Chapter 2

Chapter 23,849 wordsPublic domain

Printed by ROGER DANIEL, Printer to the UNIVERSITIE. 1646.

To the Reader.

READER,

_If thou standest not to the judgement of thine eye more then of thy reason, this fragment may passe favourably, though in the neglectfull disguise of a fragment; if the strangenesse of the argument prove no hinderance. INFINITIE of WORLDS! A thing monstrous if assented to, and to be startled at, especially by them, whose thoughts this one have alwayes so engaged, that they can find no leisure to think of any thing else. But I onely make a bare proposall to more acute judgements, of what my sportfull fancie, with pleasure hath suggested: following my old designe of furnishing mens minds with varietie of apprehensions concerning the most weightie points of Philosophie, that they may not seem rashly to have settled in the truth, though it be the truth: a thing as ill beseeming Philosophers, as hastie prejudicative sentence Politicall Judges. But if I had relinquishd here my wonted self, in proving Dogmaticall, I should have found very noble Patronage for the cause among the ancients, =Epicurus=, =Democritus=, =Lucretius=, =&c.= Or if justice may reach the dead, do them the right, as to shew, that though they be hooted at, by the Rout of the learned, as men of monstrous conceits, they were either very wise or exceeding fortunate to light on so probable and specious an opinion, in which notwithstanding there is so much difficultie and seeming inconsistencie._

_Nay and that sublime and subtil Mechanick too, =DesChartes=, though he seem to mince it must hold infinitude of worlds, or which is as harsh one infinite one. For what is his =mundus indefinitè extensus=, but =extensus infinitè=? Else it sounds onely =infinitus quoad nos= but =simpliciter finitus=. But if any space be left out unstuffd with Atoms, it will hazard the dissipation of the whole frame of Nature into disjoynted dust. As may be proved by the Principles of his own Philosophie. And that there is space whereever God is, or any actuall and self-subsistent Being, seems to me no plainer then one of the κοιναί ἔννοιαι._

_For mine own part I must confesse these apprehensions do plainly oppose what heretofore I have conceived; but I have sworn more faithfull friendship with Truth then with myself. And therefore without all remorse lay batterie against mine own edifice: not sparing to shew how weak that is, that my self now deems not impregnably strong. I have at the latter end of the last Canto of =Psychathanasia=, not without triumph concluded, that the world hath not continued =ab æterno=, from this ground:_

Extension That’s infinite implies a contradiction.

_And this is in answer to an objection against my last argument of the souls Immortalitie, =viz.= divine goodnesse, which I there make the measure of his providence. That ground limits the essence of the world as well as its duration, and satisfies the curiositie of the Opposer, by shewing the incompossibilitie in the Creature, not want of goodnesse in the Creatour to have staid the framing of the Universe. But now roused up by a new Philosophick furie, I answer that difficultie by taking away the Hypothesis of either the world or time being finite: defending the infinitude of both, which though I had done with a great deal of vigour and life, and semblance of assent, it would have agreed well enough with the free beat of Poesie, and might have passed for a pleasant flourish: but the severitie of my own judgement, and sad Genius hath cast in many correctives and coolers into the Canto it self; so that it cannot amount to more then a discussion. And discussion is no prejudice but an honour to the truth: for then and never but then is she Victorious. And what a glorious Trophee shall the finite world erect when it hath vanquished the Infinite; a Pygmee a Giant._

_For the better understanding of the connexion of this Appendix, with the Poem of the souls Immortalitie; I have taken off the last stanza’s thereof, and added some few new ones to them for a more easie and naturall leading to the present Canto. =Psychathan. lib. 3. Cant. 4.=_

_Stanz._ 33d.

But thou who ere thou art that thus dost strive With fierce assault my groundwork to subvert, And boldly dost into Gods secrets dive, Base fear my manly face note make m’ avert. In that odde question which thou first didst stert, I’ll plainly prove thine incapacitie, And force thy feeble feet back to revert, That cannot climb so high a mysterie, I’le shew thee strange perplexed inconsistencie.

Why was this world from all infinitie Not made? say’st thou: why? could it be so made Say I. For well observe the sequencie: If this Out-world continually hath wade Through a long long-spun-time that never had Beginning, then there as few circulings Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad; And still more plainly this clear truth to sing, As many years as dayes or flitting houres have been.

For things that we conceive are infinite, One th’ other no’te surpasse in quantitie. So I have prov’d with clear convincing light, This world could never from infinitie Been made. Certain deficiencie Doth alwayes follow evolution: Nought’s infinite but tight eternitie Close thrust into itself: extension That’s infinite implies a contradiction.

So then for ought we know this world was made So soon as such a Nature could exist; And though that it continue, never fade, Yet never will it be that that long twist Of time prove infinite, though ner’e desist From running still. But we may safely say Time past compar’d with this long future list Doth show as if the world but yesterday Were made, and in due time Gods glory out may ray.

