God's glory in the heavens/The Plurality Of Worlds
Relative Sizes:—
1. The Earth; 2. Jupiter; 3. Saturn; 4. Uranus; 5. Neptune.
XX.
THE PLURALITY OF WORLDS.
MARS.
though the planets were composed of matter subject to the law of gravitation, the matter might still be so very dissimilar, that we might not be entitled to say that they belong to the same family as the earth. These meteoric bodies, however, tell us that this is not the case,—that the chemical elements are the same in the celestial and terrestrial spaces. About a third of the simple elements of chemistry have been found in meteoric stones; and what is still more to the point, no new element has been detected. There are chemical arrangements peculiar to meteorolites, but there is no element which has not been previously known in our terrestrial chemistry. It might, however, be argued that these stones are not fair specimens of planetary matter, and that to produce complete conviction, we must analyse the matter of each heavenly body, before we can found upon it an argument for the plurality of worlds. Science has met even this hard requirement, and the art of analysing the heavenly bodies is now practised. M. Bunsen has begun upon the sun, and he has detected, as we have seen, metals familiar to us on our globe. Iron, which plays so important a part in the structure of our globe, and in the industrial arts of man, holds a conspicuous place in the sun. This is only the first step. In all probability we shall soon have our knowledge of celestial chemistry greatly enlarged; and there is little doubt, from this first step, that the result will be a closer bond of identity between the earth and the celestial bodies.
To understand the bearing of the speculation regarding the habitableness of the planets, it will be necessary to make a distinction as to the nature of the arguments employed. The astronomical aspect of the question will be best understood when viewed in connexion with the other arguments.
1. The first argument we shall mention is the a priori, or that which professes to demonstrate, from the character of God, that the planets must be inhabited. Now it may be observed, that all arguments taking this ground ought to be viewed with suspicion, for they are based on the supposition, that we can sufficiently comprehend the nature and providence of God to construct a demonstration. We can, indeed, with certainty, shew that the works of God and the events of providence illustrate His character; but the converse does not hold, that we can, from our knowledge of God's character, demonstrate that such works must necessarily be executed, or such events occur. And in regard to the question of a plurality of inhabited worlds, the arguments usually employed are no exception to the general rule.
(1.) Under the head of the a priori argument, it is urged, that it would be derogatory to the character of God to suppose that the planets and other heavenly bodies were created merely for our use, as, in that case, the means would be greatly disproportioned to the end. It is held, that it would be a useless expenditure of power to create so many worlds that affect, in no appreciable way, (illegible text) welfare of our earth. What benefit, it is asked, can a cluster of stars be to us, which can be only discoverer, by the telescope—while, at the same time, that cluster consists of thousands of worlds, each as large as our sun? We are not, however, judges of what is an adequate end for means employed. If disproportion, according to our notions, were to be the measure of our judgment, we would everywhere quarrel with the works of God. Besides, other ends than the giving of light to us may be served. We do not know all the relations which our world bears to the rest of the universe, or will yet serve in the course of its history. We see an end served, different from that of light-giving, by the exalted view which the study of celestial bodies gives us of the Creator; and, in a future state of being, the inhabitants of this globe may be brought into a closer relation with these remote bodies of the universe. And even though it should be proved, that the means are disproportioned to the assigned end, we are by no means forced to the conclusion, that the peopling of these worlds is the only adequate end. We can readily conceive of other ends besides this.
(2.) It is held that the benevolence of God requires that the planets should be inhabited, otherwise He would not be infinitely benevolent. But this argument, carried out, would require the whole universe to be filled with objects of benevolence. The fallacy of the argument lies in using the term infinite in two different senses; or rather, it applies the term in its literal sense to a spiritual element, which cannot be measured by time and space. God may be infinitely benevolent, though the objects of His benevolence be not infinite. The infinity lies, not in the object, but the subject; and all that the doctrine of the Divine benevolence requires is, that wherevever sentient beings exist, this benevolence of God shall be displayed. Arguments from the eternity and infinity of God are also employed, but they are so transparently fallacious that they need not be dwelt upon.
(3.) Another branch of the a priori argument is, that as God is one, all his attributes must be exercised simultaneously; that as His omnipotence is displayed in the structure of the heavenly bodies, so His benevolence must at the same time be exercised; and that where benevolence is, there must also be sentient beings, as the objects of that benevolence. This argument cannot bear examination. It might be as well argued, that because man is one and undivided, he must exercise the gift of speech whenever he exercises the gift of hearing, and therefore whenever he listens he must also speak. All that we can say of God's attributes is, that they must all be exercised in perfect harmony.
