Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds

by M. de Fontenelle

If you talk of millions now, said I, how will you count them when I tell you there are many more fixed stars than you discover; that with telescopes an endless number are seen which are invisible to the naked eye; and that in a single constellation, where we might before have counted a dozen or fifteen, there have been found as many as we were accustomed to observe throughout the heavens?[51]

[51] I conclude, from a pretty accurate calculation, that we may perceive a hundred millions with a telescope that has an opening of four feet; I have clearly distinguished fifty thousand, and my glass is but two inches and a half in diameter.

Have pity on me, cried she; I yield; you have overwhelmed me with worlds and vortices. Ah! said I, but I must add something more still; you see that white part of the sky, called the milky-way. Can you guess what it is?—An infinity of little stars, invisible to our eyes on account of their smallness, and placed so close to each other that they seem but a stream of light. I wish I had a telescope here to shew you this cluster of worlds. In some measure, they resemble the Maldivia Isles, those twelve thousand little islands or banks of sand, separated only by narrow canals of the sea which one might almost leap over. The little vortices of the milky-way must be so close, that from one world to another the people might converse or shake hands. The birds, at least, I think, can go from one world to another; and pigeons may be taught to carry letters as they do in our Levant from one town to another. These little worlds must deviate from the general rule by which the sun of any vortex effaces, at its rising, all the other suns. In one of the little vortices contained in the milky-way the sun of that particular vortex can hardly appear closer to its planets, or more brilliant, than a hundred thousand other suns, in the neighbouring vortices. The sky, then, is filled with a countless quantity of fires almost close to each other. When they lose sight of their own sun, they have thousands still remaining; and the night is not less enlightened than the day; at least the difference is so trifling that we may say there is no night. The inhabitants of those worlds, accustomed as they are to perpetual light, would be very much astonished to hear of miserable creatures who spend half their time in profound darkness; and who, even during the light of day, see but one sun. They would think we had fallen under the displeasure of nature, and shudder at our condition.

I don't ask you, said the Marchioness, whether they have any moons in the milky-way; they could be of no use to the principal planets, since they have no nights, and besides that, move in so small a space that they could not be encumbered with subaltern planets. But, continued she, by multiplying worlds so liberally, you give rise to a great difficulty. The vortices, of which we see the suns, touch our vortex: the vortices you say are round; can so many circles touch this single one? I can't understand how it is.

It shews a great deal of sense, answered I, to discover this difficulty, and even to be unable to solve it, for it is in itself well founded, and in the way you conceive it, unanswerable; therefore there would be but little proof of wisdom in finding an answer to what was incapable of any. If our vortex were in the figure of a die, it would have six flat sides, which is very far from a circle; on each of these sides might then be placed a vortex of the same shape. If instead of six, it had twenty, fifty, or a thousand, flat sides, an equal number of vortices might come in contact with it, each resting against one of these sides. You know the greater number of flat sides a body has, the nearer it approaches in form to a circle; so that a diamond cut into a great number of facets, if they were extremely small, would be nearly as round as a pearl of the same size. The vortices are only circular in this manner. They have an amazing number of flat sides, each of which is close to another vortex. These sides are very unequal; some larger, some smaller. The smallest correspond to those of the milky-way. If two vortices leave any space between, which must often be the case, nature, to make the most of the extent, fills up the vacancy by one or two, or perhaps a thousand, little vortices, which without incommoding any of the others, form one, two, or a thousand more systems of worlds; so there may be many more worlds than our vortex has sides; and I dare say, though these little vortices are formed merely to fill up spare corners of the universe that would otherwise have been useless; though they may be overlooked by the neighbouring vortices, yet they are quite satisfied with themselves. It is probably such little vortices whose suns we cannot discover without telescopes, of which there is a prodigious number. In short all these vortices are adjusted in the best order imaginable; and as each of them must turn round its sun without changing place, it is formed to move in the most easy and commodious manner for that purpose. They, as it were, catch hold of each other, like the wheels of a watch, and mutually assist the motion. It is likewise true that in a sense they counteract one another: each vortex if it had no external pressure would extend itself; but when it attempts to swell it is repelled by the surrounding vortices, which forces it to shrink back; then it extends again, and so on:[52] some philosophers think that the fixed stars give such a sparkling, intermittent light in consequence of this alternate expansion and contraction of the vortices.

[52] The preservation of the starry system is more satisfactorily explained by attraction; they are all kept in equilibrium by their mutual attraction.

There is something agreeable, said the Marchioness, in the idea of such a combat among the worlds, and the reciprocal emission of light produced by it, which apparently is the only communication carried on between them.

No, no, I replied, that is not the only one. The neighbouring worlds sometimes send us visitors, who come, in a very magnificent style. These visitors are comets,[53] ornamented with brilliant flowing hair, a venerable beard, or a majestic train.

[53] It is indisputably proved that the comets belong to our solar system.

Ah! what ambassadors? said she, laughing. We could dispense with their company, for they only frighten us. They only frighten children, answered I, because their appearance is extraordinary; but there are many children among us. The comets are merely planets, belonging to another system. Their orbit was towards the extremity of their vortex, which was perhaps differently compressed by those that surrounded it; the lower side, on that account was flatter than the top, and the lower side was next to us. These planets, beginning at the upper part to form their circle, did not foresee that it would extend beyond the limit of their vortex, at the lower part; in order, therefore, to continue their circular journey, they were obliged to enter the extremities of the next vortex, which we will suppose is ours. They always appear to us extremely elevated, moving on the other side of Saturn. Considering the prodigious distance of the fixed stars, there must be between Saturn and the extremities of our vortex a great space void of planets. Our enemies reproach us with the inutility of this space, but we find there is a use for it, as it is devoted to the service of foreign planets that occasionally enter our system.