is utterly beyond the grasp of the
imagination. If I propose to ascertain the influence of one mote in a
sunbeam on its neighboring mote, I cannot accomplish my purpose
without first counting and weighing all the atoms in the Universe, and
defining the precise positions of all at one particular moment. If I
venture to displace, by even the billionth part of an inch, the
microscopical speck of dust which lies now upon the point of my
finger, what is the character of that act upon which I have
adventured? I have done a deed which shakes the Moon in her path,
which causes the Sun to be no longer the Sun, and which alters forever
the destiny of the multitudinous myriads of stars that roll and glow
in the majestic presence of their Creator.

These ideas--conceptions such as these--unthoughtlike thoughts--soul-
reveries rather than conclusions or even considerations of the
intellect--ideas, I repeat, such as these, are such as we can alone
hope profitably to entertain in any effort at grasping the great
principle, Attraction.

But now, with such ideas, with such a vision of the marvellous
complexity of Attraction fairly in his mind--let any person competent
of thought on such topics as these, set himself to the task of
imagining a principle for the phenomena observed--a condition from
which they sprang.

Does not so evident a brotherhood among the atoms point to a common
parentage? Does not a sympathy so omniprevalent, so ineradicable, and
so thoroughly irrespective, suggest a common paternity as its source?
Does not one extreme impel the reason to the other? Does not the
infinitude of division refer to the utterness of individuality? Does
not the entireness of the complex hint at the perfection of the
simple? It is not that the atoms, as we see them, are divided, or that
they are complex in their relations--but that they are inconceivably
divided and unutterably complex; it is the extremeness of the
conditions to which I now allude, rather than to the conditions
themselves. In a word, is it not because the atoms were, at some
remote epoch of time, even more than together--is it not because
originally, and therefore normally, they were One--that now, in all
circumstances, at all points, in all directions, by all modes of
approach, in all relations and through all conditions, they struggle
back to this absolutely, this irrelatively, this unconditionally One?

Some person may here demand:--"Why--since it is to the One that the
atoms struggle back--do we not find and define Attraction as 'merely a
general tendency to a centre'?--why, in especial, do not your atoms,
the atoms which you describe as having been radiated from a centre,
proceed at once, rectilinearly, back to the central point of their
origin?"

I reply that they do; as will be distinctly shown; but that the cause
of their so doing is quite irrespective of the centre as such. They
all tend rectilinearly towards a centre, because of the sphereicity
with which they have been radiated into space. Each atom, forming one
of a generally uniform globe of atoms, finds more atoms in the
direction of the centre, of course, than in any other, and in that
direction, therefore, is impelled--but is not thus impelled because
the centre is the point of its origin. It is not to any point that the
atoms are allied. It is not any locality, either in the concrete or in
the abstract, to which I suppose them bound. Nothing like location was
conceived as their origin. Their source lies in the principle, Unity.
This is their lost parent. This they seek always--immediately--in all
directions--wherever it is even partially to be found; thus appeasing,
in some measure, the ineradicable tendency, while on the way to its
absolute satisfaction in the end. It follows from all this, that any
principle which shall be adequate to account for the law, or modus
operandi, of the attractive force in general, will account for this
law in particular; that is to say, any principle which will show why
the atoms should tend to their general centre of radiation with forces
inversely proportional with the squares of the distances will be
admitted as satisfactorily accounting, at the same time, for the
tendency, according to the same law, of these atoms each to each;--for
the tendency to the centre is merely the tendency each to each, and
not any tendency to a centre as such. Thus it will be seen, also, that
the establishment of my propositions would involve no necessity of
modification in the terms of the Newtonian definition of Gravity,
which declares that each atom attracts each other atom and so forth,
and declares this merely; but (always under the supposition that what
I propose be, in the end, admitted) it seems clear that some error
might occasionally be avoided, in the future processes of Science,
were a more ample phraseology adopted; for instance:--"Each atom tends
to every other atom, etc., with a force, etc.; the general result
being a tendency of all, with a similar force, to a general centre."

The reversal of our processes has thus brought us to an identical
result; but while in the one process intuition was the starting-point,
in the other it was the goal. In commencing the former journey I could
only say that, with an irresistable intuition, I felt Simplicity to
have been the characteristic of the original action of God;--in ending
the latter I can only declare that, with an irresistible intuition, I
perceive Unity to have been the source of the observed phenomena of
the Newtonian Gravity. Thus, according to the schools, I prove
nothing. So be it;--I design but to suggest, and to convince through
the suggestion. I am proudly aware that there exist many of the most
profound and cautiously discriminative intellects which cannot help
being abundantly content with my--suggestions. To these intellects--as
to my own--there is no mathematical demonstration which could bring
the least additional true proof of the great Truth which I have
advanced,--the truth of Original Unity as the source--as the
principle, of the Universal Phenomena. For my part I am not sure that
I speak and see--I am not so sure that my heart beats and that my soul
lives; of the rising of to-morrow's sun--a probability that as yet
lies in the Future; I do not pretend to be one thousandth part as
sure--as I am of the irretrievably bygone Fact that All Things and All
Thoughts of Things, with all their ineffable Multiplicity of Relation,
sprang at once into being from the primordial and irrelative One.

Referring to the Newtonian Gravity, Dr. Nichol, the eloquent author of
"The Architecture of the Heavens," says:--"In truth we have no reason
to suppose this great Law, as now revealed, to be the ultimate or
simplest, and therefore the universal and all-comprehensive, form of a
great Ordinance. The mode in which its intensity diminishes with the
element of distance has not the aspect of an ultimate principle; which
always assumes the simplicity and self-evidence of those axioms which
constitute the basis of Geometry."

Now, it is quite true that "ultimate principles," in the common
understanding of the words, always assume the simplicity of
geometrical axioms--(as for "self-evidence," there is no such thing)--
but these principles are clearly not "ultimate;" in other terms, what
we are in the habit of calling principles are no principles, properly
speaking--since there can be but one principle, the Volition of God.
We have no right to assume, then, from what we observe in rules that
we choose foolishly to name "principles," anything at all in respect
to the characteristics of a principle proper. The "ultimate
principles" of which Dr. Nichol speaks as having geometrical
simplicity may and do have this geometrical turn, as being part and
parcel of a vast geometrical system, and thus a system of simplicity
itself; in which, nevertheless, the truly ultimate principle is, as we
know, the consummation of the complex--that is to say, of the
unintelligible--for is it not the Spiritual Capacity of God?

I quoted Dr. Nichol's remark, however, not so much to question its
philosophy, as by way of calling attention to the fact that while all
men have admitted some principle as existing behind the law of
Gravity, no attempt has been yet made to point out what this principle
in particular is;--if we except, perhaps, occasional fantastic efforts
at referring it to Magnetism, or Mesmerism, or Swedenborgianism, or
Transcendentalism, or some other equally delicious ism, of the same
species, and invariably patronized by one and the same species of
people. The great mind of Newton, while boldly grasping the Law
itself, shrank from the principle of the Law. The more fluent and
comprehensive at least, if not the more patient and profound, sagacity
of Laplace had not the courage to attack it. But hesitation on the
part of these two astronomers it is, perhaps, not so very difficult to
understand. They, as well as all the first class of mathematicians,
were mathematicians solely; their intellect at least had a firmly-
pronounced mathematico-physical tone. What lay not distinctly within
the domain of Physics, or of Mathematics, seemed to them either Non-
Entity or Shadow. Nevertheless, we may well wonder that Leibnitz, who
was a marked exception to the general rule in these respects, and
whose mental temperament was a singular admixture of the mathematical
with the physico-metaphysical, did not at once investigate and
establish the point at issue. Either Newton or Laplace, seeking a
principle and discovering none physical, would have rested contentedly
in the conclusion that there was absolutely none; but it is almost
impossible to fancy, of Leibnitz, that, having exhausted in his search
the physical dominions, he would not have stepped at once, boldly and
hopefully, amid his old familiar haunts in the kingdom of Metaphysics.
Here, indeed, it is clear that he must have adventured in search of
the treasure--that he did not find it after all, was, perhaps, because
his fairy guide, Imagination, was not sufficiently well-grown, or
well-educated, to direct him aright.

I observed, just now, that, in fact, there had been certain vague
attempts at referring Gravity to some very uncertain isms. These
attempts, however, although considered bold, and justly so considered,
looked no farther than to the generality--the merest generality--of
the Newtonian Law. Its modus operandi has never, to my knowledge, been
approached in the way of an effort at explanation. It is, therefore,
with no unwarranted fear of being taken for a madman at the outset,
and before I can bring my propositions fairly to the eye of those who
alone are competent to decide on them, that I here declare the modus
operandi of the Law of Gravity to be an exceedingly simple and
perfectly explicable thing--that is to say, when we make our advances
towards it in just gradations and in the true direction--when we
regard it from the proper point of view.

Whether we reach the idea of absolute Unity as the source of All
Things, from a consideration of Simplicity as the most probable
characteristic of the original action of God; whether we arrive at it
from an inspection of the universality of relation in the gravitating
phenomena; or whether we attain it as a result of the mutual
corroboration afforded by both processes;--still, the idea itself, if
entertained at all, is entertained in inseparable connection with
another idea--that of the condition of the Universe of Stars as we now
perceive it--that is to say, a condition of immeasurable diffusion
through space. Now, a connection between these two ideas--unity and
diffusion--cannot be established unless through the entertainment of a
third idea, that of irradiation. Absolute Unity being taken as a
centre, then the existing Universe of Stars is the result of
irradiation from that centre.

Now, the laws of irradiation are known. They are part and parcel of
the sphere. They belong to the class of indisputable geometrical
properties. We say of them, "they are true--they are evident." To
demand why they are true, would be to demand why the axioms are true
upon which their demonstration is based. Nothing is demonstrable,
strictly speaking; but if anything be, then the properties--the laws
in question, are demonstrated.

But these laws--what do they declare? Irradiation--how--by what steps
does it proceed outwardly from a centre?

From a luminous centre, Light issues by irradiation; and the
quantities of light received upon any given plane, supposed to be
shifting its position so as to be now nearer the centre and now
farther from it, will be diminished in the same proportion as the
squares of the distances of the plane from the lumimous body are
increased; and will be increased in the same proportion as these
squares are diminished.

The expression of the law may be thus generalized:--the number of
light-particles (or, if the phrase be preferred, the number of light-
impressions) received upon the shifting plane will be inversely
proportional with the squares of the distances of the plane.
Generalizing yet again, we may say that the diffusion--the
scattering--the irradiation, in a word--is directly proportional with
the squares of the distances.

For example: at the distance B, from the luminous centre A, a certain
number of particles are so diffused as to occupy the surface B.

Then at double the distance--that is to say at C--they will be so much
farther diffused as to occupy four such surfaces; at treble the
distance, or at D, they will be so much farther separated as to occupy
nine such surfaces,--while, at quadruple the distance, or at E, they
will have become so scattered as to spread themselves over sixteen
such surfaces--and so on forever.

In saying, generally, that the irradiation proceeds in direct
proportion with the squares of the distances, we use the term
irradiation to express the degree of the diffusion as we proceed
outwardly from the centre. Conversing the idea, and employing the word
"concentralization," to express the degree of the drawing together as
we come back toward the centre from an outward position, we may say
that concentralization proceeds inversely as the squares of the
distances. In other words, we have reached the conclusion that, on the
hypothesis that matter was originally radiated from a centre, and is
now returning to it, the concentralization, in the return, proceeds
exactly as we know the force of gravitation to proceed.

Now here, if we could be permitted to assume that concentralization
exactly represents the force of the tendency to the centre--that the
one is exactly proportional with the other, and that the two proceed
together--we should have shown all that is required. The sole
difficulty existing, then, is to establish a direct proportion between
"concentralization" and the force of concentralization; and this is
done, of course, if we establish such proportion between "irradiation"
and the force of irradiation.

A very slight inspection of the Heavens assures us that the stars have
a certain general uniformity, equability, or equidistance, of
distribution through that region of space in which, collectively, and
in a roughly globular form, they are situated; this species of very
general, rather than absolute, equability, being in full keeping with
my deduction of inequidistance, within certain limits, among the
originally diffused atoms, as a corollary from the evident design of
infinite complexity of relation out of irrelation. I started, it will
be remembered, with the idea of a generally uniform but particularly
ununiform distribution of the atoms; an idea, I repeat, which an
inspection of the stars, as they exist, confirms.

But even in the merely general equability of distribution, as regards
the atoms, there appears a difficulty which, no doubt, has already
suggested itself to those among my readers who have borne in mind that
I suppose this equability of distribution effected through irradiation
from a centre. The very first glance at the idea, irradiation, forces
us to the entertainment of the hitherto unseparated and seemingly
inseparable idea of agglomeration about a centre, with dispersion as
we recede from it--the idea, in a word, of inequability of
distribution in respect to the matter irradiated.

Now, I have elsewhere (*) observed that it is by just such
difficulties as the one now in question--such roughnesses--such
peculiarities--such protuberances above the plane of the ordinary--
that Reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for the True. By
the difficulty--the "peculiarity"--now presented, I leap at once to
the secret--a secret which I might never have attained but for the
peculiarity and the inferences which, in its mere character of
peculiarity, it affords me.

[* "The Murders in the Rue Morgue".]

The process of thought, at this point, may be thus roughly sketched:--
I say to myself--"Unity, as I have explained it, is a truth; I feel
it. Diffusion is a truth; I see it. Irradiation, by which alone these
two truths are reconciled, is a consequent truth; I perceive it.
Equability of diffusion, first deduced a priori and then corroborated
by the inspection of phenomena, is also a truth; I fully admit it. So
far all is clear around me; there are no clouds behind which the
secret--the great secret of the gravitating modus operandi--can
possibly lie hidden; but this secret lies hereabouts, most assuredly;
and were there but a cloud in view I should be driven to suspicion of
that cloud." And now, just as I say this, there actually comes a cloud
into view. This cloud is the seeming impossibility of reconciling my
truth, irradiation, with my truth, equability of diffusion. I say
now:--"Behind this seeming impossibility is to be found what I
desire." I do not say "real impossibility;" for invincible faith in my
truths assures me that it is a mere difficulty, after all; but I go on
to say, with unflinching confidence, that, when this difficulty shall
be solved, we shall find, wrapped up in the process of solution, the
key to the secret at which we aim. Moreover, I feel that we shall
discover but one possible solution of the difficulty; this for the
reason that, were there two, one would be supererogatory--would be
fruitless--would be empty--would contain no key--since no duplicate
key can be needed to any secret of Nature.

And now, let us see:--Our usual notions of irradiation--in fact, all
our distinct notions of it--are caught merely from the process as we
see it exemplified in Light. Here there is a continuous outpouring of
ray-streams, and with a force which we have at least no right to
suppose varies at all. Now, in any such irradiation as this--
continuous and of unvarying force--the regions nearer the centre must
inevitably be always more crowded with the radiated matter than the
regions more remote. But I have assumed no such irradiation as this. I
assumed no continuous irradiation; and for the simple reason that such
an assumption would have involved, first, the necessity of
entertaining a conception which I have shown no man can entertain, and
which (as I will more fully explain hereafter) all observation of the
firmament refutes--the conception of the absolute infinity of the
Universe of Stars; and would have involved, secondly, the
impossibility of understanding a reaction--that is, gravitation--as
existing now--since, while an act is continued, no reaction, of
course, can take place. My assumption, then--or rather my inevitable
deduction from just premises--was that of a determinate irradiation--
one finally discontinued.

Let me now describe the sole possible mode in which it is conceivable
that matter could have been diffused through space, so as to fulfil
the conditions at once of irradiation and of generally equable
distribution.

For convenience of illustration, let us imagine, in the first place, a
hollow sphere of glass, or of anything else, occupying the space
throughout which the universal matter is to be thus equally diffused,
by means of irradiation, from the absolute, irrelative, unconditional
Particle, placed in the centre of the sphere.

Now, a certain exertion of the diffusive power (presumed to be the
Divine Volition)--in other words, a certain force, whose measure is
the quantity of matter, that is to say, the number of atoms, emitted--
emits, by irradiation, this certain number of atoms; forcing them in
all directions outwardly from the centre--their proximity to each
other diminishing as they proceed--until, finally, they are
distributed, loosely, over the interior surface of the sphere.

When these atoms have attained this position, or while proceeding to
attain it, a second and inferior exercise of the same force--or a
second and inferior force of the same character--emits, in the same
manner--that is to say, by irradiation as before--a second stratum of
atoms which proceeds to deposit itself upon the first; the number of
atoms, in this case as in the former, being of course the measure of
the force which emitted them; in other words, the force being
precisely adapted to the purpose it effects--the force and the number
of atoms sent out by the force, being directly proportional.