2. The metaphysical argument, in the broadest form, is put thus: Wherever there are objects of sense, sentient beings must also exist. Or take a particular example: It is held bj the author of the "Natural History of the Vestiges of Creation," that whereever light exists, there must be eyes to perceive it. Now, in one point of view, this is a mere circular argument; for if light be so defined, that it necessarily implies the exercise of vision, then, undoubtedly, the existence of light implies an eye. If it be maintained that light does not consist merely in the undulations of an ethereal medium, but in the sensation which that vibration produces by acting on the optic nerve, then, unquestionably, there can be no light where there is no sensation. But, then, all that the argument amounts to is this, that where there is no eye, there can be no sensation of light; and in reference to the planets, that if there is a sensation of light, then there must be an eye through which that sensation is produced. But that is the very point to be established. We know that the vibrations which cause the sensation of light reach the planets; but the question is. Is there an eye to receive these vibrations, and through which the sensation of light may be produced? We can quite readily conceive the vibrations to exist without the eye to receive them. It may be argued that, in all probability, the vibrations would not be sent to these bodies, unless there were eyes to receive them; but this is taking up new ground, and merging the metaphysical question into one of design, and the matter assumes now the form of probability, not of necessity. But even on this lower ground, light does not necessarily imply an eye, even when sentient beings exist. There are living beings on our globe that have no organs of vision; and we have reason to believe, that, in the past history of the earth, there was a period when the sun dispensed his light, although there were no animated beings to enjoy it.
3. The third argument is that drawn from Scripture. The passages usually quoted are: "Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made of things which do appear." "By whom also he made the worlds." "When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou shouldst visit him?" "All nations are counted as nothing." "The host of heaven worshippeth thee." These and many other passages may be interpreted in harmony with the doctrine of a plurality of worlds; but it would be putting an undue strain on the Word of God to draw from them an independent argument in support of the doctrine. The Scriptures undoubtedly recognise the vastness of the material universe, and clearly indicate the existence of other intelligences besides man. It is even highly probable that the various orders of angels are in some way related to the orbs of heaven; but all this is far from establishing the probability, that any given bodies are the abodes of life and intelligence in the same sense that the earth is the abode of man. The existence of material worlds is certain, and the existence of angels is also certain; but is it probable that angels have any material abode? and, if so, is it probable that the planets of our system are such abodes? Scripture throws no light whatever upon this subject.
4. The next is the analogical or astronomical argument. If the navigator discovered a new island, he might, from its general appearance, conclude, before he approached near enough to descry them, that sentient beings lived upon it. If he saw mountains, valleys, rivers, and all the usual marks of a habitable region, he would have abundant ground, from his past experience, to conclude that it was inhabited. There would be no violence done to this analogical principle, though we pushed it a little further. Suppose that the land descried is not in the ocean, but floating in space; if we discovered the usual conditions of life, we would have ground for the inference that it was probably inhabited; and though the conditions were somewhat different, we might infer with probability that life, suited to these conditions, might nevertheless exist.
We see a wide range of adaptation under the very diverse conditions existing at present in the earth; and geology exhibits to us adaptations much more wonderful, so that even a considerable deviation from the normal conditions would not invalidate the analogical inference. It ought to be kept in view, however, that there must be a limit to the variation, otherwise the argument ceases to be one of analogy. The argument is founded upon similarity, but if the variation is pushed to such an extent as to obliterate the resemblance, the logical inference is vitiated. But how are we to limit the variation, and yet to preserve the analogical character of the argument? We must assign limits from our knowledge of the variations with which we are acquainted. We see a wide range on our globe, but we can also detect a limit. We find, for example, that life is consistent with a wide range of density of atmosphere, but we have no reason to believe that life could exist on our globe without an atmosphere. There is evidently a limit far short of total deprivation. So in regard to temperature, there are vast wastes on the face of the earth where life cannot exist on account of the extremes of temperature. But it may be said, why should the limits of our globe be applied to the other planetary bodies? May not this variation be so great that life might exist in a comet some thousand times hotter than white-hot iron; or on a globe without atmosphere, and with a temperature below zero? But to argue in this way is to give up entirely the analogical argument, which requires us to advance from the known to the unknown. "We must keep one foot on this globe while we place the other on the unknown body. To argue that there may possibly be inconceivably greater variations of the conditions of life on the other planets, is to change entirely the line of argument. Speculations regarding the possible far transcend the region of the astronomical or analogical argument, which deals only with the probable.
Let us now see what are the points of similarity on which an analogical argument for a plurality of worlds is founded. What conditions of life have the planets in common with the earth?
1. They derive their light and heat from the same source—the sun.
2. They have an annual revolution and change of seasons.
3. They have a diurnal revolution, and, consequently, the alternation of day and night.
4. Some have atmosphere and clouds.
5. Some have diversities of surface similar to mountains and valleys.
6. Many of the primary planets are provided with satellites.
7. They are probably composed of the same chemical elements.
8. Their orbits have all the elements of stability.
The above are the chief points of similarity; but to what extent do the conditions of life vary? As to heat and light, the range is startling. Neptune receives 6000 times less than Mercury. No doubt the atmosphere of the planets may modify much these extremes. The small difference of density in the atmosphere, experienced in the ascent of mountains, and the consequent cold, shews that the atmosphere of the planet, as well as its distance from the Sun, has much to do with the temperature. Still, the vast difference between 1 and 6000 is too much to be equalised by the modifying influence of the atmosphere.
Then as to gravity, there is a range of at least 20 to 1, if we take the asteroids into account. A man in Jupiter would be 20 times heavier than in one of the minor planets. If we descend in the scale, we shall, undoubtedly, find planets hardly large enough to accommodate a single family. Then as to density, there is the widest range. The comets are members of the solar system, and must be dealt with in any general argument, but most of them are probably not so dense as the vacuum of an air-pump. It would require no ordinary stretch of imagination to suppose them inhabited. And if we strike off the comets, we must also include the dark transparent ring of Saturn. Next, as to atmosphere, we have a very wide range if we take the Moon into account. If there is a lunar atmosphere, its weight must be 1800 times less than that of the Earth.
It is plain that the range of the above conditions is far beyond anything we have in our globe, and that we are not warranted, from analogy, to come to the conclusion that the bodies of the solar system are, as a whole, inhabited. But, surely, there is no necessity, in order to hold a plurality of worlds, to maintain that inhabitants must be found even in bodies exhibiting extreme conditions. Those who take the broad general ground that matter implies life, must, in order to be consistent, hold that every comet, asteroid, and meteorolite must have its inhabitants; but this position is quite antagonistic to the analogical argument. Analogy would lead us to expect that parts of the solar system would be unfitted for the phenomena of life, though it was admitted that parts were habitable. Our globe may be taken as the type of the whole solar system. Portions of its surface represent the extreme conditions of the planets. The summits of its loftiest mountains and the polar regions may represent Neptune and the other planets on the extreme range of the solar system; the burning sands of the Sahara may represent Mercury and Vulcan, in the immediate neighbourhood of the sun; and just as we find that these extreme portions of the earth's surface are incapable of sustaining inhabitants, so may we legitimately conclude that the extreme portions of the solar system may also be destitute of life. There are desolate parts of the earth's surface of a much larger extent than the whole surface of many of the minor planets. Why should we maintain that these planets must be inhabited, when the probability is, that the conditions of life are far more extreme than in the waste regions of the earth's surface? It is compatible with the scheme of Providence, that a large proportion of the earth's surface should be incapable of sustaining inhabitants. "Why should not a large portion of the solar system be barren too?
The purport of our remarks is simply to shew, that the analogical argument for a plurality of worlds is entirely based on a similarity of conditions, and that it can apply only to these bodies that approximate to the earth in regard to the conditions of life. The probability certainly is, that some of the bodies of the system, such as Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, do not so far vary from the normal conditions as to render life improbable.