Then this short night and ignorant dull ages Will quite be swallowed in oblivion; And though this hope by many surly Sages Be now derided, yet they’ll all be gone In a short time, like Bats and Owls yflone At dayes approch. This will hap certainly At this worlds shining conflagration. Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to flie.

The roaring Lions and drad beasts of prey Rule in the dark with pitious crueltie; But harmlesse Man is matter of the day, Which doth his work in pure simplicitie. God blesse his honest usefull industrie. But pride and covetize, ambition, Riot, revenge, self-love, hypocrisie, Contempt of goodnesse, forc’d opinion; These and such like do breed the worlds confusion.

But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse Seemeth to vant as in got victorie, And with puissant stroke the head to bruize Of her stiff so, and daze his phantasie, Captive his reason, dead each facultie: Yet in her self so strong a force withstands That of her self afraid, she’ll not aby, Nor keep the field. She’ll fall by her own hand As _Ajax_ once laid _Ajax_ dead upon the strand.

For thus her-self by her own self’s oppos’d; The Heavens the Earth the universall Frame Of living Nature God so soon disclos’d As He could do, or she receive the same. All times delay since that must turn to blame, And what cannot He do that can be done? And what might let but by th’ all-powerfull Name Or Word of God, the Worlds Creation More suddenly were made then mans swift thought can run?

Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young As this Worlds date; or else some needlesse space Of time was spent, before the Earth did clung So close unto her-self and seas embrace Her hollow breast, and if that time surpasse A finite number then Infinitie Of years before this Worlds Creation passe. So that the durance of the Deitie We must contract or strait his full Benignitie.

But for the cradle of the _Cretian Jove_, And guardians of his vagient Infancie What sober man but sagely will reprove? Or drown the noise of the fond _Dactyli_ By laughter loud? Dated Divinitie Certes is but the dream of a drie brain: God maim’d in goodnesse, inconsistencie; Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain Of a new birth, which this one Canto’ll not contain.

_Now Reader, thou art arrived to the Canto it self, from which I have kept thee off by too tedious Preface and Apologie, which is seldome made without consciousnesse of some fault, which I professe I find not in my self, unlesse this be it, that I am more tender of thy satisfaction then mine own credit. As for that high sullen Poem, =Cupids Conflict=, I must leave it to thy candour and favourable censure. The =Philosophers Devotion= I cast in onely, that the latter pages should not be unfurnished._

H. M.

_Nihil tamen frequentius inter Autores occurrit, quám ut omnia adeò ex moduli ferè sensuum suorum æstiment, ut ea quæ insuper infinitis rerum spatiis extare possunt, sive superbè sive imprudenter rejiciant; quin & ea omnia in usum suum fabricata fuisse glorientur, perinde facientes ac si pediculi humanum caput, aut pulices sinum muliebrem propter se solos condita existimarent, eáque demum ex gradibus saltibúsve suis metirentur. =The Lord Herbert in his De Causis Errorum.=_

_De generali totius hujus mundi aspectabilis constructione ut rectè Philosophemur duo sunt imprimis observanda: Unum ut attendentes ad infinitam Dei potentiam & bonitatem nè vereamur nimis ampla & pulchra & absoluta ejus opera imaginari: sed è contra caveamus, nè si quos fortè limites nobis non certò cognitos, in ipsis supponamus, non satìs magnificè de creatoris potentia sentire videamur._

_Alterum, ut etiam caveamus, nè nimis superbè de nobis ipsis sentiamus. Quod fieret non modò, si quos limites nobis nullâ cognitos ratione, nec divinà revelatione, mundo vellemus affingere, tanquam si vis nostra cogitationis, ultra id quod à Deo revera factum est ferri posset; sed etiam maximè, si res omnes propter nos solos, ab illo creatas esse fingeremus. =Renatus DesCartes in his Princip. Philosoph. the third part.=_

THE ARGUMENT.

_’Gainst boundlesse time th’ objections made, And wast infinity Of worlds, are with new reasons weigh’d, Mens judgements are left free._

Hence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more hard Then Winter clods fast froze with Northern wind. But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard That blamest all that thy dark strait’ned mind, Can not conceive: But that no blame thou find; What e’re my pregnant Muse brings forth to light, She’l not acknowledge to be of her kind, Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight Of the eternall Word all deckt with glory bright.

Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts, And lively forms with orient colours clad Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought Into some spacious room, who when they’ve had A turn or two, go out, although unbad. All these I see and know, but entertain None to my friend but who’s most sober sad; Although the time my roof doth them contain Their pretence doth possesse me till they out again.