When this second stratum has reached its destined position--or while
approaching it--a third still inferior exertion of the force, or a
third inferior force of a similar character--the number of atoms
emitted being in all cases the measure of the force--proceeds to
deposit a third stratum upon the second; and so on, until these
concentric strata, growing gradually less and less, come down at
length to the central point; and the diffusive matter, simultaneously
with the diffusive force, is exhausted.

We have now the sphere filled, through means of irradiation, with
atoms equably diffused. The two necessary conditions--those of
irradiation and of equable diffusion--are satisfied; and by the sole
process in which the possibility of their simultaneous satisfaction is
conceivable. For this reason, I confidently expect to find, lurking in
the present condition of the atoms as distributed throughout the
sphere, the secret of which I am in search--the all-important
principle of the modus operandi of the Newtonian law. Let us examine,
then, the actual condition of the atoms.

They lie in a series of concentric strata. They are equably diffused
throughout the sphere.

The atoms being equably distributed, the greater the superficial
extent of any of these concentric strata, or spheres, the more atoms
will lie upon it. In other words, the number of atoms lying upon the
surface of any one of the concentric spheres is directly proportional
with the extent of that surface.

But, in any series of concentric spheres, the surfaces are directly
proportional with the squares of the distances from the centre.(*)

[* Succintly--The surfaces of spheres are as the squares of their radii.]

Therefore the number of atoms in any stratum is directly proportional
with the square of that stratum's distance from the centre.

But the number of atoms in any stratum is the measure of the force
which emitted that stratum--that is to say, is directly proportional
with the force.

Therefore the force which radiated any stratum is directly
proportional with the square of that stratum's distance from the
centre;--or, generally.

The force of the irradiation has been directly proportional with the
squares of the distances.

Now, Reaction, as far as we know any thing of it, is Action conversed.
The general principle of Gravity being, in the first place, understood
as the reaction of an act--as the expression of a desire on the part
of Matter, while existing in a state of diffusion, to return into the
Unity whence it was diffused; and, in the second place, the mind being
called on to determine the character of the desire--the manner in
which it would, naturally, be manifested; in other words, being called
on to conceive a probable law, or modus operandi, for the return--
could not well help arriving at the conclusion that this law of return
would be precisely the converse of the law of departure. That such
would be the case any one at least would be abundantly justified in
taking for granted, until such time as some person should suggest
something like a plausible reason why it should not be the case--until
such a period as a law of return shall be imagined which the intellect
can consider as preferable.

Matter, then, irradiated into space with a force varying as the
squares of the distances, might, a priori, be supposed to return
towards its centre of irradiation with a force varying inversely as
the squares of the distances; and I have already shown that any
principle which will explain why the atoms should tend, according to
any law, to the general centre, must be admitted as satisfactorily
explaining, at the same time, why, according to the same law, they
should tend each to each. For, in fact, the tendency to the general
centre is not to a centre as such, but because of its being a point in
tending towards which each atom tends most directly to its real and
essential centre, Unity--the absolute and final Union of all.

The consideration here involved presents to my own mind no
embarrassment whatever; but this fact does not blind me to the
possibility of its being obscure to those who may have been less in
the habit of dealing with abstractions; and, upon the whole, it may be
as well to look at the matter from one or two other points of view.

The absolute, irrelative particle, primarily created by the Volition
of God, must have been in a condition of positive normality, or
rightfulness--for wrongfulness implies relation. Right is positive;
wrong is negative--is merely the negation of right; as cold is the
negation of heat--darkness, of light. That a thing may be wrong, it is
necessary that there be some other thing in relation to which it is
wrong--some condition which it fails to satisfy; some law which it
violates; some being whom it aggrieves. If there be no such being,
law, or condition, in respect to which the thing is wrong--and, still
more especially, if no beings, laws, or conditions exist at all--then
the thing cannot be wrong and consequently must be right. Any
deviation from normality involves a tendency to return to it. A
difference from the normal--from the right--from the just--can be
understood as effected only by the overcoming a difficulty; and, if
the force which overcomes the difficulty be not infinitely continued,
the ineradicable tendency to return will at length be permitted to act
for its own satisfaction. On withdrawal of the force, the tendency
acts. This is the principle of reaction as the inevitable consequence
of finite action. Employing a phraseology of which the seeming
affectation will be pardoned for its expressiveness, we may say that
Reaction is the return from the condition of as it is and ought not to
be into the condition of as it was, originally, and therefore ought to
be:--and let me add here that the absolute force of Reaction would no
doubt be always found in direct proportion with the reality--the
truth--the absoluteness--of the originality, if ever it were possible
to measure this latter; and, consequently, the greatest of all
conceivable reactions must be that manifested in the tendency which we
now discuss--the tendency to return into the absolutely original--into
the supremely primitive. Gravity, then, must be the strongest of
forces--an idea reached a priori, and abundantly confirmed by
induction. What use I make of the idea will be seen in the sequel.

The atoms, now, having been diffused from their normal condition of
Unity, seek to return to--what? Not to any particular point,
certainly; for it is clear that if, on the diffusion, the whole
Universe of matter had been projected, collectively, to a distance
from the point of irradiation, the atomic tendency to the general
centre of the sphere would not have been disturbed in the least; the
atoms would not have sought the point in absolute space from which
they were originally impelled. It is merely the condition, and not the
point or locality at which this condition took its rise, that these
atoms seek to re-establish; it is merely that condition which is their
normality that they desire. "But they seek a centre," it will be said,
"and a centre is a point." True; but they seek this point not in its
character of point--(for, were the whole sphere moved from its
position, they would seek, equally, the centre; and the centre then
would be a new point)--but because it so happens, on account of the
form in which they collectively exist (that of the sphere), that only
through the point in question--the sphere's centre--they can attain
their true object, Unity. In the direction of the centre each atom
perceives more atoms than in any other direction. Each atom is
impelled towards the centre because along the straight line joining it
and the centre, and passing on to the surface beyond, there lie a
greater number of atoms than along any other straight line joining it,
the atom, with any point of the sphere--a greater number of objects
that seek it, the individual atom--a greater number of tendencies to
Unity--a greater number of satisfactions for its own tendency to
Unity--in a word, because in the direction of the centre lies the
utmost possibility of satisfaction, generally, for its own individual
appetite. To be brief, the condition, Unity, is all that is really
sought; and if the atoms seem to seek the centre of the sphere, it is
only impliedly--through implication--because such centre happens to
imply, to include, or to involve, the only essential centre, Unity.
But on account of this implication or involution, there is no
possibility of practically separating the tendency to Unity in the
abstract from the tendency to the concrete centre. Thus the tendency
of the atoms to the general centre is, to all practical intents and
for all logical purposes, the tendency each to each; and the tendency
each to each is the tendency to the centre; and the one tendency may
be assumed as the other; whatever will apply to the one must be
thoroughly applicable to the other; and, in conclusion, whatever
principle will satisfactorily explain the one, cannot be questioned as
an explanation of the other.

In looking carefully around me for rational objection to what I have
advanced, I am able to discover nothing;--but of that class of
objections usually urged by the doubters for Doubt's sake, I very
readily perceive three; and proceed to dispose of them in order.

It may be said, first--"That the proof that the force of irradiation
(in the case described) is directly proportional to the squares of the
distances, depends upon an unwarranted assumption that of the number
of atoms in each stratum being the measure of the force with which
they are emitted."

I reply, not only that I am warranted in such assumption, but that I
should be utterly unwarranted in any other. What I assume is, simply,
that an effect is the measure of its cause; that every exercise of the
Divine Will will be proportional with that which demands the exertion;
that the means of Omnipotence, or of Omniscience, will be exactly
adapted to its purposes. Neither can a deficiency nor an excess of
cause bring to pass any effect. Had the force which radiated any
stratum to its position been either more or less than was needed for
the purpose--that is to say, not directly proportional with the
purpose--then to its position that stratum could not have been
radiated. Had the force which, with a view to general equability of
distribution, emitted the proper number of atoms for each stratum,
been not directly proportional with the number, then the number would
not have been the number demanded for the equable distribution.

The second supposable objection is somewhat better entitled to an
answer.

It is an admitted principle in Dynamics that every body, on receiving
an impulse, or disposition to move, will move onward in a straight
line, in the direction imparted by the impelling force, until
deflected, or stopped, by some other force. How then, it may be asked,
is my first or external stratum of atoms to be understood as
discontinuing their movement at the surface of the imaginary glass
sphere, when no second force, of more than an imaginary character,
appears, to account for the discontinuance?

I reply that the objection, in this case, actually does arise out of
"an unwarranted assumption"--on the part of the objector--the
assumption of a principle, in Dynamics, at an epoch when no
"principles," in anything, exist. I use the word "principle," of
course, in the objector's understanding of the word.

"In the beginning" we can admit--indeed we can comprehend--but one
First Cause, the truly ultimate Principle, the Volition of God. The
primary act--that of irradiation from Unity--must have been
independent of all that which the world now calls "principle," because
all that we so designate is but a consequence of the reaction of that
primary act. I say "primary" act; for the creation of the absolute
material Particle is more properly to be regarded as a conception than
as an "act" in the ordinary meaning of the term. Thus, we must regard
the primary act as an act for the establishment of what we now call
"principles." But this primary act itself is to be considered as
continuous Volition. The Thought of God is to be understood as
originating the Diffusion--as proceeding with it--as regulating it--
and, finally, as being withdrawn from it upon its completion. Then
commences Reaction, and through Reaction, "Principle," as we employ
the word. It will be advisable, however, to limit the application of
this word to the two immediate results of the discontinuance of the
Divine Volition--that is, to the two agents, Attraction and Repulsion.
Every other natural agent depends, either more or less immediately,
upon these two, and therefore would be more conveniently designated as
sub-principle.

It may be objected, thirdly, that, in general, the peculiar mode of
distribution which I have suggested for the atoms is "an hypothesis
and nothing more."

Now, I am aware that the word "hypothesis" is a ponderous sledge-
hammer, grasped immediately, if not lifted, by all very diminutive
thinkers, on the first appearance of any proposition wearing, in any
particular, the garb of a theory. But "hypothesis" cannot be wielded
here to any good purpose, even by those who succeed in lifting it--
little men or great.

I maintain, first, that only in the mode described is it conceivable
that Matter could have been diffused so as to fulfil at once the
conditions of irradiation and of generally equable distribution. I
maintain, secondly, that these conditions themselves have been imposed
upon me, as necessities, in a train of ratiocination as rigorously
logical as that which establishes any demonstration in Euclid; and I
maintain, thirdly, that even if the charge of "hypothesis" were as
fully sustained as it is, in fact, unsustained and untenable, still
the validity and indisputability of my result would not, even in the
slightest particular, be disturbed.

To explain:--The Newtonian Gravity--a law of Nature--a law whose
existence as such no one out of Bedlam questions--a law whose
admission as such enables us to account for nine-tenths of the
Universal phenomena--a law which, merely because it does so enable us
to account for these phenomena, we are perfectly willing, without
reference to any other considerations, to admit, and cannot help
admitting, as a law--a law, nevertheless, of which neither the
principle nor the modus operandi of the principle has ever yet been
traced by the human analysis--a law, in short, which, neither in its
detail nor in its generality, has been found susceptible of
explanation at all--is at length seen to be at every point thoroughly
explicable, provided we only yield our assent to--what? To an
hypothesis? Why, if an hypothesis--if the merest hypothesis--if an
hypothesis for whose assumption, as in the case of that pure
hypothesis the Newtonian law itself, no shadow of a priori reason
could be assigned--if an hypothesis, even so absolute as all this
implies, would enable us to perceive a principle for the Newtonian
law--would enable us to understand as satisfied, conditions so
miraculously, so ineffably complex and seemingly irreconcileable as
those involved in the relations of which Gravity tells us,--what
rational being could so expose his fatuity as to call even this
absolute hypothesis an hypothesis any longer; unless, indeed, he were
to persist in so calling it, with the understanding that he did so
simply for the sake of consistency in words?

But what is the true state of our present case? What is the fact? Not
only that it is not an hypothesis which we are required to adopt, in
order to admit the principle at issue explained, but that it is a
logical conclusion which we are requested not to adopt if we can avoid
it--which we are simply invited to deny if we can--a conclusion of so
accurate a logicality that to dispute it would be the effort--to doubt
its validity, beyond our power; a conclusion from which we see no mode
of escape, turn as we will; a result which confronts us either at the
end of an inductive journey from the phenomena of the very Law
discussed, or at the close of a deductive career from the most
rigorously simple of all conceivable assumptions--the assumption, in a
word, of Simplicity itself.

And if here, it be urged, that although my starting-point is, as I
assert, the assumption of absolute Simplicity, yet Simplicity,
considered merely in itself, is no axiom; and that only deductions
from axioms are indisputable--it is thus that I reply:--

Every other science than Logic is the science of certain concrete
relations. Arithmetic, for example, is the science of the relations of
number--Geometry, of the relations of form--Mathematics in general, of
the relations of quantity in general--of whatever can be increased or
diminished. Logic, however, is the science of Relation in the
abstract--of absolute Relation--of Relation considered solely in
itself. An axiom in any particular science other than Logic is, thus,
merely a proposition announcing certain concrete relations which seem
to be too obvious for dispute--as when we say, for instance, that the
whole is greater than its part; and, thus again, the principle of the
Logical axiom--in other words, of an axiom in the abstract--is,
simply, obviousness of relation. Now, it is clear, not only that what
is obvious to one mind may not be obvious to another, but that what is
obvious to one mind at one epoch, may be anything but obvious, at
another epoch, to the same mind. It is clear, moreover, that what to-
day is obvious even to the majority of mankind, or to the majority of
the best intellects of mankind, may to-morrow be, to either majority,
more or less obvious, or in no respect obvious at all. It is seen,
then, that the axiomatic principle itself is susceptible of variation,
and of course that axioms are susceptible of similar change. Being
mutable, the "truths" which grow out of them are necessarily mutable
too; or, in other words, are never to be positively depended on as
truths at all--since Truth and Immutability are one.

It will now be readily understood that no axiomatic idea--no idea
founded in the fluctuating principle, obviousness of relation--can
possibly be so secure--so reliable a basis for any structure erected
by the Reason, as that idea (whatever it is, wherever we can find it,
or if it be practicable to find it anywhere) which is irrelative
altogether; which not only presents to the understanding no
obviousness of relation, either greater or less, to be considered, but
subjects the intellect, not in the slightest degree, to the necessity
of even looking at any relation at all. If such an idea be not what we
too heedlessly term "an axiom," it is at least preferable, as a
logical basis, to any axiom ever propounded, or to all imaginable
axioms combined; and such, precisely, is the idea with which my
deductive process, so thoroughly corroborated by induction, commences.
My particle proper is but absolute Irrelation. To sum up what has been
advanced:--As a starting-point I have taken it for granted, simply,
that the Beginning had nothing behind it or before it, that it was a
Beginning in fact, that it was a Beginning and nothing different from
a Beginning; in short, that this Beginning was--that which it was. If
this be a "mere assumption," then a "mere assumption" let it be.

To conclude this branch of the subject:--I am fully warranted in
announcing that the Law which we call Gravity exists on account of
Matter's having been radiated, at its origin, atomically, into a
limited (*) sphere of Space, from one, individual, unconditional,
irrelative, and absolute Particle Proper, by the sole process in which
it was possible to satisfy, at the same time, the two conditions,
irradiation, and generally-equable distribution throughout the sphere;
that is to say, by a force varying in direct proportion with the
squares of the distances between the Radiated atoms, respectively, and
the Particular centre of irradiation.

[* "Limited sphere" A sphere is necessarily limited. I prefer tautology
to a chance of misconception.]

I have already given my reasons for presuming Matter to have been
diffused by a determinate rather than by a continuous or infinitely
continued force. Supposing a continuous force, we should be unable, in
the first place, to comprehend a reaction at all; and we should be
required, in the second place, to entertain the impossible conception
of an infinite extension of Matter. Not to dwell upon the
impossibility of the conception, the infinite extension of Matter is
an idea which, if not positively disproved, is at least not in any
respect warranted by telescopic observation of the stars--a point to
be explained more fully hereafter; and this empirical reason for
believing in the original finity of Matter is unempirically confirmed.
For example:--Admitting, for the moment, the possibility of
understanding Space as filled with the radiated atoms--that is to say,
admitting, as well as we can, for argument's sake, that the succession
of the radiated atoms had absolutely no end--then it is clear, that,
even when the Volition of God had been withdrawn from them, and thus
the tendency to return into Unity permitted (abstractly) to be
satisfied, this permission would have been nugatory and invalid--
practically valueless and of no effect whatever. No Reaction could
have taken place; no movement toward Unity could have been made; no
Law of Gravity could have obtained.

