Chapter 2

“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 complicate 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 is to say, he _imagined_ them. Had he been asked to point out either the _de_ductive or _in_ductive 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 _de_ductions or _in_ductions 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 Hog-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 and, perhaps, somewhat 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 _as_cend or _de_scend. 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 reservation, 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 distinct 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 quibblers—_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 upon, _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 resolved. 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, in accordance 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 être Dieu même._”—“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, to-night, 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 and solely, _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, 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 _de_duced:—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 phænomena 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 rëaction. 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 irradiated spherically—in all directions—to immeasurable but still to 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:—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, any thing 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 irradiated—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 rëunition at the end.