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[page 180, continued:]
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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 upon 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 [[Greek text:]]
μελλοντα ταντα
[[:Greek
text]] — 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 [page 181:]
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
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 “nebulæ” — and, of these “nebulæ,” 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 seventeen tertiaries, or
satellites.
The Galaxy, let me repeat, is but one of the clusters which I
have
been describing — but one of the mis-called “nebulæ” 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 “nebulæ.” 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 [page 182:] — 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
phænomena
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 [page 183:] 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 “nebulæ” — 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 phænomenon 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 “nebulæ” which, on casting our eyes from
the Universal belt, we perceive at all points of the firmament
—
so, I say, are these scattered “nebulæ” to be understood as only
perspectively
scattered, and as part and parcel 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, à 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 [page 184:] 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 [page 185:]
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 these 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 [page 186:]
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 phænomena 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 seventeen 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 [page 187:] 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. 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, [page 188:] we spend our time to better
purpose,
now
and then, than in harkening to a demonstration by Alcmæon.
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 à posteriori to have an
actual
existence,
led Newton to account for them by the hypothesis of Gravitation, and,
finally,
to demonstrate them à 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
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 eight Asteroids (Ceres, Juno,
Vesta,
Pallas, Astræa, 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 [page 189:]
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 3,000 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 20 years; while for the
former
it would require 590.
Our Moon’s real diameter is 2160 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 7912 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 [page
190:]
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 an
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 9 years and 48 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 periphery 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 phænomenon
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 [page 191:]
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 ninety 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: the circumference of 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 Jupiter —
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 [page 192:]
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. |
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