To explain:--Grant the abstract tendency of any one atom to any one
other as the inevitable result of diffusion from the normal Unity--or,
what is the same thing, admit any given atom as proposing to move in
any given direction--it is clear that, since there is an infinity of
atoms on all sides of the atom proposing to move, it never can
actually move toward the satisfaction of its tendency in the direction
given, on account of a precisely equal and counter-balancing tendency
in the direction diametrically opposite. In other words, exactly as
many tendencies to Unity are behind the hesitating atom as before it;
for it is mere folly to say that one infinite line is longer or
shorter than another infinite line, or that one infinite number is
greater or less than another number that is infinite. Thus the atom in
question must remain stationary forever. Under the impossible
circumstances which we have been merely endeavoring to conceive for
argument's sake, there could have been no aggregation of Matter--no
stars--no worlds--nothing but a perpetually atomic and inconsequential
Universe. In fact, view it as we will, the whole idea of unlimited
Matter is not only untenable, but impossible and preposterous.

With the understanding of a sphere of atoms, however, we perceive, at
once, a satisfiable tendency to union. The general result of the
tendency each to each being a tendency of all to the centre, the
general process of condensation, or approximation, commences
immediately, by a common and simultaneous movement, on withdrawal of
the Divine Volition; the individual approximations, or coalescences--
not coalitions--of atom with atom, being subject to almost infinite
variations of time, degree, and condition, on account of the excessive
multiplicity of relation, arising from the differences of form assumed
as characterizing the atoms at the moment of their quitting the
Particle Proper; as well as from the subsequent particular
inequidistance, each from each.

What I wish to impress upon the reader is the certainty of there
arising, at once (on withdrawal of the diffusive force, or Divine
Volition), out of the condition of the atoms as described, at
innumerable points throughout the Universal sphere, innumerable
agglomerations, characterized by innumerable specific differences of
form, size, essential nature, and distance each from each. The
development of Repulsion (Electricity) must have commenced, of course,
with the very earliest particular efforts at Unity, and must have
proceeded constantly in the ratio of Coalescence--that is to say, in
that of Condensation, or, again, of Heterogeneity.

Thus the two Principles Proper, Attraction and Repulsion--the Material
and the Spiritual--accompany each other, in the strictest fellowship,
forever. Thus The Body and The Soul walk hand in hand.

If now, in fancy, we select any one of the agglomerations considered
as in their primary stages throughout the Universal sphere, and
suppose this incipient agglomeration to be taking place at that point
where the centre of our Sun exists--or rather where it did exist
originally; for the Sun is perpetually shifting his position--we shall
find ourselves met, and borne onward for a time at least, by the most
magnificent of theories, by the Nebular Cosmogony of Laplace; although
"Cosmogony" is far too comprehensive a term for what he really
discusses--which is the constitution of our solar system alone--of one
among the myriad of similar systems which make up the Universe
Propoer--that Universal sphere--that all-inclusive and asolute Kosmos
which forms the subject of my present Discourse.

Confining himself to an obviously limited region--that of our solar
system with its comparatively immediate vicinity; and merely
assuming--that is to say, assuming without any basis whatever--much of
what I have been just endeavoring to place upon a more stable basis
than assumption; assuming, for example, matter as diffused (without
pretending to account for the diffusion) throughout, and somewhat
beyond, the space occupied by our system--diffused in a state of
heterogeneous nebulosity and obedient to that omniprevalent law of
Gravity at whose principle he ventured to make no guess; assuming all
this (which is quite true, although he had no logical right to its
assumption), Laplace has shown, dynamically and mathematically, that
the results in such case necessarily ensuing are those, and those
alone, which we find manifested in the actually existing condition of
the system itself.

To explain:--Let us conceive that particular agglomeration of which we
have just spoken--the one at the point designated by our Sun's
centre--to have so far proceeded that a vast quantity of nebulous
matter has here assumed a roughly globular form; its centre being, of
course, coincident with what is now, or rather was originally, the
centre of our Sun; and its surface extending out beyond the orbit of
Neptune, the most remote of our planets; in other words, let us
suppose the diameter of this rough sphere to be some six thousand
millions of miles. For ages, this mass of matter has been undergoing
condensation, until at length it has become reduced into the bulk we
imagine; having proceeded gradually, of course, from its atomic and
imperceptible state, into what we understand of appreciable
nebulosity.

Now, the condition of this mass implies a rotation about an imaginary
axis; a rotation which, commencing with the absolute incipiency of the
aggregation, has been ever since acquiring velocity. The very first
two atoms which met, approaching each other from points not
diametrically opposite, would, in rushing partially past each other,
form a nucleus for the rotary movement described. How this would
increase in velocity, is readily seen. The two atoms are joined by
others;--an aggregation is formed. The mass continues to rotate while
condensing. But any atom at the circumference has, of course, a more
rapid motion than one nearer the centre. The outer atom, however, with
its superior velocity, approaches the centre; carrying this superior
velocity with it as it goes. Thus every atom, proceeding inwardly, and
finally attaching itself to the condensed centre, adds something to
the original velocity of that centre--that is to say, increases the
rotary movement of the mass.

Let us now suppose this mass so far condensed that it occupies
precisely the space circumscribed by the orbit of Neptune, and that
the velocity with which the surface of the mass moves, in the general
rotation, is precisely that velocity with which Neptune now revolves
about the Sun. At this epoch, then, we are to understand that the
constantly increasing centrifugal force, having gotten the better of
the non-increasing centripetal, loosened and separated the exterior
and least condensed stratum, or a few of the exterior and least
condensed strata, at the equator of the sphere, where the tangential
velocity predominated; so that these strata formed about the main body
an independent ring encircling the equatorial regions; just as the
exterior portion thrown off, by excessive velocity of rotation, from a
grindstone, would form a ring about the grindstone, but for the
solidity of the superficial material--were this caoutchouc, or
anything similar in consistency, precisely the phenomenon I describe
would be presented.

The ring thus whirled from the nebulous mass revolved, of course, as a
separate ring, with just that velocity with which, while the surface
of the mass, it rotated. In the mean time, condensation still
proceeding, the interval between the discharged ring and the main body
continued to increase, until the former was left at a vast distance
from the latter.

Now, admitting the ring to have possessed, by some seemingly
accidental arrangement of its heterogeneous materials, a constitution
nearly uniform, then this ring, as such, would never have ceased
revolving about its primary; but, as might have been anticipated,
there appears to have been enough irregularity in the disposition of
the materials, to make them cluster about centres of superior
solidity; and thus the annular form was destroyed.(*) No doubt, the band
was soon broken up into several portions, and one of these portions,
predominating in mass, absorbed the others into itself; the whole
settling, spherically, into a planet. That this latter, as a planet,
continued the revolutionary movement which characterized it while a
ring, is sufficiently clear; and that it took upon itself, also, an
additional movement in its new condition of sphere, is readily
explained. The ring being understood as yet unbroken, we see that its
exterior, while the whole revolves about the parent body, moves more
rapidly than its interior. When the rupture occurred, then, some
portion in each fragment must have been moving with greater velocity
than the others. The superior movement prevailing, must have whirled
each fragment round--that is to say, have caused it to rotate; and the
direction of the rotation must, of course, have been the direction of
the revolution whence it arose. All the fragments having become
subject to the rotation described, must, in coalescing, have imparted
it to the one planet constituted by their coalescence. This planet was
Neptune. Its material continuing to undergo condensation, and the
centrifugal force, generated in its rotation, getting at length the
better of the centripetal, as before in the case of the parent orb, a
ring was whirled also from the equatorial surface of this planet; this
ring, having been uniform in its constitution, was broken up, and its
several fragments, being absorbed by the most massive, were
collectively spherified into a moon. Subsequently, the operation was
repeated, and a second moon was the result. We thus account for the
planet Neptune, with the two satellites which accompany him.

[* Laplace assumed his nebulosity heterogeneous, merely that he might
be thus enable to account for the breaking up of the rings; for had
the nebulosity been homogeneous, they would not have broken. I reach
the same result--heterogeneity of the secondary masses immediately
resulting from the atoms--purely from a priori consideration of their
general design--Relation.]

In throwing of a ring from its equator, the Sun re-established that
equilibrium between its centripetal and centrifugal forces which had
been disturbed in the process of condensation; but, as this
condensation still proceeded, the equilibrium was again immediately
disturbed, through the increase of rotation. By the time the mass had
so far shrunk that it occupied a spherical space just that
circumscribed by the orbit of Uranus, we are to understand that the
centrifugal force had so far obtained the ascendency that new relief
was needed; a second equatorial band was, consequently, thrown off,
which, proving un-uniform, was broken up, as before in the case of
Neptune; the fragments settling into the planet Uranus--the velocity
of whose actual revolution about the Sun indicates, of course, the
rotary speed of that Sun's equatorial surface at the moment of the
separation. Uranus, adopting a rotation from the collective rotations
of the fragments composing it, as previously explained, now threw off
ring after ring; each of which, becoming broken up, settled into a
moon;--three moons, at different epochs, having been formed, in this
manner, by the rupture and general spherification of as many distinct
ununiform rings.

By the time the Sun had shrunk until it occupied a space just that
circumscribed by the orbit of Saturn, the balance, we are to suppose,
between its centripetal and centrifugal forces had again become so far
disturbed, through increase of rotary velocity, the result of
condensation, that a third effort at equilibrium became necessary; and
an annular band was therefore whirled off, as twice before; which, on
rupture through un-uniformity, became consolidated into the planet
Saturn. This latter threw off, in the first place, seven un-uniform
bands, which, on rupture, were spherified respectively into as many
moons; but, subsequently, it appears to have discharged, at three
distinct but not very distant epochs, three rings whose equability of
constitution was, by apparent accident, so considerable as to present
no occasion for their rupture; thus they continue to revolve as rings.
I use the phrase "apparent accident;" for of accident in the ordinary
sense there was, of course, nothing;--the term is properly applied
only to the result of indistinguishable or not immediately traceable
law.

Shrinking still farther, until it occupied just the space
circumscribed by the orbit of Jupiter, the Sun now found need of
farther effort to restore the counterbalance of its two forces,
continually disarranged in the still continued increase of rotation.
Jupiter, accordingly, was now thrown off, passing from the annular to
the planetary condition; and, on attaining this latter, threw off in
its turn, at four different epochs, four rings, which finally resolved
themselves into so many moons.

Still shrinking, until its sphere occupied just the space defined by
the orbit of the Asteroids, the Sun now discarded a ring which appears
to have had nine centres of superior solidity, and, on breaking up, to
have separated into eight fragments, no one of which so far
predominated in mass as to absorb the others. All therefore, as
distinct although comparatively small planets, proceeded to revolve in
orbits whose distances, each from each, may be considered as in some
degree the measure of the force which drove them asunder; all the
orbits, nevertheless, being so closely coincident as to admit of our
calling them one, in view of the other planetary orbits.

Continuing to shrink, the Sun, on becoming so small as just to fill
the orbit of Mars, now discharged this planet--of course by the
process repeatedly described. Since he had no moon, however, Mars
could have thrown off no ring. In fact, an epoch had now arrived in
the career of the parent body, the centre of the system. The decrease
of its nebulosity--which is the increase of its density, and which
again is the decrease of its condensation, out of which latter arose
the constant disturbance of equilibrium--must, by this period, have
attained a point at which the efforts for restoration would have been
more and more ineffectual just in proportion as they were less
frequently needed. Thus the processes of which we have been speaking
would everywhere show signs of exhaustion--in the planets, first, and
secondly, in the original mass. We must not fall into the error of
supposing the decrease of interval observed among the planets as we
approach the Sun, to be in any respect indicative of an increase of
frequency in the periods at which they were discarded. Exactly the
converse is to be understood. The longest interval of time must have
occurred between the discharges of the two interior; the shortest,
between those of the two exterior, planets. The decrease of the
interval of space is, nevertheless, the measure of the density, and
thus inversely of the condensation, of the Sun, throughout the
processes detailed.

Having shrunk, however, so far as to fill only the orbit of our Earth,
the parent sphere whirled from itself still one other body--the
Earth--in a condition so nebulous as to admit of this body's
discarding, in its turn, yet another, which is our Moon; but here
terminated the lunar formations.

Finally, subsiding to the orbits first of Venus and then of Mercury,
the Sun discarded these two interior planets; neither of which has
given birth to any moon.

Thus from his original bulk--or, to speak more accurately, from the
condition in which we first considered him--from a partially
spherified nebular mass, certainly much more than 5600 millions of
miles in diameter--the great central orb and origin of our solar-
planetary-lunar system, has gradually descended, by condensation, in
obedience to the law of Gravity, to a globe only 882,000 thousand
miles in diameter; but it by no means follows, either that its
condensation is yet complete, or that it may not still possess the
capacity of whirling from itself another planet.

I have here given--in outline, of course, but still with all the
detail necessary for distinctness--a view of the Nebular Theory as its
author himself conceived it. From whatever point we regard it, we
shall find it beautifully true. It is by far too beautiful, indeed,
not to possess Truth as its essentiality--and here I am very
profoundly serious in what I say. In the revolution of the satellites
of Uranus, there does appear something seemingly inconsistent with the
assumptions of Laplace; but that one inconsistency can invalidate a
theory constructed from a million of intricate consistencies, is a
fancy fit only for the fantastic. In prophesying, confidently, that
the apparent anomaly to which I refer, will, sooner or later, be found
one of the strongest possible corroborations of the general
hypothesis, I pretend to no especial spirit of divination. It is a
matter which the only difficulty seems not to foresee.(*)

[* I am prepared to show that the anomalous revolution of the
satellites of Uranus is a simply perspective anomaly arising from the
inclination of the axis of the planet.]

The bodies whirled off in the processes described, would exchange, it
has been seen, the superficial rotation of the orbs whence they
originated, for a revolution of equal velocity about these orbs as
distant centres; and the revolution thus engendered must proceed, so
long as the centripetal force, or that with which the discarded body
gravitates toward its parent, is neither greater nor less than that by
which it was discarded; that is, than the centrifugal, or, far more
properly, than the tangential, velocity. From the unity, however, of
the origin of these two forces, we might have expected to find them as
they are found--the one accurately counterbalancing the other. It has
been shown, indeed, that the act of whirling-off is, in every case,
merely an act for the preservation of the counterbalance.

After referring, however, the centripetal force to the omniprevalent
law of Gravity, it has been the fashion with astronomical treatises,
to seek beyond the limits of mere Nature--that is to say, of Secondary
Cause--a solution of the phenomenon of tangential velocity. This
latter they attribute directly to a First Cause--to God. The force
which carries a stellar body around its primary they assert to have
originated in an impulse given immediately by the finger--this is the
childish phraseology employed--by the finger of Deity itself. In this
view, the planets, fully formed, are conceived to have been hurled
from the Divine hand to a position in the vicinity of the suns, with
an impetus mathematically adapted to the masses, or attractive
capacities, of the suns themselves. An idea so grossly
unphilosophical, although so supinely adopted, could have arisen only
from the difficulty of otherwise accounting for the absolutely
accurate adaptation, each to each, of two forces so seemingly
independent, one of the other, as are the gravitating and tangential.
But it should be remembered that, for a long time, the coincidence
between the moon's rotation and her sidereal revolution--two matters
seemingly far more independent than those now considered--was looked
upon as positively miraculous; and there was a strong disposition,
even among astronomers, to attribute the marvel to the direct and
continual agency of God; who, in this case, it was said, had found it
necessary to interpose, specially, among His general laws, a set of
subsidiary regulations, for the purpose of forever concealing from
mortal eyes the glories, or perhaps the horrors, of the other side of
the Moon--of that mysterious hemisphere which has always avoided, and
must perpetually avoid, the telescopic scrutiny of mankind. The
advance of Science, however, soon demonstrated--what to the
philosophical instinct needed no demonstration--that the one movement
is but a portion--something more, even, than a consequence--of the
other.

For my part, I have no patience with fantasies at once so timorous, so
idle, and so awkward. They belong to the veriest Cowardice of thought.
That Nature and the God of Nature are distinct, no thinking being can
long doubt. By the former we imply merely the laws of the latter. But
with the very idea of God, omnipotent, omniscient, we entertain, also,
the idea of the infallibility of his laws. With Him there being
neither Past nor Future--with Him all being Now--do we not insult Him
in supposing His laws so contrived as not to provide for every
possible contingency? or, rather, what idea can we have of any
possible contingency, except that it is at once a result and a
manifestation of His laws? He who, divesting himself of prejudice,
shall have the rare courage to think absolutely for himself, cannot
fail to arrive, in the end, at the condensation of laws into Law--
cannot fail of reaching the conclusion that each law of Nature is
dependent at all points upon all other laws, and that all are but
consequences of one primary exercise of the Divine Volition. Such is
the principle of the Cosmogony which, with all necessary deference, I
here venture to suggest and to maintain.

In this view, it will be seen that, dismissing as frivolous, and even
impious, the fancy of the tangential force having been imparted to the
planets immediately, by "the finger of God," I consider this force as
originating in the rotation of the stars--this rotation as brought
about by the in-rushing of the primary atoms, towards their respective
centres of aggregation--this in-rushing as the consequence of the law
of Gravity--this law as but the mode in which is necessarily
manifested the tendency of the atoms to return into imparticularity--
this tendency as but the inevitable reaction of the first and most
sublime of Acts--that act by which a God, self-existing and alone
existing, became all things at once, through dint of His volition,
while all things were thus constituted a portion of God.

The radical assumptions of this discourse suggest to me, and in fact
imply, certain important modifications of the Nebular Theory as given
by Laplace. The efforts of the repulsive power I have considered as
made for the purpose of preventing contact among the atoms, and thus
as made in the ratio of the approach to contact--that is to say, in
theratio of condensation. In other words, Electricity, with its
involute phenomena, heat, light, and magnetism, is to be understood as
proceeding as condensation proceeds, and, of course, inversely, as
density proceeds, or the cessation to condense. Thus the Sun, in the
process of its consolodation, must soon, in developing repulsion, have
become excessively heated--incandescent: and we can perceive how the
operation of discarding its rings must have been materially assisted
by the slight incrustation of its surface consequent on cooling. Any
common experiment shows us how readily a crust, of the character
suggested, is separated, through heterogeneity, from the interior
mass. But, on every successive rejection of the crust, the new surface
would appear incandescent as before; and the period, at which it would
again become so far incrusted as to be readily loosened and
discharged, may well be imagined as exactly coincident with that at
which a new effort would be needed, by the whole mass, to restore the
equilibrium of its two forces, disarranged through condensation. In
other words,--by the time the electric influence (Repulsion) has
prepared the surface for rejection, we are to understand that the
gravitating influence (Attraction) is precisely ready to reject it.
Here, then, as everywhere, The Body and The Soul walk hand in hand.

These ideas are empirically confirmed at all points. Since
condensation can never, in any body, be considered as absolutely at an
end, we are warranted in anticipating that, whenever we have an
opportunity of testing the matter, we shall find indications of
resident luminosity in all the stellar bodies--moons and planets as
well as suns. That our Moon is strongly self-luminous we see at her
every total eclipse, when, if not so, she would disappear. On the dark
part of the satellite, too, during her phases, we often observe
flashes like our own Auroras; and that these latter, with our various
other so-called electrical phenomena, without reference to any more
steady radiance, must give our Earth a certain appearance of
luminosity to an inhabitant of the Moon, is quite evident. In fact, we
should regard all the phenomena referred to as mere manifestations, in
different moods and degrees, of the Earth's feebly-continued
condensation.

If my views are tenable, we should be prepared to find the newer
planets--that is to say, those nearer the Sun--more luminous than
those older and more remote:--and the extreme brilliancy of Venus (on
whose dark portions, during her phases, the Auroras are frequently
visible) does not seem to be altogether accounted for by her mere
proximity to the central orb. She is no doubt vividly self-luminous,
although less so than Mercury: while the luminosity of Neptune may be
comparatively nothing.

Admitting what I have urged, it is clear that, from the moment of the
Sun's discarding a ring, there must be a continuous diminution both of
his heat and light, on account of the continuous incrustation of his
surface; and that a period would arrive--the period immediately
previous to a new discharge--when a very material decrease of both
light and heat must become apparent. Now, we know that tokens of such
changes are distinctly recognizable. On the Melville islands, to
adduce merely one out of a hundred examples, we find traces of ultra
tropical vegetation--of plants that never could have flourished
without immensely more light and heat than are at present afforded by
our Sun to any portion of the surface of the Earth. Is such vegetation
referable to an epoch immediately subsequent to the whirling-off of
Venus? At this epoch must have occurred to us our greatest access of
solar influence; and, in fact, this influence must then have attained
its maximum,--leaving out of view, of course, the period when the
Earth itself was discarded, the period of its mere organization.

Again:--we know that there exist non-luminous suns--that is to say,
suns whose existence we determine through the movements of others, but
whose luminosity is not sufficient to impress us. Are these suns
invisible merely on account of the length of time elapsed since their
discharge of a planet? And yet again:--may we not--at least in certain
cases--account for the sudden appearances of suns, where none had been
previously suspected, by the hypothesis that, having rolled with
incrusted surfaces throughout the few thousand years of our
astronomical history, each of these suns, in whirling off a new
secondary, has at length been enabled to display the glories of its
still incandescent interior? To the well-ascertained fact of the
proportional increase of heat as we descend into the Earth, I need of
course, do nothing more than refer; it comes in the strongest possible
corroboration of all that I have said on the topic now at issue.

In speaking not long ago, of the repulsive or electrical influence, I
remarked that "the important phenomena of vitality, consciousness, and
thought, whether we observe them generally or in detail, seem to
proceed at least in the ratio of the heterogeneous." I mentioned, too,
that I would recur to the suggestion--and this is the proper point at
which to do so. Looking at the matter, first, in detail, we perceive
that not merely the manifestation of vitality, but its importance,
consequences, and elevation of character, keep pace very closely with
the heterogeneity, or complexity, of the animal structure. Looking at
the question, now, in its generality, and referring to the first
movements of the atoms towards mass-constitution, we find that
heterogeneousness, brought about directly through condensation, is
proportional with it forever. We thus reach the proposition that the
importance of the development of the terrestrial vitality proceeds
equably with the terrestrial condensation.

Now, this is in precise accordance with what we know of the succession
of animals on the Earth. As it has proceeded in its condensation,
superior and still superior races have appeared. Is it impossible that
the successive geological revolutions which have attended, at least,
if not immediately caused, these successive elevations of vitalic
character--is it improbable that these revolutions have themselves
been produced by the successive planetary discharges from the Sun; in
other words, by the successive variations in the solar influence on
the Earth? Were this idea tenable, we should not be unwarranted in the
fancy that the discharge of yet a new planet, interior to Mercury, may
give rise to yet a new modification of the terrestrial surface--a
modification from which may spring a race both materially and
spiritually superior to Man. These thoughts impress me with all the
force of truth; but I throw them out, of course, merely in their
obvious character of suggestion.

The Nebular Theory of Laplace has lately received far more
confirmation than it needed, at the hands of the philosopher Comte.
These two have thus together shown--not, to be sure, that Matter at
any period actually existed as described, in a state of nebular
diffusion--but that, admitting it so to have existed throughout the
space and much beyond the space now occupied by our solar system, and
to have commenced a movement towards a centre, it must gradually have
assumed the various forms and motions which are now seen, in that
system, to obtain. A demonstration such as this--a dynamical and
mathematical demonstration, as far as demonstration can be--
unquestionable and unquestioned--unless, indeed, by that unprofitable
and disreputable tribe, the professional questioners--the mere madmen
who deny the Newtonian law of Gravity on which the results of the
French mathematicians are based;--a demonstration, I say, such as
this, would to most intellects be conclusive--and I confess that it is
so to mine--of the validity of the nebular hypothesis upon which the
demonstration depends.

That the demonstration does not prove the hypothesis, according to the
common understanding of the word "proof," I admit, of course. To show
that certain existing results--that certain established facts--may be,
even mathematically, accounted for by the assumption of a certain
hypothesis, is by no means to establish the hypothesis itself. In
other words,--to show that, certain data being given, a certain
existing result might, or even must, have ensued, will fail to prove
that this result did ensue, from the data, until such time as it shall
be also shown that there are, and can be, no other data from which the
result in question might equally have ensued. But, in the case now
discussed, although all must admit the deficiency of what we are in
the habit of terming "proof," still there are many intellects, and
those of the loftiest order, to which no proof could bring one iota of
additional conviction. Without going into details which might impinge
upon the Cloud-Land of Metaphysics, I may as well here observe that
the force of conviction, in cases such as this, will always, with the
right-thinking, be proportional to the amount of complexity
intervening between the hypothesis and the result. To be less
abstract:--The greatness of the complexity found existing among
cosmical conditions, by rendering great in the same proportion the
difficulty of accounting for all these conditions, at once,
strengthens, also, in the same proportion, our faith in that
hypothesis which does, in such manner, satisfactorily account for
them; and as no complexity can well be conceived greater than that of
the astronomical conditions, so no conviction can be stronger--to my
mind at least--than that with which I am impressed by an hypothesis
that not only reconciles these conditions with mathematical accuracy,
and reduces them into a consistent and intelligible whole, but is, at
the same time, the sole hypothesis by means of which the human
intellect has been ever enabled to account for them at all.

A most unfounded opinion has been latterly current in gossiping and
even in scientific circles--the opinion that the so-called Nebular
Cosmogony has been overthrown. This fancy has arisen from the report
of late observations made, among what hitherto have been termed the
"nebulae," through the large telescope of Cincinnati, and the world-
renowned instrument of Lord Rosse. Certain spots in the firmament
which presented, even to the most powerful of the old telescopes, the
appearance of nebulosity, or haze, had been regarded for a long time
as confirming the theory of Laplace. They were looked upon as stars in
that very process of condensation which I have been attempting to
describe. Thus it was supposed that we "had ocular evidence"--an
evidence, by the way, which has always been found very questionable--
of the truth of the hypothesis; and, although certain telescopic
improvements, every now and then, enabled us to perceive that a spot,
here and there, which we had been classing among the nebulae, was, in
fact, but a cluster of stars deriving its nebular character only from
its immensity of distance--still it was thought that no doubt could
exist as to the actual nebulosity of numerous other masses, the
strongholds of the nebulists, bidding defiance to every effort at
segregation. Of these latter the most interesting was the great
"nebula" in the constellation Orion; but this, with innumerable other
miscalled "nebulae," when viewed through the magnificent modern
telescopes, has become resolved into a simple collection of stars.
Now, this fact has been very generally understood as conclusive
against the Nebular Hypothesis of Laplace; and, on announcement of the
discoveries in question, the most enthusiastic defender and most
eloquent popularizer of the theory, Dr. Nichol, went so far as to
"admit the necessity of abandoning" an idea which had formed the
material of his most praiseworthy book. (*)

[* "Views of the Architecture of the Heavens."A letter, purporting to
be from Dr. Nichol to a friend in America, went the rounds of our
newspapers, about two years ago, I think, admitting "the necessity" to
which I refer. In a subsequent lecture, however, Dr. Nichol appears in
some manner to have gotten the better of the necessity, and does not
quite renounce the theory, although he seems to wish that he could
sneer at it as "a purely hypothetical one." What else was the Law of
Gravity before the Maskelyne experiments! and who questioned the Law
of Gravity, even then!]

Many of my readers will no doubt be inclined to say that the result of
these new investigations has at least a strong tendency to overthrow
the hypothesis; while some of them, more thoughtful, will suggest
that, although the theory is by no means disproved through the
segregation of the particular "nebulae" alluded to, still a failure to
segregate them, with such telescopes, might well have been understood
as a triumphant corroboration of the theory; and this latter class
will be surprised, perhaps, to hear me say that even with them I
disagree. If the propositions of this Discourse have been
comprehended, it will be seen that, in my view, a failure to segregate
the "nebulae" would have tended to the refutation, rather than to the
confirmation, of the Nebular Hypothesis.

Let me explain:--The Newtonian Law of Gravity we may, of course,
assume as demonstrated. This law, it will be remembered, I have
referred to the reaction of the first Divine Act--to the reaction of
an exercise of the Divine Volition temporarily overcoming a
difficulty. This difficulty is that of forcing the normal into the
abnormal--of impelling that whose originality, and therefore whose
rightful condition, was One, to take upon itself the wrongful
condition of Many. It is only by conceiving this difficulty as
temporarily overcome, that we can comprehend a reaction. There could
have been no reaction had the act been infinitely continued. So long
as the act lasted no reaction, of course, could commence; in other
words, no gravitation could take place--for we have considered the one
as but the manifestation of the other. But gravitation has taken
place; therefore the act of Creation has ceased: and gravitation has
long ago taken place; therefore the act of Creation has long ago
ceased. We can no more expect, then, to observe the primary processes
of Creation; and to these primary processes the condition of
nebulosity has already been explained to belong.

Through what we know of the propagation of light, we have direct proof
that the more remote of the stars have existed, under the forms in
which we now see them, for an inconceivable number of years. So far
back at least, then, as the period when these stars underwent
condensation, must have been the epoch at which the mass-constitutive
processes began. That we may conceive these processes, then, as still
going on in the case of certain ;nebulae, while in all other cases we
find them thoroughly at an end, we are forced into assumptions for
which we have really no basis whatever; we have to thrust in, again,
upon the revolting Reason, the blasphemous idea, of special
interposition; we have to suppose that, in the particular instances of
these nebulae, an unerring God found it necessary to introduce certain
supplementary regulations--certain improvements of the general law--
certain retouchings and emendations, in a word, which had the effect
of deferring the completion of these individual stars for centuries of
centuries beyond the era during which all the other stellar bodies had
time, not only to be fully constituted, but to grow hoary with an
unspeakable old age.

Of course, it will be immediately objected that, since the light by
which we recognize the nebulae now must be merely that which left
their surfaces a vast number of years ago, the processes at present
observed, or supposed to be observed, are, in fact, not processes now
actually going on, but the phantoms of processes completed long in the
Past--just as I maintain all these mass-constitutive processes must
have been.

To this I reply that neither is the now-observed condition of the
condensed stars their actual condition, but a condition completed long
in the Past; so that my argument drawn from the relative condition of
the stars and the "nebulae," is in no manner disturbed. Moreover,
those who maintain the existence of nebulae, do not refer the
nebulosity to extreme distance; they declare it a real and not merely
a perspective nebulosity. That we may conceive, indeed, a nebular mass
as visible at all, we must conceive it as very near us in comparison
with the condensed stars brought into view by the modern telescopes.
In maintaining the appearances in question, then, to be really
nebulous, we maintain their comparative vicinity to our point of view.
Thus, their condition, as we see them now, must be referred to an
epoch far less remote than that to which we may refer the now-observed
condition of at least the majority of the stars. In a word, should
Astronomy ever demonstrate a "nebula," in the sense at present
intended, I should consider the Nebular Cosmogony--not, indeed, as
corroborated by the demonstration--but as thereby irretrievably
overthrown.

By way, however, of rendering unto Caesar no more than the things that
are Caesar's, let me here remark that the assumption of the hypothesis
which led him to so glorious a result seems to have been suggested to
Laplace in great measure by a misconception--by the very misconception
of which we have just been speaking--by the generally prevalent
misunderstanding of the character of the nebulae, so misnamed. These
he supposed to be, in reality, what their designation implies. The
fact is, this great man had, very properly, an inferior faith in his
own merely perceptive powers. In respect, therefore, to the actual
existence of nebulae, an existence so confidently maintained by his
telescopic contemporaries, he depended less upon what he saw than upon
what he heard.

It will be seen that the only valid objections to his theory are those
made to its hypothesis as such--to what suggested it, not to what it
suggests--to its propositions rather than to its results. His most
unwarranted assumption was that of giving the atoms a movement towards
a centre, in the very face of his evident understanding that these
atoms, in unlimited succession, extended throughout the Universal
space. I have already shown that, under such circumstances, there
could have occurred no movement at all; and Laplace, consequently,
assumed one on no more philosophical ground than that something of the
kind was necessary for the establishment of what he intended to
establish.

His original idea seems to have been a compound of the true Epicurean
atoms with the false nebulae of his contemporaries; and thus his
theory presents us with the singular anomaly of absolute truth
deduced, as a mathematical result, from a hybrid datum of ancient
imagination intertangled with modern inacumen. Laplace's real strength
lay, in fact, in an almost miraculous mathematical instinct--on this
he relied, and in no instance did it fail or deceive him:--in the case
of the Nebular Cosmogony, it led him, blindfolded, through a labyrinth
of Error, into one of the most luminous and stupendous temples of
Truth.

Let us now fancy, for the moment, that the ring first thrown off by
the Sun--that is to say, the ring whose breaking-up constituted
Neptune, did not, in fact, break up until the throwing-off of the ring
out of which Uranus arose; that this latter ring, again, remained
perfect until the discharge of that out of which sprang Saturn; that
this latter, again, remained entire until the discharge of that from
which originated Jupiter--and so on. Let us imagine, in a word, that
no dissolution occurred among the rings until the final rejection of
that which gave birth to Mercury. We thus paint to the eye of the mind
a series of coexistent concentric circles; and looking as well at them
as at the processes by which, according to Laplace's hypothesis, they
were constructed, we perceive at once a very singular analogy with the
atomic strata and the process of the original irradiation as I have
described it. Is it impossible that, on measuring the forces,
respectively, by which each successive planetary circle was thrown
off--that is to say, on measuring the successive excesses of rotation
over gravitation which occasioned the successive discharges--we should
find the analogy in question more decidedly confirmed? Is it
improbable that we should discover these forces to have varied--as in
the original irradiation--proportionally with the squares of the
distances?