And thus possest in silver trump I found Their guise, their shape, their gesture and array. But as in silver trumpet nought is found When once the piercing sound is past away, (Though while the mighty blast therein did stay, Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill, That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay) As empty I of what my flowing quill In heedlesse hast elswhere, or here, may hap to spill.

For ’tis of force and not of a set will. Ne dare my wary mind afford assent To what is plac’d above all mortall skill. But yet our various thoughts to represent Each gentle wight will deem of good intent. Wherefore with leave th’ infinitie I’ll sing Of time, Of Space: or without leave; I’m brent With eagre rage, my heart for joy doth spring, And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling.

An inward triumph doth my soul up-heave And spread abroad through endlesse ’spersed aire. My nimble mind this clammie clod doth leave, And lightly stepping on from starre to starre Swifter then lightning, passeth wide and farre, Measuring th’ unbounded Heavens and wastfull skie; Ne ought she finds her passage to debarre, For still the azure Orb as she draws nigh Gives back, new starres appear, the worlds walls ’fore her flie.

For what can stand that is so badly staid? Well may that fall whose ground-work is unsure. And what hath wall’d the world but thoughts unweigh’d In freer reason? That antiquate, secure, And easie dull conceit of corporature; Of matter; quantitie, and such like gear Hath made this needlesse, thanklesse inclosure, Which I in full disdain quite up will tear And lay all ope, that as things are they may appear.

For other they appear from what they are By reason that their Circulation Cannot well represent entire from farre Each portion of the _Cuspis_ of the Cone (Whose nature is elsewhere more clearly shown) I mean each globe, whether of glaring light Or else opake, of which the earth is one. If circulation could them well transmit Numbers infinite of each would strike our ’stonishd sight;

All in just bignesse and right colours dight But totall presence without all defect ’Longs onely to that Trinitie by right, _Ahad_, _Æon_, _Psyche_ with all graces deckt, Whose nature well this riddle will detect; A Circle whose circumference no where Is circumscrib’d, whose Centre’s each where set, But the low Cusp’s a figure circular, Whose compasse is ybound, but centre’s every where.

Wherefore who’ll judge the limits of the world By what appears unto our failing sight Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurld Out of her throne by giddie vulgar might. But here base senses dictates they will dight With specious title of Philosophie, And stiffly will contend their cause is right From rotten rolls of school antiquitie, Who constantly denie corporall Infinitie.

But who can prove their corporalitie Since matter which thereto’s essentiall If rightly sifted ’s but a phantasie. And quantitie who’s deem’d Originall Is matter, must with matter likewise fall. What ever is, is Life and Energie From God, who is th’ Originall of all; Who being everywhere doth multiplie His own broad shade that endlesse throughout all doth lie.

He from the last projection of light Ycleep’d _Shamajim_, which is liquid fire (It _Æther_ eke and centrall _Tasis_ hight) Hath made each shining globe and clumperd mire Of dimmer Orbs. For Nature doth inspire Spermatick life, but of a different kind. Hence those congenit splendour doth attire And lively heat, these darknesse dead doth bind, And without borrowed rayes they be both cold and blind.

All these be knots of th’ universall stole Of sacred _Psyche_; which at first was fine, Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull Together in severall points and did encline The nearer parts in one clod to combine. Those centrall spirits that the parts did draw The measure of each globe did then define, Made things impenetrable here below, Gave colour, figure, motion, and each usuall law.

And what is done in this Terrestriall starre The same is done in every Orb beside. Each flaming Circle that we see from farre Is but a knot in _Psyches_ garment tide. From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide And endlesse world, that low’st projection Of universall life each thing’s deriv’d What e’re appeareth in corporeall fashion; For body’s but this spirit, fixt, grosse by conspissation.

And that which doth conspissate active is; Wherefore not matter but some living sprite Of nimble Nature which this lower mist And immense field of Atoms doth excite, And wake into such life as best doth fit With his own self. As we change phantasies The essence of our soul not chang’d a whit, So do these Atoms change their energies Themselves unchanged into new Centreïties.

And as our soul’s not superficially Colourd by phantasms, nor doth them reflect As doth a looking-glasse such imag’rie As it to the beholder doth detect: No more are these lightly or smear’d or deckt With form or motion which in them we see, But from their inmost Centre they project Their vitall rayes, not merely passive be, But by occasion wak’d rouze up themselves on high.

So that they’re life, form, sprite, not matter pure, For matter pure is a pure nullitie, What nought can act is nothing, I am sure; And if all act, that is they’ll not denie But all that is is form: so easily By what is true, and by what they embrace For truth, their feigned Corporalitie Will vanish into smoke, but on I’ll passe, More fully we have sung this in another place.

Wherefore more boldly now to represent The nature of the world, how first things were How now they are: This endlesse large Extent Of lowest life (which I styled whileere The _Cuspis_ of the _Cone_ that’s every where) Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall Hideous through silent horrour torches clear And lamping lights bright shining over all Were set up in due distances proportionall.

Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole, To warm the world and chace the shady damps Of immense darknesse, rend her pitchie stole Into short rags more dustie dimme then coal. Which pieces then in severall were cast (Abhorred reliques of that vesture foul) Upon the Globes that round those torches trac’d, Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast.

Such an one is that which mortall men call Night, A little shred of that unbounded shade. And such a Globe is that which Earth is hight; By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid. And such a lamp or light is this our Sun, Whose firie beams the scortched Earth invade. But infinite such as he, in heaven won, And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run;

And to speak out: though I detest the sect Of _Epicurus_ for their manners vile, Yet what is true I may not well reject. Truth’s incorruptible, ne can the style Of vitious pen her sacred worth defile. If we no more of truth should deign t’ embrace Then what unworthy mouths did never soyl, No truths at all mongst men would finden place But make them speedie wings and back to Heaven apace.

I will not say our world is infinite, But that infinitie of worlds ther be. The Centre of our world’s the lively light Of the warm sunne, the visible Deitie Of this externall Temple. _Mercurie_ Next plac’d and warm’d more throughly by his rayes, Right nimbly ’bout his golden head doth flie: Then _Venus_ nothing slow about him strayes, And next our _Earth_ though seeming sad full spritely playes.

And after her _Mars_ rangeth in a round With firie locks and angry flaming eye, And next to him mild _Jupiter_ is found, But Saturn cold wons in our utmost skie. The skirts of his large Kingdome surely lie Near to the confines of some other worlds Whose Centres are the fixed starres on high, ’Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurld _Joves_, _Earths_ and _Saturns_; round on their own axes twurld.

Little or nothing are those starres to us Which in the azure Evening gay appear (I mean for influence) but judicious Nature and carefull Providence her dear And matchlesse work did so contrive whileere, That th’ Hearts or Centres in the wide world pight Should such a distance each to other bear, That the dull Planets with collated light By neighbour suns might cheared be in dampish night.

And as the Planets in our world (of which The sun’s the heart and kernell) do receive Their nightly light from suns that do enrich Their sable mantle with bright gemmes, and give A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve With their fair twinkling rayes, so our worlds sunne Becomes a starre elsewhere, and doth derive Joynt light with others, cheareth all that won In those dim duskish Orbs round other suns that run.

This is the parergon of each noble fire Of neighbour worlds to be the nightly starre, But their main work is vitall heat t’ inspire Into the frigid spheres that ’bout them fare, Which of themselves quite dead and barren are. But by the wakening warmth of kindly dayes, And the sweet dewie nights they well declare Their seminall virtue in due courses raise Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Makers praise.

These with their suns I severall worlds do call, Whereof the number I deem infinite: Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall Of th’ endlesse Universe; For nothing finite Could put that immense shadow unto flight. But if that infinite Suns we shall admit, Then infinite worlds follow in reason right. For every Sun with Planets must be fit, And have some mark for his farre-shining shafts to hit.

But if he shine all solitarie, alone, What mark is left,? what aimed scope or end Of his existence? wherefore every one Hath a due number of dim Orbs that wend Around their centrall fire. But wrath will rend This strange composure back’d with reason stout And rasher tongues right speedily will spend Their forward censure, that my wits run out On wool-gathering, through infinite spaces all about.

What sober man will dare once to avouch An infinite number of dispersed starres? This one absurdity will make him crouch And eat his words; Division nought impairs The former whole, nor he augments that spares. Strike every tenth out, that which doth remain, An equall number with the former shares, And let the tenth alone, th’ whole nought doth gain, For infinite to infinite is ever the same.

The tenth is infinite as the other nine, Or else, nor they, nor all the ten entire Are infinite. Thus one infinite doth adjoyn Others unto it and still riseth higher. And if those single lights hither aspire, This strange prodigious inconsistencie Groweth still stranger, if each fixed fire (I mean each starre) prove Sunnes, and Planets flie About their flaming heads amid the thronged skie.

For whatsoever that their number be Whether by seavens, or eighths, or fives, or nines, They round each fixed lamp; Infinity Will be redoubled thus by many times. Besides each greater Planet th’ attendance finds Of lesser. Our _Earths_ handmaid is the Moon, Which to her darkned side right duly shines, And _Jove_ hath foure, as hath been said aboven, And _Saturn_ more then foure if the plain truth were known.

And if these globes be regions of life And severall kinds of plants therein do grow, Grasse, flowers, hearbs, trees, which the impartiall knife Of all consuming Time still down doth mow, And new again doth in succession show: Which also ’s done in flies, birds, men and beasts; Adde sand, pearls, pebbles, that the ground do strow Leaves, quills, hairs, thorns, blooms, you may think the rest Their kinds by mortall penne can not well be exprest: