Thus the stars, the suns, the planets, the worlds, the shooting-stars, the meteoric stones, in short all the bodies which constitute this vast universe, rest, not on solid bases, as the childish and primitive conception of our fathers seemed to require, but upon invisible and immaterial forces which govern their motions. These milliards of celestial bodies have their respective movements for the purpose of stability, and mutually lean upon each other across the void which separates them. The mind which could eliminate time and space would see the Earth, the planets, the Sun, the stars, rain down from a limitless sky in all imaginable directions, like the drops carried away by the whirlwinds of a gigantic tempest, and drawn, not by a common basis, but by the attraction of each and all; each one of these cosmic drops, each one of these worlds, each one of these suns, is whirled away at a speed so rapid that the flight of cannon-balls is but rest in comparison: it is not one hundred, nor five hundred, nor a thousand metres per second,—it is ten thousand, twenty, fifty, a hundred, and even two or three hundred thousand metres per second!
How is it that there are no meetings in the midst of all this motion? Perhaps there may be some,—the "temporary stars," which appear to rise again from their ashes, would seem to indicate it. But as a matter of fact, it would be difficult for meetings to occur, because space is immense, relatively to the celestial bodies, and because the motion by which each body is animated entirely prevents it from submitting passively to the attraction of another body and falling upon it; it keeps its own motion, which cannot be destroyed, and glides around the focus which attracts it, as a butterfly would obey the attraction of a flame without burning itself in it. Besides, absolutely speaking, these motions are not "rapid."
Indeed, everything runs, flies, falls, rolls, rushes through the void, but at such respective distances that it all appears to be at rest. If we wanted to place in a frame, the size of Paris, the stars whose distances have been measured up to the present time, the nearest star would be placed at two kilometres from the Sun, from which the Earth would be distant one centimetre, Jupiter at five centimetres, and Neptune at thirty centimetres. The 61st of Cygnus would be at four kilometres, Sirius at ten kilometres, the polar star at twenty-seven kilometres, etc.; and the immense majority of the stars would remain outside the department of the Seine. Well, to give to all these projectiles their relative motions, the Earth would take a year to run through its orbit of a centimetre radius, Jupiter twelve years to run through his of five centimetres, and Neptune one hundred and sixty-five years. The proper motions of the Sun and stars would be of the same nature; that is to say, all would appear to be at rest, even under the microscope. Urania reigns with calmness and serenity in the immensity of the universe.
So the constitution of the sidereal universe is just like that of the bodies which we call material. All bodies, organic or inorganic, man, animal, plant, stone, iron, bronze, are composed of molecules which are in perpetual motion, and which do not touch one another. Each one of these atoms is infinitely small, and invisible not only to the eye, not only to the microscope, but even to thought; since it is possible that these atoms may be centres of force. It has been calculated that in the head of a pin there are not less than eight sextillions of atoms,—that is, eight thousand milliards of milliards,—and that in one centimetre of cubic air there are not less than a sextillion of molecules. All these atoms, all these molecules, are in motion under the influence of the forces which govern them; and as compared with their dimensions, great distances separate them. We may even believe that there is in principle but one kind of atoms, and that it is the number of primitive atoms, essentially simple and homogeneous, their modes of arrangement, and their motions, which constitute the diversity of molecules; a molecule of gold, of iron, would not differ from a molecule of sulphur, of oxygen, of hydrogen, etc., except in the number, the disposition, and the motion of the primitive atoms which compose it: each molecule would be a system, a microcosm.
But whatever may be the idea that one conceives of the inner constitution of bodies, the truth is now recognized and indisputable that the fixed point for which our imagination has been seeking, exists nowhere. Archimedes can vainly call for a point of support, that he may lift the world. Worlds, like atoms, rest on the invisible, on immaterial force; everything moves, urged on by attraction, and as if in search of that fixed point which flies as it is pursued, and which does not exist, since in the infinite the centre is everywhere and nowhere. So-called positive minds, which assert with so much assurance that "Matter reigns alone, with its properties," and who smile disdainfully at the researches of thinkers, should first tell us what they mean by that famous word "matter." If they did not stop at the surface of things, if they even suspected that appearances hid intangible realities, they would doubtless be a little more modest.
To us, who seek the truth with no jealousy of system, it seems that the essence of matter remains as mysterious as the essence of force; the visible universe not being in the least what it appears to be to our senses. In fact, that visible universe is composed of invisible atoms; it rests upon the void, and the forces which govern it are in themselves immaterial and invisible. It would be less bold to think that matter does not exist, that all is dynamism, than to pretend to affirm the existence of an exclusively material universe. As to the material support of the world, it disappeared—a somewhat interesting observation—precisely with the conquest of Mechanics, which proclaim the triumph of the invisible. The fixed point vanishes in the universal balance of powers, in the ideal harmony of ether vibrations; the more one seeks it, the less one finds it; and the last effort of our thought has for a last support, for supreme reality, the Infinite.