Our solar system, consisting, in chief, of one sun, with sixteen
planets certainly, and possibly a few more, revolving about it at
various distances, and attended by sixteen moons assuredly, but very
probably by several others--is now to be considered as an example of
the innumerable agglomerations which proceeded to take place
throughout the Universal Sphere of atoms on withdrawal of the Divine
Volition. I mean to say that our solar system is to be understood as
affording a generic instance of these agglomerations, or, more
correctly, of the ulterior conditions at which they arrived. If we
keep our attention fixed on the idea of the utmost possible Relation
as the Omnipotent design, and on the precautions taken to accomplish
it through difference of form, among the original atoms, and
particular inequidistance, we shall find it impossible to suppose for
a moment that even any two of the incipient agglomerations reached
precisely the same result in the end. We shall rather be inclined to
think that no two stellar bodies in the Universe--whether suns,
planets, or moons--are particularly, while all are generally, similar.
Still less, then, can we imagine any two assemblages of such bodies--
any two "systems"--as having more than a general resemblance.(*) Our
telescopes, at this point, thoroughly confirm our deductions. Taking
our own solar system, then, as merely a loose or general type of all,
we have so far proceeded in our subject as to survey the Universe of
Stars under the aspect of a spherical space, throughout which,
dispersed with merely general equability, exist a number of but
generally similar systems.

[* It is not impossible that some unlooked-for optical improvement
may disclose to us, among innumerable varieties of systems, a luminous
sun, encircled by luminous and non-luminous rings, within and without
and between which, revolve luminous and non-luminous planets, attended
by moons--and even these latter again having moons.]

Let us now, expanding our conceptions, look upon each of these system
as in itself an atom; which in fact it is, when we consider it as but
one of the countless myriads of systems which constitute the Universe.
Regarding all, then, as but colossal atoms, each with the same
ineradicable tendency to Unity which characterizes the actual atoms of
which it consists, we enter at once a new order of aggregations. The
smaller systems, in the vicinity of a larger one, would, inevitably,
be drawn into still closer vicinity. A thousand would assemble here; a
million there--perhaps here, again, even a billion--leaving, thus,
immeasurable vacancies in space. And if, now, it be demanded why, in
the case of these systems--of these merely Titanic atoms--I speak,
simply, of an "assemblage," and not, as in the case of the actual
atoms, of a more or less consolidated agglomeration; if it be asked,
for instance, why I do not carry what I suggest to its legitimate
conclusion, and describe, at once, these assemblages of system-atoms
as rushing to consolidation in spheres--as each becoming condensed
into one magnificent sun--my reply is that mellonta tauta--I am but
pausing, for a moment, on the awful threshold of the Future. For the
present, calling these assemblages "clusters," we see them in the
incipient stages of their consolidation. Their absolute consolidation
is to come.

We have now reached a point from which we behold the Universe of Stars
as a spherical space, interspersed, unequably, with clusters. It will
be noticed that I here prefer the adverb "unequably" to the phrase
"with a merely general equability," employed before. It is evident, in
fact, that the equability of distribution will diminish in the ratio
of the agglomerative processes--that is to say, as the things
distributed diminish in number. Thus the increase of inequability--an
increase which must continue until, sooner or later, an epoch will
arrive at which the largest agglomeration will absorb all the others--
should be viewed as, simply, a corroborative indication of the
tendency to One.

And here, at length, it seems proper to inquire whether the
ascertained facts of Astronomy confirm the general arrangement which I
have thus, deductively, assigned to the Heavens. Thoroughly, they do.
Telescopic observation, guided by the laws of perspective, enables us
to understand that the perceptible Universe exists as a roughly
spherical cluster of clusters, irregularly disposed.

The "clusters" of which this Universal "cluster of clusters" consists,
are merely what we have been in the practice of designating
"nebulae"--and, of these "nebulae," one is of paramount interest to
mankind. I allude to the Galaxy, or Milky Way. This interests us,
first and most obviously, on account of its great superiority in
apparent size, not only to any one other cluster in the firmament, but
to all the other clusters taken together. The largest of these latter
occupies a mere point, comparatively, and is distinctly seen only with
the aid of a telescope. The Galaxy sweeps throughout the Heaven, and
is brilliantly visible to the naked eye. But it interests man chiefly,
although less immediately, on account of its being his home; the home
of the Earth on which he exists; the home of the Sun about which this
Earth revolves; the home of that "system" of orbs of which the Sun is
the centre and primary--the Earth one of sixteen secondaries, or
planets--the Moon one of sixteen tertiaries, or satellites. The
Galaxy, let me repeat, is but one of the clusters which I have been
describing; but one of the miscalled "nebulae" revealed to us--by the
telescope alone, sometimes--as faint hazy spots in various quarters of
the sky. We have no reason to suppose the Milky Way really more
extensive than the least of these "nebulae." Its vast superiority in
size is but an apparent superiority arising from our position in
regard to it--that is to say, from our position in its midst. However
strange the assertion may at first appear to those unversed in
Astronomy, still the astronomer himself has no hesitation in asserting
that we are in the midst of that inconceivable host of stars--of
suns--of systems--which constitute the Galaxy. Moreover, not only have
we--not only has our Sun a right to claim the Galaxy as its own
especial cluster, but, with slight reservation, it may be said that
all the distinctly visible stars of the firmament, all the stars
visible to the naked eye, have equally a right to claim it as their
own.

There has been a great deal of misconception in respect to the shape
of the Galaxy; which, in nearly all our astronomical treatises, is
said to resemble that of a capital Y. The cluster in question has, in
reality, a certain general--very general resemblance to the planet
Saturn, with its encompassing triple ring. Instead of the solid orb of
that planet, however, we must picture to ourselves a lenticular star-
island, or collection of stars; our Sun lying eccentrically--near the
shore of the island--on that side of it which is nearest the
constellation of the Cross and farthest from that of Cassiopeia. The
surrounding ring, where it approaches our position, has in it a
longitudinal gash, which does in fact, cause the ring, in our
vicinity, to assume, loosely, the appearance of a capital Y.

We must not fall into the error, however, of conceiving the somewhat
indefinite girdle as at all remote, comparatively speaking, from the
also indefinite lenticular cluster which it surrounds; and thus, for
mere purpose of explanation, we may speak of our Sun as actually
situated at that point of the Y where its three component lines unite;
and, conceiving this letter to be of a certain solidity--of a certain
thickness, very trivial in comparison with its length--we may even
speak of our position as in the middle of this thickness. Fancying
ourselves thus placed, we shall no longer find difficulty in
accounting for the phenomena presented, which are perspective
altogether. When we look upward or downward--that is to say, when we
cast our eyes in the direction of the letter's thickness--we look
through fewer stars than when we cast them in the direction of its
length, or along either of the three component lines. Of course, in
the former case, the stars appear scattered--in the latter, crowded.
To reverse this explanation:--An inhabitant of the Earth, when
looking, as we commonly express ourselves, at the Galaxy, is then
beholding it in some of the directions of its length--is looking along
the lines of the Y; but when, looking out into the general Heaven, he
turns his eyes from the Galaxy, he is then surveying it in the
direction of the letter's thickness; and on this account the stars
seem to him scattered; while, in fact, they are as close together, on
an average, as in the mass of the cluster. No consideration could be
better adapted to convey an idea of this cluster's stupendous extent.

If, with a telescope of high space-penetrating power, we carefully
inspect the firmament, we shall become aware of a belt of clusters--of
what we have hitherto called "nebulae"--a band, of varying breadth,
stretching from horizon to horizon, at right angles to the general
course of the Milky Way. This band is the ultimate cluster of
clusters. This belt is The Universe. Our Galaxy is but one, and
perhaps one of the most inconsiderable, of the clusters which go to
the constitution of this ultimate, Universal belt or band. The
appearance of this cluster of clusters, to our eyes, as a belt or
band, is altogether a perspective phenomenon of the same character as
that which causes us to behold our own individual and roughly-
spherical cluster, the Galaxy, under guise also of a belt, traversing
the Heavens at right angles to the Universal one. The shape of the
all-inclusive cluster is, of course generally, that of each individual
cluster which it includes. Just as the scattered stars which, on
looking from the Galaxy, we see in the general sky, are, in fact, but
a portion of that Galaxy itself, and as closely intermingled with it
as any of the telescopic points in what seems the densest portion of
its mass--so are the scattered "nebulae" which, on casting our eyes
from the Universal belt, we perceive at all points of the firmament--
so, I say, are these scattered "nebulae" to be understood as only
perspectively scattered, and as but a portion of the one supreme and
Universal sphere.

No astronomical fallacy is more untenable, and none has been more
pertinaciously adhered to, than that of the absolute illimitation of
the Universe of Stars. The reasons for limitation, as I have already
assigned them, a priori, seem to me unanswerable; but, not to speak of
these, observation assures us that there is, in numerous directions
around us, certainly, if not in all, a positive limit--or, at the very
least, affords us no basis whatever for thinking otherwise. Were the
succession of stars endless, then the background of the sky would
present us an uniform luminosity, like that displayed by the Galaxy--
since there could be absolutely no point, in all that background, at
which would not exist a star. The only mode, therefore, in which,
under such a state of affairs, we could comprehend the voids which our
telescopes find in innumerable directions, would be by supposing the
distance of the invisible background so immense that no ray from it
has yet been able to reach us at all. That this may be so, who shall
venture to deny? I maintain, simply, that we have not even the shadow
of a reason for believing that it is so.

When speaking of the vulgar propensity to regard all bodies on the
Earth as tending merely to the Earth's centre, I observed that, "with
certain exceptions to be specified hereafter, every body on the Earth
tended not only to the Earth's centre, but in every conceivable
direction besides." The "exceptions" refer to those frequent gaps in
the Heavens, where our utmost scrutiny can detect not only no stellar
bodies, but no indications of their existence--where yawning chasms,
blacker than Erebus, seem to afford us glimpses, through the boundary
walls of the Universe of Stars, into the illimitable Universe of
Vacancy, beyond. Now, as any body, existing on the Earth, chances to
pass, either through its own movement or the Earth's, into a line with
any one of these voids, or cosmical abysses, it clearly is no longer
attracted in the direction of that void, and for the moment,
consequently, is "heavier" than at any period, either after or before.
Independently of the consideration of these voids, however, and
looking only at the generally unequable distribution of the stars, we
see that the absolute tendency of bodies on the Earth to the Earth's
centre, is in a state of perpetual variation.

We comprehend, then, the insulation of our Universe. We perceive the
isolation of that--of all that which we grasp with the senses. We know
that there exists one cluster of clusters--a collection around which,
on all sides, extend the immeasurable wildernesses of a Space to all
human perception untenanted. But because upon the confines of this
Universe of Stars we are compelled to pause, through want of farther
evidence from the senses, is it right to conclude that, in fact, there
is no material point beyond that which we have thus been permitted to
attain? Have we, or have we not, an analogical right to the inference
that this perceptible Universe; that this cluster of clusters, is but
one of a series of clusters of clusters, the rest of which are
invisible through distance--through the diffusion of their light being
so excessive, ere it reaches us, as not to produce upon our retinas a
light-impression--or from there being no such emanation as light at
all, in those unspeakably distant worlds--or, lastly, from the mere
interval being so vast that the electric tidings of their presence in
Space, have not yet--through the lapsing myriads of years--been
enabled to traverse that interval?

Have we any right to inferences--have we any ground whatever for
visions such as these? If we have a right to them in any degree, we
have a right to their infinite extension.

The human brain has obviously a leaning to the "Infinite," and fondles
the phantom of the idea. It seems to long with a passionate fervor for
this impossible conception, with the hope of intellectually believing
it when conceived. What is general among the whole race of Man, of
course no individual of that race can be warranted in considering
abnormal; nevertheless, there may be a class of superior
intelligences, to whom the human bias alluded to may wear all the
character of monomania.

My question, however, remains unanswered:--Have we any right to
infer--let us say, rather, to imagine--an interminable succession of
the "clusters of clusters," or of "Universes" more or less similar?

I reply that the "right," in a case such as this, depends absolutely
upon the hardihood of that imagination which ventures to claim the
right. Let me declare, only, that, as an individual, I myself feel
impelled to the fancy--without daring to call it more--that there does
exist a limitless succession of Universes, more or less similar to
that of which we have cognizance, to that of which alone we shall ever
have cognizance, at the very least until the return of our own
particular Universe into Unity. If such clusters of clusters exist,
however--and they do--it is abundantly clear that, having had no part
in our origin, they have no portion in our laws. They neither attract
us, nor we them. Their material, their spirit is not ours--is not that
which obtains in any part of our Universe. They could not impress our
senses or our souls. Among them and us--considering all, for the
moment, collectively--there are no influences in common. Each exists,
apart and independently, in the bosom of its proper and particular
God.

In the conduct of this Discourse, I am aiming less at physical than at
metaphysical order. The clearness with which even material phenomena
are presented to the understanding depends very little, I have long
since learned to perceive, upon a merely natural, and almost
altogether upon a moral, arrangement. If then I seem to step somewhat
too discursively from point to point of my topic, let me suggest that
I do so in the hope of thus the better keeping unbroken that chain of
graduated impression by which alone the intellect of Man can expect to
encompass the grandeurs of which I speak, and, in their majestic
totality, to comprehend them.

So far, our attention has been directed, almost exclusively, to a
general and relative grouping of the stellar bodies in space. Of
specification there has been little; and whatever ideas of quantity
have been conveyed--that is to say, of number, magnitude, and
distance--have been conveyed incidentally and by way of preparation
for more definitive conceptions. These latter let us now attempt to
entertain.

Our solar system, as has been already mentioned, consists, in chief,
of one sun and sixteen planets certainly, but in all probability a few
others, revolving around it as a centre, and attended by sixteen moons
of which we know, with possibly several more of which as yet we know
nothing. These various bodies are not true spheres, but oblate
spheroids--spheres flattened at the poles of the imaginary axes about
which they rotate; the flattening being a consequence of the rotation.
Neither is the Sun absolutely the centre of the system; for this Sun
itself, with all the planets, revolves about a perpetually shifting
point of space, which is the system's general centre of gravity.
Neither are we to consider the paths through which these different
spheroids move--the moons about the planets, the planets about the
Sun, or the Sun about the common centre--as circles in an accurate
sense. They are, in fact, ellipses--one of the foci being the point
about which the revolution is made. An ellipse is a curve, returning
into itself, one of whose diameters is longer than the other. In the
longer diameter are two points, equidistant from the middle of the
line, and so situated otherwise that, if from each of them a straight
line be drawn to any one point of the curve, the two lines, taken
together, will be equal to the longer diameter itself. Now let us
conceive such an ellipse. At one of the points mentioned, which are
the foci, let us fasten an orange. By an elastic thread let us connect
this orange with a pea; and let us place this latter on the
circumference of the ellipse. Let us now move the pea continuously
around the orange, keeping always on the circumference of the ellipse.
The elastic thread, which, of course, varies in length as we move the
pea, will form what in geometry is called a radius vector. Now, if the
orange be understood as the Sun, and the pea as a planet revolving
about it, then the revolution should be made at such a rate--with a
velocity so varying--that the radius vector may pass over equal areas
of space in equal times. The progress of the pea should be--in other
words, the progress of the planet is, of course,--slow in proportion
to its distance from the Sun, swift in proportion to its proximity.
Those planets, moreover, move the more slowly which are the farther
from the Sun; the squares of their periods of revolution having the
same proportion to each other, as have to each other the cubes of
their mean distances from the Sun.

The wonderfully complex laws of revolution here described, however,
are not to be understood as obtaining in our system alone. They
everywhere prevail where Attraction prevails. They control the
Universe of Stars. Every shining speck in the firmament is, no doubt,
a luminous Sun, resembling our own, at least in its general features,
and having in attendance upon it a greater or less number of planets,
greater or less, whose still lingering luminosity is not sufficient to
render them visible to us at so vast a distance, but which,
nevertheless, revolve, moon-attended, about their starry centres, in
obedience to the principles just detailed--in obedience to the three
omniprevalent laws of revolution, the three immortal laws guessed by
the imaginative Kepler, and but subsequently demonstrated and
accounted for by the patient and mathematical Newton. Among a tribe of
philosophers who pride themselves excessively upon matter-of-fact, it
is far too fashionable to sneer at all speculation under the
comprehensive sobriquet, "guess-work." The point to be considered is,
who guesses. In guessing with Plato, we spend our time to better
purpose, now and then, than in hearkening to a demonstration by
Alcmaeon.

In many works on Astronomy I find it distinctly stated that the laws
of Kepler are the basis of the great principle, Gravitation. This idea
must have arisen from the fact that the suggestion of these laws by
Kepler, and his proving them a posteriori to have an actual existence,
led Newton to account for them by the hypothesis of Gravitation, and,
finally, to demonstrate them a priori, as necessary consequences of
the hypothetical principle. Thus, so far from the laws of Kepler being
the basis of Gravity, Gravity is the basis of these laws, as it is,
indeed, of all the laws of the material Universe which are not
referable to Repulsion alone.

The mean distance of the Earth from the Moon--that is to say, from the
heavenly body in our closest vicinity--is 237,000 thousand miles.
Mercury, the planet nearest the Sun, is distant from him 37 millions
of miles. Venus, the next, revolves at a distance of 68 millions; the
Earth, which comes next, at a distance of 95 millions; Mars, then, at
a distance of 144 millions. Now come the nine Asteroids (Ceres, Juno,
Vesta, Pallas, Astraea, Flora, Iris and Hebe) at an average distance
of about 250 millions. Then we have Jupiter, distant 490 millions;
then Saturn, 900 millions; then Uranus, 19 hundred millions; finally
Neptune, lately discovered, and revolving at a distance, say of 28
hundred millions. Leaving Neptune out of the account--of which as yet
we know little accurately and which is, possibly, one of a system of
Asteroids--it will be seen that, within certain limits, there exists
an order of interval among the planets. Speaking loosely, we may say
that each outer planet is twice as far from the Sun as is the next
inner one. May not the order here mentioned--may not the law of Bode--
be deduced from consideration of the analogy suggested by me as having
place between the solar discharge of rings and the mode of the atomic
irradiation?

The numbers hurriedly mentioned in this summary of distance, it is
folly to attempt comprehending, unless in the light of abstract
arithmetical facts. They are not practically tangible ones. They
convey no precise ideas. I have stated that Neptune, the planet
farthest from the Sun, revolves about him at a distance of 28 hundred
millions of miles. So far good:--I have stated a mathematical fact;
and, without comprehending it in the least, we may put it to use--
mathematically. But in mentioning, even, that the Moon revolves about
the Earth at the comparatively trifling distance of 237,000 miles, I
entertained no expectation of giving any one to understand--to know--
to feel--how far from the Earth the Moon actually is. 237,000 miles!
There are, perhaps, few of my readers who have not crossed the
Atlantic ocean; yet how many of them have a distinct idea of even the
3000 miles intervening between shore and shore? I doubt, indeed,
whether the man lives who can force into his brain the most remote
conception of the interval between one milestone and its next neighbor
upon the turnpike. We are in some measure aided, however, in our
consideration of distance, by combining this consideration with the
kindred one of velocity. Sound passes through 1100 feet of space in a
second of time. Now were it possible for an inhabitant of the Earth to
see the flash of a cannon discharged in the Moon, and to hear the
report, he would have to wait, after perceiving the former, more than
13 entire days and nights before getting any intimation of the latter.

However feeble be the impression, even thus conveyed, of the Moon's
real distance from the Earth, it will, nevertheless, effect a good
object in enabling us more clearly to see the futility of attempting
to grasp such intervals as that of the 28 hundred millions of miles
between our Sun and Neptune; or even that of the 95 millions between
the Sun and the Earth we inhabit. A cannon-ball, flying at the
greatest velocity with which a ball has ever been known to fly, could
not traverse the latter interval in less than twenty years; while for
the former it would require five hundred and ninety.

Our Moon's real diameter is 2,160 miles; yet she is comparatively so
trifling an object that it would take nearly 50 such orbs to compose
one as great as the Earth.

The diameter of our own globe is 7,912 miles; but from the enunciation
of these numbers what positive idea do we derive?

If we ascend an ordinary mountain and look around us from its summit,
we behold a landscape stretching, say 40 miles, in every direction;
forming a circle 250 miles in circumference; and including an area of
5000 square miles. The extent of such a prospect, on account of the
successiveness with which its portions necessarily present themselves
to view, can be only very feebly and very partially appreciated; yet
the entire panorama would comprehend no more than one 40,000th part of
the mere surface of our globe. Were this panorama, then, to be
succeeded, after the lapse of an hour, by another of equal extent;
this again by a third, after the lapse of another hour; this again by
a fourth, after lapse of another hour--and so on, until the scenery of
the whole Earth were exhausted; and were we to be engaged in examining
these various panoramas for twelve hours of every day; we should
nevertheless, be nine years and forty-eight days in completing the
general survey.

But if the mere surface of the Earth eludes the grasp of the
imagination, what are we to think of its cubical contents? It embraces
a mass of matter equal in weight to at least two sextillions, two
hundred quintillions of tons. Let us suppose it in a state of
quiescence; and now let us endeavor to conceive a mechanical force
sufficient to set it in motion! Not the strength of all the myriads of
beings whom we may conclude to inhabit the planetary worlds of our
system, not the combined physical strength of all these beings--even
admitting all to be more powerful than man--would avail to stir the
ponderous mass a single inch from its position.

What are we to understand, then, of the force which, under similar
circumstances, would be required to move the largest of our planets,
Jupiter? This is 86,000 miles in diameter, and would include within
its surface more than a thousand orbs of the magnitude of our own. Yet
this stupendous body is actually flying around the Sun at the rate of
29,000 miles an hour--that is to say, with a velocity forty times
greater than that of a cannon-ball! The thought of such a phenomenon
cannot well be said to startle the mind; it palsies and appalls it.
Not unfrequently we task our imagination in picturing the capacities
of an angel. Let us fancy such a being at a distance of some hundred
miles from Jupiter, a close eye-witness of this planet as it speeds on
its annual revolution. Now can we, I demand, fashion for ourselves any
conception so distinct of this ideal being's spiritual exaltation, as
that involved in the supposition that, even by this immeasurable mass
of matter whirled immediately before his eyes, with a velocity so
unutterable, he--an angel--angelic though he be--is not at once struck
into nothingness and overwhelmed?

At this point, however, it seems proper to suggest that, in fact, we
have been speaking of comparative trifles. Our Sun--the central and
controlling orb of the system to which Jupiter belongs--is not only
greater than Jupiter, but greater by far than all the planets of the
system taken together. This fact is an essential condition, indeed, of
the stability of the system itself. The diameter of Jupiter has been
mentioned; it is 86,000 miles; that of the Sun is 882,000 miles. An
inhabitant of the latter, traveling ninetey miles a day, would be more
than eighty years in going round a great circle of its circumference.
It occupies a cubical space of 681 quadrillions, 472 trillions of
miles. The Moon, as has been stated, revolves about the Earth at a
distance of 237,000 miles--in an orbit, consequently, of nearly a
million and a half. Now, were the Sun placed upon the Earth, centre
over centre, the body of the former would extend, in every direction,
not only to the line of the Moon's orbit, but beyond it a distance of
200,000 miles.

And here, once again, let me suggest that, in fact, we have still been
speaking of comparative trifles. The distance of the planet Neptune
from the Sun has been stated; it is 28 hundred millions of miles; its
orbit, therefore, is about 17 billions. Let this be borne in mind
while we glance at some one of the brightest stars. Between this and
the star of our system (the Sun) there is a gulf of space, to convey
any idea of which we should need the tongue of an archangel. From our
system, then, and from our Sun, or star, the star at which we suppose
ourselves glancing is a thing altogether apart;--still, for the
moment, let us imagine it placed upon our Sun, centre over centre, as
we just now imagined this Sun itself placed upon the Earth. Let us now
conceive the particular star we have in mind, extending, in every
direction, beyond the orbit of Mercury--of Venus--of the Earth:--still
on, beyond the orbit of Mars--of the Asteroids--of Jupiter--of
Saturn--of Uranus--until, finally, we fancy it filling the circle,
seventeen billions of miles in circumference, which is described by
the revolution of Leverrier's planet. When we have conceived all this,
we shall have entertained no extravagant conception. There is the very
best reason for believing that many of the stars are even far larger
than the one we have imagined. I mean to say that we have the very
best empirical basis for such belief; and, in looking back at the
original, atomic arrangements for diversity, which have been assumed
as a part of the Divine plan in the constitution of the Universe, we
shall be enabled easily to understand, and to credit, the existence of
even far vaster disproportions in stellar size than any to which I
have hitherto alluded. The largest orbs, of course, we must expect to
find rolling through the widest vacancies of Space.

I remarked, just now, that, to convey an idea of the interval between
our Sun and any one of the other stars, we should require the
eloquence of an archangel. In so saying, I should not be accused of
exaggeration; for, in simple truth, these are topics on which it is
scarcely possible to exaggerate. But let us bring the matter more
distinctly before the eye of the mind.

In the first place, we may get a general, relative conception of the
interval referred to, by comparing it with the interplanetary spaces.
If, for example, we suppose the Earth, which is, in reality, ninety-
five millions of miles from the Sun, to be only one foot from that
luminary; then Neptune would be forty feet distant; and the star,
Alpha Lyrae, at the very least, one hundred and fifty-nine.

Now, I presume that, in the termination of my last sentence, few of my
readers have noticed anything especially objectionable--particularly
wrong. I said that the distance of the Earth from the Sun being taken
at one foot, the distance of Neptune would be forty feet, and that of
Alpha Lyrae one hundred and fifty-nine. The proportion between one
foot and one hundred and fifty-nine has appeared, perhaps, to convey a
sufficiently definite impression of the proportion between the two
intervals--that of the Earth from the Sun, and that of Alpha Lyrae
from the same luminary. But my account of the matter should, in
reality, have run thus:--The distance of the Earth from the Sun being
taken at one foot, the distance of Neptune would be forty feet, and
that of Alpha Lyrae one hundred and fifty-nine--miles; that is to say,
I had assigned to Alpha Lyrae, in my first statement of the case, only
the 5280th part of that distance which is the least distance possible
at which it can actually lie.

To proceed---However distant a mere planet is, yet when we look at it
through a telescope we see it under a certain form--of a certain
appreciable size. Now I have already hinted at the probable bulk of
many of the stars; nevertheless, when we view any one of them, even
through the most powerful telescope, it is found to present us with no
form, and consequently with no magnitude whatever. We see it as a
point and nothing more.

Again---Let us suppose ourselves walking, at night, on a highway. In a
field on one side of the road, is a line of tall objects, say trees,
the figures of which are distinctly defined against the background of
the sky. This line of objects extends at right angles to the road, and
from the road to the horizon. Now, as we proceed along the road, we
see these objects changing their positions, respectively, in relation
to a certain fixed point in that portion of the firmament which forms
the background of the view. Let us suppose this fixed point--
sufficiently fixed for our purpose--to be the rising moon. We become
aware, at once, that while the tree nearest us so far alters its
position, in respect to the moon, as to seem flying behind us, the
tree in the extreme distance has scarcely changed at all its relative
position with the satellite. We then go on to perceive that the
farther the objects are from us, the less they alter their positions;
and the converse. Then we begin, unwittingly, to estimate the
distances of individual trees by the degrees in which they evince the
relative alteration. Finally, we come to understand how it might be
possible to ascertain the actual distance of any given tree in the
line by using the amount of relative alteration as a basis in a simple
geometrical problem. Now, this relative alteration is what we call
"parallax;" and by parallax we calculate the distances of the heavenly
bodies. Applying the principle to the trees in question, we should, of
course, be very much at a loss to comprehend the distance of that
tree, which, however far we proceeded along the road, should evince no
parallax at all. This, in the case described, is a thing impossible;
but impossible only because all distances on our Earth are trivial
indeed; in comparison with the vast cosmical quantities, we may speak
of them as absolutely nothing.

Now, let us suppose the star Alpha Lyrae directly overhead; and let us
imagine that, instead of standing on the Earth, we stand at one end of
a straight road stretching through Space to a distance equalling the
diameter of the Earth's orbit--that is to say, to a distance of one
hundred and ninety millions of miles. Having observed, by means of the
most delicate micrometrical instruments, the exact position of the
star, let us now pass along this inconceivable road, until we reach
its other extremity. Now, once again, let us look at the star. It is
precisely where we left it. Our instruments, however delicate, assure
us that its relative position is absolutely--is identically the same,
as at the commencement of our unutterable journey. No parallax--none
whatever--has been found.

The fact is, that, in regard to the distance of the fixed stars--of
any one of the myriads of suns glistening on the farther side of that
awful chasm which separates our system from its brothers in the
cluster to which it belongs--astronomical science, until very lately,
could speak only with a negative certainty. Assuming the brightest as
the nearest, we could say, even of them, only that there is a certain
incomprehensible distance on the hither side of which they cannot be;
how far they are beyond it we had in no case been able to ascertain.
We perceived, for example, that Alpha Lyrae cannot be nearer to us
than 19 trillions, 200 billions of miles; but, for all we knew, and
indeed for all we now know, it may be distant from us the square, or
the cube, or any other power of the number mentioned. By dint,
however, of wonderfully minute and cautious observations, continued,
with novel instruments, for many laborious years, Bessel, not long ago
deceased, has lately succeeded in determining the distance of six or
seven stars; among others, that of the star numbered 61 in the
constellation of the Swan. The distance in this latter instance
ascertained, is 667,000 times that of the Sun; which last, it will be
remembered, is 95 millions of miles. The star 61 Cygni, then, is
nearly 64 trillions of miles from us--or more than three times the
distance assigned, as the least possible, for Alpha Lyrae.

In attempting to appreciate this interval by the aid of any
considerations of velocity, as we did in endeavoring to estimate the
distance of the Moon, we must leave out of sight, altogether, such
nothings as the speed of a cannon ball, or of sound. Light, however,
according to the latest calculations of Struve, proceeds at the rate
of 167,000 miles in a second. Thought itself cannot pass through this
interval more speedily--if, indeed, thought can traverse it at all.
Yet, in coming from 61 Cygni to us, even at this inconceivable rate,
light occupies more than ten years; and, consequently, were the star
this moment blotted out from the Universe, still, for ten years, would
it continue to sparkle on, undimmed in its paradoxical glory.

Keeping now in mind whatever feeble conception we may have attained of
the interval between our Sun and 61 Cygni, let us remember that this
interval, however unutterably vast, we are permitted to consider as
but the average interval among the countless host of stars composing
that cluster, or "nebula," to which our system, as well as that of 61
Cygni, belongs. I have, in fact, stated the case with great
moderation;--we have excellent reason for believing 61 Cygni to be one
of the nearest stars, and thus for concluding, at least for the
present, that its distance from us is less than the average distance
between star and star in the magnificent cluster of the Milky Way.

And here, once again and finally, it seems proper to suggest that even
as yet we have been speaking of trifles. Ceasing to wonder at the
space between star and star in our own or in any particular cluster,
let us rather turn our thoughts to the intervals between cluster and
cluster, in the all comprehensive cluster of the Universe.

I have already said that light proceeds at the rate of 167,000 miles
in a second--that is, about 10 millions of miles in a minute, or about
600 millions of miles in an hour; yet so far removed from us are some
of the "nebulae" that even light, speeding with this velocity, could
not and does not reach us, from those mysterious regions, in less than
3 millions of years. This calculation, moreover, is made by the elder
Herschel, and in reference merely to those comparatively proximate
clusters within the scope of his own telescope. There are "nebulae,"
however, which, through the magical tube of Lord Rosse, are this
instant whispering in our ears the secrets of a million of ages
bygone. In a word, the events which we behold now--at this moment--in
those worlds--are the identical events which interested their
inhabitants ten hundred thousand centuries ago. In intervals, in
distances, such as this suggestion forces upon the soul rather than
upon the mind, we find, at length, a fitting climax to all hitherto
frivolous considerations of quantity.

Our fancies thus occupied with the cosmical distances, let us take the
opportunity of referring to the difficulty which we have so often
experienced, while pursuing the beaten path of astronomical
reflection, in accounting for the immeasurable voids alluded to; in
comprehending why chasms so totally unoccupied and therefore
apparently so needless, have been made to intervene between star and
star, between cluster and cluster; in understanding, to be brief, a
sufficient reason for the Titanic scale, in respect of mere Space, on
which the Universe of Stars is seen to be constructed. A rational
cause for the phenomenon, I maintain that Astronomy has palpably
failed to assign; but the considerations through which, in this essay,
we have proceeded step by step, enable us clearly and immediately to
perceive that Space and Duration are one. That the Universe might
endure throughout an aera at all commensurate with the grandeur of its
component material portions and with the high majesty of its spiritual
purposes, it was necessary that the original atomic diffusion be made
to so inconceivable an extent as to be only not infinite. It was
required, in a word, that the stars should be gathered into visibility
from invisible nebulosity--proceed from visibility to consolidation--
and so grow gray in giving birth and death to unspeakably numerous and
complex variations of vitalic development; it was required that the
stars should do all this--should have time thoroughly to accomplish
all these Divine purposes--during the period in which all things were
effecting their return into Unity with a velocity accumulating in the
inverse proportion of the squares of the distances at which lay the
inevitable End.

Throughout all this we have no difficulty in understanding the
absolute accuracy of the Divine adaptation. The density of the stars,
respectively, proceeds, of course, as their condensation diminishes;
condensation and heterogeneity keep pace with each other; through the
latter, which is the index of the former, we estimate the vitallic and
spiritual development. Thus, in the density of the globes, we have the
measure in which their purposes are fulfilled. As density proceeds--as
the divine intentions are accomplished--as less and still less remains
to be accomplished--so, in the same ratio, should we expect to find an
acceleration of the End.--and thus the philosophical mind will easily
comprehend that the Divine designs in constituting the stars, advance
mathematically to their fulfilment;--and more, it will readily give
the advance a mathematical expression; it will decide that this
advance is inversely proportional with the squares of the distances of
all created things from the starting-point and goal of their creation.

Not only is this Divine adaptation, however, mathematically accurate,
but there is that about it which stamps it as Divine, in distinction
from that which is merely the work of human constructiveness. I allude
to the complete mutuality of adaptation. For example, in human
constructions a particular cause has a particular effect; a particular
intention brings to pass a particular object, but this is all; we see
no reciprocity. The effect does not react upon the cause; the
intention does not change relations with the object. In Divine
constructions the object is either design or object as we choose to
regard it--and we may take at any time a cause for an effect, or the
converse--so that we can never absolutely decide which is which.

To give an instance:--In polar climates the human frame, to maintain
its animal heat, requires, for combustion in the capillary system, an
abundant supply of highly azotized food, such as train-oil. But
again--in polar climates nearly the sole food afforded man is the oil
of abundant seals and whales. Now, whether is oil at hand because
imperatively demanded, or the only thing demanded because the only
thing to be obtained? It is impossible to decide. There is an absolute
reciprocity of adaptation.

The pleasure which we derive from any display of human ingenuity is in
the ratio of the approach to this species of reciprocity. In the
construction of plot, for example, in fictitious literature, we should
aim at so arranging the incidents that we shall not be able to
determine, of any one of them, whether it depends from any one other
or upholds it. In this sense, of course, perfection of plot, is
really, or practically, unattainable--but only because it is a finite
intelligence that constructs. The plots of God are perfect. The
Universe is a plot of God.

And now we have reached a point at which the intellect is forced,
again, to struggle against its propensity for analogical inference--
against its monomaniac grasping at the infinite. Moons have been seen
revolving about planets; planets about stars; and the poetical
instinct of humanity--its instinct of the symmetrical, even if the
symmetry be but a symmetry of surface--this instinct, which the Soul,
not only of Man but of all created beings, took up, in the beginning,
from the geometrical basis of the Universal irradiation--impels us to
the fancy of an endless extension of this system of cycles. Closing
our eyes equally to deduction and induction, we insist upon imagining
a revolution of all the orbs of the Galaxy about some gigantic globe
which we take to be the central pivot of the whole. Each cluster in
the great cluster of clusters is imagined, of course, to be similarly
supplied and constructed; while, that the "analogy" may be wanting at
no point, we go on to conceive these clusters themselves, again, as
revolving about some still more august sphere;--this latter, still
again, with its encircling clusters, as but one of a yet more
magnificent series of agglomerations, gyrating about yet another orb
central to them--some orb still more unspeakably sublime--some orb,
let us rather say, of infinite sublimity endlessly multiplied by the
infinitely sublime. Such are the conditions, continued in perpetuity,
which the voice of what some people term "analogy" calls upon the
Fancy to depict and the Reason to contemplate, if possible, without
becoming dissatisfied with the picture. Such, in general, are the
interminable gyrations beyond gyration which we have been instructed
by Philosophy to comprehend and to account for--at least in the best
manner we can. Now and then, however, a philosopher proper--one whose
frenzy takes a very determinate turn--whose genius, to speak more
reverentially, has a strongly-pronounced washer-womanish bias, doing
everything up by the dozen--enables us to see precisely that point out
of sight, at which the revolutionary processes in question do, and of
right ought to, come to an end.

It is hardly worth while, perhaps, even to sneer at the reveries of
Fourrier; but much has been said, latterly, of the hypothesis of
Madler--that there exists, in the centre of the Galaxy, a stupendous
globe about which all the systems of the cluster revolve. The period
of our own, indeed, has been stated--117 millions of years.

That our Sun has a motion in space, independently of its rotation, and
revolution about the system's centre of gravity, has long been
suspected. This motion, granting it to exist, would be manifested
perspectively. The stars in that firmamental region which we were
leaving behind us, would, in a very long series of years, become
crowded; those in the opposite quarter, scattered. Now, by means of
astronomical History, we ascertain, cloudily, that some such phenomena
have occurred. On this ground it has been declared that our system is
moving to a point in the heavens diametrically opposite the star Zeta
Herculis; but this inference is, perhaps, the maximum to which we have
any logical right. Madler, however, has gone so far as to designate a
particular star, Alcyone in the Pleiades, as being at or about the
very spot around which a general revolution is performed.

Now, since by "analogy" we are led, in the first instance, to these
dreams, it is no more than proper that we should abide by analogy, at
least in some measure, during their development; and that analogy,
which suggests the revolution, suggests at the same time a central orb
about which it should be performed; so far the astronomer was
consistent. This central orb, however, should, dynamically, be greater
than all the orbs, taken together, which surround it. Of these there
are about 100 millions. "Why, then," it was of course demanded, "do we
not see this vast central sun--at least equal in mass to 100 millions
of such suns as ours; why do we not see it--we, especially, who occupy
the mid region of the cluster, the very locality near which, at all
events, must be situated this incomparable star?" The reply was
ready--"It must be non-luminous, as are our planets." Here, then, to
suit a purpose, analogy is suddenly let fall. "Not so," it may be
said, "we know that non-luminous suns actually exist." It is true that
we have reason at least for supposing so; but we have certainly no
reason whatever for supposing that the non-luminous suns in question
are encircled by luminous suns, while these again are surrounded by
non-luminous planets; and it is precisely all this with which Madler
is called upon to find anything analogous in the heavens--for it is
precisely all this which he imagines in the case of the Galaxy.
Admitting the thing to be so, we cannot help here picturing to
ourselves how sad a puzzle the why is it so must prove to all a priori
philosophers.

But granting, in the very teeth of analogy and of everything else, the
non-luminosity of the vast central orb, we may still inquire how this
orb, so enormous, could fail of being rendered visible by the flood of
light thrown upon it from the 100 millions of glorious suns glaring in
all directions about it. On the urging of this question, the idea of
an actually solid central sun appears, in some measure, to have been
abandoned; and speculation proceeded to assert that the systems of the
cluster perform their revolutions merely about an immaterial centre of
gravity common to all. Here again, then, to suit a purpose, analogy is
let fall. The planets of our system revolve, it is true, about a
common centre of gravity; but they do this in connection with, and in
consequence of, a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances
the rest of the system.

The mathematical circle is a curve composed of an infinity of straight
lines. But this idea of the circle--an idea which in view of all
ordinary geometry, is merely the mathematical, as contra-distinguished
from the practical, idea--is, in sober fact, the practical conception
which alone we have any right to entertain in regard to the majestic
circle with which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose
our system revolving about a point in the centre of the Galaxy. Let
the most vigorous of human imaginations attempt but to take a single
step towards the comprehension of a sweep so ineffable! It would
scarcely be paradoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself,
travelling forever upon the circumference of this unutterable circle,
would still, forever, be travelling in a straight line. That the path
of our Sun in such an orbit would, to any human perception, deviate in
the slightest degree from a straight line, even in a million of years,
is a proposition not to be entertained; yet we are required to believe
that a curvature has become apparent during the brief period of our
astronomical history--during a mere point--during the utter
nothingness of two or three thousand years.

It may be said that Madler has really ascertained a curvature in the
direction of our system's now well-established progress through Space.
Admitting, if necessary, this fact to be in reality such, I maintain
that nothing is thereby shown except the reality of this fact--the
fact of a curvature. For its thorough determination, ages will be
required; and, when determined, it will be found indicative of some
binary or other multiple relation between our Sun and some one or more
of the proximate stars. I hazard nothing, however, in predicting that,
after the lapse of many centuries, all efforts at determining the path
of our sun through Space will be abandoned as fruitless. This is
easily conceivable when we look at the infinity of perturbation it
must experience from its perpetually-shifting relations with other
orbs, in the common approach of all to the nucleus of the Galaxy.

But in examining other "nebulae" than that of the Milky Way--in
surveying, generally, the clusters which overspread the heavens--do we
or do we not find confirmation of Madler's hypothesis? We do not. The
forms of the clusters are exceedingly diverse when casually viewed;
but on close inspection, through powerful telescopes, we recognize the
sphere, very distinctly, as at least the proximate form of all; their
constitution, in general, being at variance with the idea of
revolution about a common centre.

"It is difficult," says Sir John Herschel, "to form any conception of
the dynamical state of such systems. On one hand, without a rotary
motion and a centrifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard
them as in a state of progressive collapse. On the other, granting
such a motion and such a force, we find it no less difficult to
reconcile their forms with the rotation of the whole system [meaning
cluster] around any single axis, without which internal collision
would appear to be inevitable."

Some remarks lately made about the "nebulae" by Dr. Nichol, in taking
quite a different view of the cosmical conditions from any taken in
this Discourse, have a very peculiar applicability to the point now at
issue. He says:

"When our greatest telescopes are brought to bear upon them, we find
that those which were thought to be irregular are not so; they
approach nearer to a globe. Here is one that looked oval; but Lord
Rosse's telescope brought it into a circle. . . . Now there occurs a
very remarkable circumstance in reference to these comparatively
sweeping circular masses of nebulae. We find they are not entirely
circular, but the reverse; and that all around them, on every side,
there are volumes of stars, stretching out apparently as if they were
rushing towards a great central mass in consequence of the action of
some great power." (*)

[* I must be understood as denying, especially, only the
revolutionary portion of Madler's hypothesis. Of course, if no great
central orb exists now in our cluster, such will exist hereafter.
Whenever existing, it will be merely the nucleus of the consolidation.]

Were I to describe, in my own words, what must necessarily be the
existing condition of each nebula, on the hypothesis that all matter
is, as I suggest, now returning to its original Unity, I should simply
be going over, nearly verbatim, the language here employed by Dr.
Nichol, without the faintest suspicion of that stupendous truth which
is the key to these nebular phenomena.

And here let me fortify my position still farther, by the voice of a
greater than Madler; of one, moreover, to whom all the data of Madler
have long been familiar things, carefully and thoroughly considered.
Referring to the elaborate calculations of Argelander--the very
researches which form Madler's basis--Humboldt, whose generalizing
powers have never, perhaps been equalled, has the following
observation:

"When we regard the real, proper, or non-perspective motions of the
stars, we find many groups of them moving in opposite directions; and
the data as yet in hand render it not necessary, at least, to conceive
that the systems composing the Milky Way, or the clusters, generally,
composing the Universe, are revolving about any particular centre
unknown, whether luminous or non-luminous. It is but Man's longing for
a fundamental First Cause, that impels both his intellect and fancy to
the adoption of such an hypothesis." (*)

[* Betrachtet man die nicht perspectivischen eigenen Bewegungen der
Sterne, so scheinen viele gruppenweise in ihrer Richtung
entgegengesetzt; und die bisher gesammelten Thatsachen machen es auf's
wenigste nicht nothwendig anzunehmen, dass alle Theile unserer
Sternenschicht oder gar der gesammten Sterneninseln, welche den
Weltraum fullen, sich um einen grossen, unbekannten, leuchtenden oder
dunkeln Centralkorper bewegen. Das Streben nach den letzten und
hochsten Grundursachen macht freilich die reflectirende Thatigkeit des
Menschen, wie seine Phantasie, zu einer solchen Annahme geneigt.]

The phenomenon here alluded to--that of "many groups moving in
opposite directions"--is quite inexplicable by Madler's idea; but
arises, as a necessary consequence, from that which forms the basis of
this Discourse. While the merely general direction of each atom--of
each moon, planet, star, or cluster--would, on my hypothesis, be, of
course, absolutely rectilinear, while the general path of all bodies
would be a right line leading to the centre of all; it is clear,
nevertheless, that this general rectilinearity would be compounded of
what, with scarcely any exaggeration, we may term an infinity of
particular curves--an infinity of local deviations from
rectilinearity--the result of continuous differences of relative
position among the multitudinous masses, as each proceeds on its own
proper journey to the End.

I quoted, just now, from Sir John Herschel, the following words, used
in reference to the clusters:--"On one hand, without a rotary motion
and a centrifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard them as
in a state of progressive collapse." The fact is, that, in surveying
the "nebulae" with a telescope of high power, we shall find it quite
impossible, having once conceived this idea of "collapse," not to
gather, at all points, corroboration of the idea. A nucleus is always
apparent, in the direction of which the stars seem to be precipitating
themselves; nor can these nuclei be mistaken for merely perspective
phenomena--the clusters are really denser near the centre, sparser in
the regions more remote from it. In a word, we see everything as we
should see it were a collapse taking place; but, in general, it may be
said of these clusters that we can fairly entertain, while looking at
them, the idea of orbitual movement about a centre, only by admitting
the possible existence, in the distant domains of space, of dynamical
laws with which we are unacquainted.

On the part of Herschel, however, there is evidently a reluctance to
regard the nebulae as in "a state of progressive collapse." But if
facts--if even appearances justify the supposition of their being in
this state, why, it may well be demanded, is he disinclined to admit
it? Simply on account of a prejudice; merely because the supposition
is at war with a preconceived and utterly baseless notion--that of the
endlessness, that of the eternal stability of the Universe.

If the propositions of this Discourse are tenable, the "state of
progressive collapse" is precisely that state in which alone we are
warranted in considering All Things; and, with due humility, let me
here confess that, for my part, I am at a loss to conceive how any
other understanding of the existing condition of affairs could ever
have made its way into the human brain. "The tendency to collapse" and
"the attraction of gravitation" are convertible phrases. In using
either, we speak of the reaction of the First Act. Never was necessity
less obvious than that of supposing Matter imbued with an ineradicable
quality forming part of its material nature--a quality, or instinct,
forever inseparable from it, and by dint of which inalienable
principle every atom is perpetually impelled to seek its fellow-atom.
Never was necessity less obvious than that of entertaining this
unphilosophical idea. Going boldly behind the vulgar thought, we have
to conceive, metaphysically, that the gravitating principle appertains
to Matter temporarily; only while diffused; only while existing as
Many instead of as One; appertains to it by virtue of its state of
irradiation alone; appertains, in a word, altogether to its condition,
and not in the slightest degree to itself. In this view, when the
irradiation shall have returned into its source--when the reaction
shall be completed--the gravitating principle will no longer exist.
And, in fact, astronomers, without at any time reaching the idea here
suggested, seem to have been approximating it, in the assertion that
"if there were but one body in the universe, it would be impossible to
understand how the principle, Gravity, could obtain;" that is to say,
from a consideration of Matter as they find it, they reach a
conclusion at which I deductively arrive. That so pregnant a
suggestion as the one quoted should have been permitted to remain so
long unfruitful, is, nevertheless, a mystery which I find it difficult
to fathom.

It is, perhaps, in no little degree, however, our propensity for the
continuous--for the analogical--in the present case more particularly
for the symmetrical--which has been leading us astray. And, in fact,
the sense of the symmetrical is an instinct which may be depended on
with an almost blindfold reliance. It is the poetical essence of the
Universe--of the Universe which, in the supremeness of its symmetry,
is but the most sublime of poems. Now, symmetry and consistency are
convertible terms; thus Poetry and Truth are one. A thing is
consistent in the ratio of its truth, true in the ratio of its
consistency. A perfect consistency, I repeat, can be nothing but a
absolute truth. We may take it for granted, then, that Man cannot long
or widely err, if he suffer himself to be guided by his poetical,
which I have maintained to be his truthful, in being his symmetrical,
instinct. He must have a care, however, lest, in pursuing too
heedlessly the superficial symmetry of forms and motions, he leave out
of sight the really essential symmetry of the principles which
determine and control them.

That the stellar bodies would finally be merged in one--that, at last,
all would be drawn into the substance of one stupendous central orb
already existing--is an idea which, for some time past, seems, vaguely
and indeterminately, to have held possession of the fancy of mankind.
It is an idea, in fact, which belongs to the class of the excessively
obvious. It springs, instantly, from a superficial observation of the
cyclic and seemingly gyrating or vorticial movements of those
individual portions of the Universe which come most immediately and
most closely under our observation. There is not, perhaps, a human
being, of ordinary education and of average reflective capacity, to
whom, at some period, the fancy in question has not occurred, as if
spontaneously, or intuitively, and wearing all the character of a very
profound and very original conception. This conception, however, so
commonly entertained, has never, within my knowledge, arisen out of
any abstract considerations. Being, on the contrary, always suggested,
as I say, by the vorticial movements about centres, a reason for it,
also--a cause for the ingathering of all the orbs into one, imagined
to be already existing--was naturally sought in the same direction,
among these cyclic movements themselves.

Thus it happened that, on announcement of the gradual and perfectly
regular decrease observed in the orbit of Encke's comet, at every
successive revolution about our Sun, astronomers were nearly unanimous
in the opinion that the cause in question was found; that a principle
was discovered sufficient to account, physically, for that final,
universal agglomeration which, I repeat, the analogical, symmetrical,
or poetical instinct of man had pre-determined to understand as
something more than a simple hypothesis.

This cause, this sufficient reason for the final ingathering, was
declared to exist in an exceedingly rare but still material medium
pervading space; which medium, by retarding, in some degree, the
progress of the comet, perpetually weakened its tangential force; thus
giving a predominance to the centripetal; which, of course, drew the
comet nearer and nearer at each revolution, and would eventually
precipitate it upon the Sun.

All this was strictly logical--admitting the medium or ether; but this
ether was assumed, most illogically, on the ground that no other mode
than the one spoken of could be discovered, of accounting for the
observed decrease in the orbit of the comet; as if from the fact that
we could discover no other mode of accounting for it, it followed, in
any respect, that no other mode of accounting for it existed. It is
clear that innumerable causes might operate, in combination, to
diminish the orbit, without even a possibility of our ever becoming
acquainted with one of them. In the mean time, it has never been
fairly shown, perhaps, why the retardation occasioned by the skirts of
the Sun's atmosphere, through which the comet passes at perihelion, is
not enough to account for the phenomenon. That Encke's comet will be
absorbed into the Sun, is probable; that all the comets of the system
will be absorbed, is more than merely possible; but, in such case, the
principle of absorption must be referred to eccentricity of orbit--to
the close approximation to the Sun, of the comets at their perihelia;
and is a principle not affecting, in any degree, the ponderous
spheres, which are to be regarded as the true material constituents of
the Universe. Touching comets in general, let me here suggest, in
passing, that we cannot be far wrong in looking upon them as the
lightning-flashes of the cosmical Heaven.

The idea of a retarding ether and, through it, of a final
agglomeration of all things, seemed at one time, however, to be
confirmed by the observation of a positive decrease in the orbit of
the solid Moon. By reference to eclipses recorded 2500 years ago, it
was found that the velocity of the satellite's revolution then was
considerably less than it is now; that on the hypothesis that its
motion in its orbit is uniformly in accordance with Kepler's law, and
was accurately determined then--2500 years ago--it is now in advance
of the position it should occupy, by nearly nine thousand miles. The
increase of velocity proved, of course, a diminution of orbit; and
astronomers were fast yielding to a belief in an ether, as the sole
mode of accounting for the phenomenon, when Lagrange came to the
rescue. He showed that, owing to the configurations of the spheroids,
the shorter axes of their ellipses are subject to variation in length;
the longer axes being permanent; and that this variation is continuous
and vibratory--so that every orbit is in a state of transition, either
from circle to ellipse, or from ellipse to circle. In the case of the
Moon, where the shorter axis is decreasing, the orbit is passing from
circle to ellipse, and, consequently, is decreasing too; but, after a
long series of ages, the ultimate eccentricity will be attained; then
the shorter axis will proceed to increase, until the orbit becomes a
circle; when the process of shortening will again take place;--and so
on forever. In the case of the Earth, the orbit is passing from
ellipse to circle. The facts thus demonstrated do away, of course,
with all necessity for supposing an ether, and with all apprehension
of the system's instability on the ether's account.

It will be remembered that I have myself assumed what we may term an
ether. I have spoken of a subtle influence which we know to be ever in
attendance on matter, although becoming manifest only through matter's
heterogeneity. To this influence--without daring to touch it at all in
any effort at explaining its awful nature--I have referred the various
phenomena of electricity, heat, light, magnetism; and more--of
vitality, consciousness, and thought--in a word, of spirituality. It
will be seen, at once, then, that the ether thus conceived is
radically distinct from the ether of the astronomers; inasmuch as
theirs is matter and mine not.

With the idea of material ether, seems, thus, to have departed
altogether the thought of that universal agglomeration so long
predetermined by the poetical fancy of mankind; an agglomeration in
which a sound Philosophy might have been warranted in putting faith,
at least to a certain extent, if for no other reason than that by this
poetical fancy it had been so predetermined. But so far as Astronomy,
so far as mere Physics, have yet spoken, the cycles of the Universe
are perpetual--the Universe has no conceivable end. Had an end been
demonstrated, however, from so purely collateral a cause as an ether,
Man's instinct of the Divine capacity to adapt would have rebelled
against the demonstration. We should have been forced to regard the
Universe with some such sense of dissatisfaction as we experience in
contemplating an unnecessarily complex work of human art. Creation
would have affected us as an imperfect plot in a romance, where the
denoument is awkwardly brought about by interposed incidents external
and foreign to the main subject; instead of springing out of the bosom
of the thesis--out of the heart of the ruling idea--instead of arising
as a result of the primary proposition, as inseparable and inevitable
part and parcel of the fundamental conception of the book.

What I mean by the symmetry of mere surface will now be more clearly
understood. It is simply by the blandishment of this symmetry that we
have been beguiled into the general idea of which Madler's hypothesis
is but a part--the idea of the vorticial indrawing of the orbs.
Dismissing this nakedly physical conception, the symmetry of principle
sees the end of all things metaphysically involved in the thought of a
beginning; seeks and finds, in this origin of all things, the rudiment
of this end; and perceives the impiety of supposing this end likely to
be brought about less simply, less directly, less obviously, less
artistically than through the reaction of the originating Act.

Recurring, then, to a previous suggestion, let us understand the
systems--let us understand each star, with its attendant planets--as
but a Titanic atom existing in space with precisely the same
inclination for Unity which characterized, in the beginning, the
actual atoms after their irradiation throughout the Universal sphere.
As these original atoms rushed towards each other in generally
straight lines, so let us conceive as at least generally rectilinear
the paths of the system-atoms towards their respective centres of
aggregation; and in this direct drawing together of the systems into
clusters, with a similar and simultaneous drawing together of the
clusters themselves while undergoing consolidation, we have at length
attained the great Now--the awful Present--the Existing Condition of
the Universe.

Of the still more awful Future a not irrational analogy may guide us
in framing an hypothesis. The equilibrium between the centripetal and
centrifugal forces of each system, being necessarily destroyed on
attainment of a certain proximity to the nucleus of the cluster to
which it belongs, there must occur, at once, a chaotic or seemingly
chaotic precipitation, of the moons upon the planets, of the planets
upon the suns, and of the suns upon the nuclei; and the general result
of this precipitation must be the gathering of the myriad now-existing
stars of the firmament into an almost infinitely less number of almost
infinitely superior spheres. In being immeasurably fewer, the worlds
of that day will be immeasurably greater than our own. Then, indeed,
amid unfathomable abysses, will be glaring unimaginable suns. But all
this will be merely a climacic magnificence foreboding the great End.
Of this End the new genesis described can be but a very partial
postponement. While undergoing consolidation, the clusters themselves,
with a speed prodigiously accumulative, have been rushing towards
their own general centre--and now, with a thousand-fold electric
velocity, commensurate only with their material grandeur and with
their spiritual passion for oneness, the majestic remnants of the
tribe of Stars flash, at length, into a common embrace. The inevitable
catastrophe is at hand.

But this catastrophe--what is it? We have seen accomplished the
ingathering of the orbs. Henceforward, are we not to understand one
material globe of globes as comprehending and constituting the
Universe? Such a fancy would be altogether at war with every
assumption and consideration of this Discourse.

I have already alluded to that absolute reciprocity of adaptation
which is the idiosyncrasy of the Divine Art--stamping it divine. Up to
this point of our reflections, we have been regarding the electrical
influence as a something by dint of whose repulsion alone Matter is
enabled to exist in that state of diffusion demanded for the
fulfilment of its purposes; so far, in a word, we have been
considering the influence in question as ordained for Matter's sake--
to subserve the objects of matter. With a perfectly legitimate
reciprocity, we are now permitted to look at Matter, as created solely
for the sake of this influence--solely to serve the objects of this
spiritual Ether. Through the aid, by the means, through the agency, of
Matter, and by dint of its heterogeneity, is this Ether manifested--is
Spirit individualized. It is merely in the development of this Ether,
through heterogeneity, that particular masses of Matter become
animate--sensitive--and in the ratio of their heterogeneity; some
reaching a degree of sensitiveness involving what we call Thought, and
thus attaining obviously Conscious Intelligence.

In this view, we are enabled to perceive Matter as a Means, not as an
End. Its purposes are thus seen to have been comprehended in its
diffusion; and with the return into Unity these purposes cease. The
absolutely consolidated globe of globes would be objectless; therefore
not for a moment could it continue to exist. Matter, created for an
end, would unquestionably, on fulfilment of that end, be Matter no
longer. Let us endeavor to understand that it would disappear, and
that God would remain all in all.

That every work of Divine conception must coexist and coexpire with
its particular design, seems to me especially obvious; and I make no
doubt that, on perceiving the final globe of globes to be objectless,
the majority of my readers will be satisfied with my "therefore it
cannot continue to exist." Nevertheless, as the startling thought of
its instantaneous disappearance is one which the most powerful
intellect cannot be expected readily to entertain on grounds so
decidedly abstract, let us endeavor to look at the idea from some
other and more ordinary point of view; let us see how thoroughly and
beautifully it is corroborated in an a posteriori consideration of
Matter as we actually find it.

I have before said that "Attraction and Repulsion being undeniably the
sole properties by which Matter is manifested to Mind, we are
justified in assuming that Matter exists only as Attraction and
Repulsion; in other words, that Attraction and Repulsion are Matter;
there being no conceivable case in which we may not employ the term
'Matter' and the terms 'Attraction' and 'Repulsion' taken together, as
equivalent, and therefore convertible, expressions of Logic."*

Now the very definition of Attraction implies particularity--the
existence of parts, particles, or atoms; for we define it as the
tendency of "each atom, etc., to every other atom," etc., according to
a certain law. Of course where there are no parts, where there is
absolute Unity, where the tendency to oneness is satisfied, there can
be no Attraction;--this has been fully shown, and all Philosophy
admits it. When, on fulfilment of its purposes, then, Matter shall
have returned into its original condition of One--a condition which
presupposes the expulsion of the separative Ether, whose province and
whose capacity are limited to keeping the atoms apart until that great
day when, this Ether being no longer needed, the overwhelming pressure
of the finally collective Attraction shall at length just sufficiently
predominate and expel it--when, I say, Matter, finally, expelling the
Ether, shall have returned into absolute Unity, it will then (to speak
paradoxically for the moment) be Matter without Attraction and without
Repulsion--in other words, Matter without Matter--in other words,
again, Matter no more. In sinking into Unity it will sink at once into
that Nothingness which, to all finite perception, Unity must be, into
that Material Nihility from which alone we can conceive it to have
been evoked, to have been created, by the Volition of God.

I repeat, then--Let us endeavor to comprehend that the final globe of
globes will instantaneously disappear, and that God will remain all in
all.

But are we here to pause? Not so. On the Universal agglomeration and
dissolution, we can readily conceive that a new and perhaps totally
different series of conditions may ensue--another creation and
irradiation, returning into itself--another action and reaction of the
Divine Will. Guiding our imaginations by that omniprevalent law of
laws, the law of periodicity, are we not, indeed, more than justified
in entertaining a belief--let us say, rather, in indulging a hope--
that the processes we have here ventured to contemplate will be
renewed forever, and forever, and forever; a novel Universe swelling
into existence, and then subsiding into nothingness, at every throb of
the Heart Divine?

And now--this Heart Divine--what is it? It is our own.

Let not the merely seeming irreverence of this idea frighten our souls
from that cool exercise of consciousness, from that deep tranquillity
of self-inspection, through which alone we can hope to attain the
presence of this, the most sublime of truths, and look it leisurely in
the face.

The phenomena on which our conclusions must at this point depend are
merely spiritual shadows, but not the less thoroughly substantial.

We walk about, amid the destinies of our world-existence, encompassed
by dim but ever present Memories of a Destiny more vast--very distant
in the bygone time, and infinitely awful.

We live out a Youth peculiarly haunted by such shadows; yet never
mistaking them for dreams. As Memories we know them. During our Youth
the distinction is too clear to deceive us even for a moment.

So long as this Youth endures, the feeling that we exist is the most
natural of all feelings. We understand it thoroughly. That there was a
period at which we did not exist--or, that it might so have happened
that we never had existed at all--are the considerations, indeed,
which, during this Youth, we find difficulty in understanding. Why we
should not exist, is, up to the epoch of Manhood, of all queries the
most unanswerable. Existence--self-existence--existence from all Time
and to all Eternity--seems, up to the epoch of Manhood, a normal and
unquestionable condition; seems, because it is.

But now comes the period at which a conventional World-Reason awakens
us from the truth of our dream. Doubt, Surprise, and
Incomprehensibility arrive at the same moment. They say:--"You live,
and the time was when you lived not. You have been created. An
Intelligence exists greater than your own; and it is only through this
Intelligence you live at all." These things we struggle to comprehend
and cannot;--cannot, because these things, being untrue, are thus, of
necessity, incomprehensible.

No thinking being lives who, at some luminous point of his life of
thought, has not felt himself lost amid the surges of futile efforts
at understanding or believing that anything exists greater than his
own soul. The utter impossibility of any one's soul feeling itself
inferior to another; the intense, overwhelming dissatisfaction and
rebellion at the thought; these, with the omniprevalent aspirations at
perfection, are but the spiritual, coincident with the material,
struggles towards the original Unity; are, to my mind at least, a
species of proof far surpassing what Man terms demonstration, that no
one soul is inferior to another; that nothing is, or can be, superior
to any one soul; that each soul is, in part, its own God--its own
Creator;--in a word, that God--the material and spiritual God--now
exists solely in the diffused Matter and Spirit of the Universe; and
that the regathering of this diffused Matter and Spirit will be but
the re-constitution of the purely Spiritual and Individual God.

In this view, and in this view alone, we comprehend the riddles of
Divine Injustice--of Inexorable Fate. In this view alone the existence
of Evil becomes intelligible; but in this view it becomes more--it
becomes endurable. Our souls no longer rebel at a Sorrow which we
ourselves have imposed upon ourselves, in furtherance of our own
purposes--with a view, if even with a futile view--to the extension of
our own Joy.

I have spoken of Memories that haunt us during our Youth. They
sometimes pursue us even into our Manhood; assume gradually less and
less indefinite shapes; now and then speak to us with low voices,
saying:--

"There was an epoch in the Night of Time, when a still-existent Being
existed--one of an absolutely infinite number of similar Beings that
people the absolutely infinite domains of the absolutely infinite
space. It was not and is not in the power of this Being--any more than
it is in your own--to extend, by actual increase, the joy of His
Existence; but just as it is in your power to expand or to concentrate
your pleasures (the absolute amount of happiness remaining always the
same), so did and does a similar capability appertain to this Divine
Being, who thus passes his Eternity in perpetual variation of
Concentrated Self and almost Infinite Self-Diffusion. What you call
the Universe of Stars is but His present expansive existence. He now
feels his life through an infinity of imperfect pleasures; the partial
and pain-intertangled pleasures of those inconceivably numerous things
which you designate as His creatures, but which are really but
infinite individualizations of Himself. All these creatures--all--
those which you term animate, as well as those to which you deny life
for no better reason than that you do not behold it in operation--all
these creatures have, in a greater or less degree, a capacity for
pleasure and for pain; but the general sum of their sensations is
precisely that amount of Happiness which appertains by right to the
Divine Being when concentrated within Himself. These creatures are
all, too, more or less conscious Intelligences; conscious, first, of a
proper identity; conscious, secondly, and by faint indeterminate
glimpses, of an identity with the Divine Being of whom we speak--of an
identity with God. Of the two classes of consciousness, fancy that the
former will grow weaker, the latter stronger, during the long
succession of ages which must elapse before these myriads of
individual Intelligences become blended--when the bright stars become
blended--into One. Think that the sense of individual identity will be
gradually merged in the general consciousness; that Man, for example,
ceasing imperceptibly to feel himself Man, will at length attain that
awfully triumphant epoch when he shall recognize his existence as that
of Jehovah. In the meantime bear in mind that all is Life--Life--Life
within Life--the less within the greater, and all within the Spirit
Divine.



THE END





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