If we admit, what modern science has rendered extremely probable, that the sun and the various planets are all in a state of transition, passing from one phase of their history to another, the probability is that the other bodies must pass through stages corresponding to the present life-stage of the earth. From the past history of the earth, as shewn by geological history, and from its probable future destiny, as indicated by the law of solar heat and attraction, it is likely that only a comparatively brief cycle of its history is set apart for the display of the phenomena of life and intelligence. A time was when the earth was without form and void, and when no living thing moved on its surface; and a time will come when the sun will languish, and life will decay and disappear from the face of the earth. The probability is, that other planets may have their life phases too, though they be not synchronous with that of our planet. The life period of each planet will depend on the balancing of the internal forces of the planet and the influences radiated from the sun. The temperature of each planet depends both on its own internal heat and that of the sun; and the probability is, that in some part of its history it will attain conditions precisely similar to those of our globe. Were the planets solely dependent on the sun for their temperature, they could not pass exactly through the same phase; but when we have the varying element of the internal temperature, it is probable that most of the bodies may have to pass through a life epoch of almost identically the same conditions, at least as far as temperature is concerned. But it is also plain that the' probability of this epoch occurring in any two planets simultaneously is not great. If by some volcanic action several islands were formed by the elevation of the bed of the sea, the probability is that, in the course of time, a soil would be formed, and that vegetable and animal life would appear, so as to fit them for the abode of man. But if the islands were far separated from one another,—if they were scattered over the torrid, the temperate, and the frigid zones, it is plain that some would acquire the requisite conditions sooner than others, and that some might be so unfavourably situated as never to acquire them. The planets may be compared to such islands. They occupy, like the islands, different zones of temperature, and they are not in equally favourable circumstances. Neptune occupying the frigid, and Vulcan the torrid zone, are probably in much less favourable circumstances than the earth, occupying the temperate regions of the solar system; and, possibly, the circumstances are so unfavourable that the requisite conditions can never be acquired. Some may have been more favourably circumstanced than the earth, and their period of life may have preceded that of the earth, while others are only approaching the life conditions. It ought, however, to be kept in view, that there is no analogy that would lead us to infer that the conditions of life, and life itself, are so related that the former may be regarded as the ^cause of the latter, or that, by a physical law, the conditions of life necessarily develop living organisations. All the evidence afforded by the history of our globe points in a very different direction. It unmistakeably indicates a creative hand. Life, no doubt, demands certain physical conditions; but these conditions have no tendency to produce life. Light is a necessary condition to seeing, but there is no tendency in light to produce a living eye. When we say, then, that there is a probability of life where the conditions of life exist, we mean nothing more, than that it is likely that a creative intelligence will, in similar circumstances, act similarly. We find that it is the usual plan of the Divine procedure to stock with living beings, regions which present the required conditions of life; and when we discover in any unknown region these conditions, we draw the probable inference that there are living beings.
The purely astronomical argument is one founded simply on the estimation of probabilities, and is independent of any genetic theories regarding the introduction of life The theist and the atheist can alike weigh this probability. The principle of analogy holds, whether we admit a necessary or an intelligent cause. But it is plain that the doctrine of the plurality of worlds, when argued on astronomical grounds, can never transcend the region of probability. To dogmatise is wholly to misapprehend the nature of the argument. The dogmatic tone frequently displayed in discussions of this subject grates harshly on the logical ear.
If we argue that, from the character of God, we must infer that the planets are inhabited, the ground is entirely changed, and astronomy given up. If the necessity can be established from the known attributes of God, there is no need of appealing to the analogical probability furnished by astronomy. But are we entitled, on the ground of God's character, to arrive at a necessary conclusion on this subject? No doubt, if we construct the Divine attributes so as to involve the conclusion, the inference must necessarily follow. We adapt the premises to the desired result, and the conclusion is inevitable. But have we certain ground for so constructing the premises, that habitableness of the planets follows as a necessary conclusion? Are we warranted so to define the nature of God, that He must people the orbs of heaven? It is because the weakness of the a priori argument is felt that we appeal to astronomy. And we have seen that astronomy does afford a probability, but only a probability, that some of the planets have a life epoch in their history.
Some sanguine minds may turn with disappointment from such a conclusion,—and think that no end is gained, because a certainty is not established. But how often in life is it, that we can attain to nothing more than probability? If we analyse our thoughts, and feelings, and aspirations, we shall fi.nd that they are brought into play more by probabilities than certainties. It might be thought much more satisfactory that the moon turned round her invisible side to us, and shewed us populous towns and cities, than that we should have the conviction of merely the probable existence of such scenes. A higher end may be served by the mere probability. Speculative thought may be more stirred, and more earnest inquiriesinstituted. While there were only probabilities regarding the fate of Franklin, human sympathy and speculation were concentrated on the mysteries of the Arctic regions, and enterprise was called forth which resulted in a most important geographical discovery. When his fate was certain, the sympathy and speculation ceased; and we shall hear nothing more of Arctic enterprise. In like manner, while the existence of life and intelligence in the planets is only probable, the heavenly orbs have a fascination which they might not have, were we assured of its certainty. And the speculative spirit thus called forth may lead to more earnest study of God's glory as declared in the heavens. The spirit of man also is best trained for the highest service of God by ascending, step by step, the ladder of probability, in order that he may stand on the summit-level of absolute certainty and conviction.
The subject has derived new interest from the discussion of it in an anonymous essay ascribed to Dr Whewell, Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. The reason given by the author for assuming the anonymous garb is somewhat singular. He was to question the doctrine of a plurality of worlds, and he wished to escape the odium of such a position. He was to run counter to the prejudices of Christians, and he thought it would be more agreeable for himself and them that he withheld his name. This indicates a strange revolution of sentiment on the subject. At one time, the doctrine formed one of the most formidable weapons of the infidel, and was viewed by Christians in general with suspicion. This is only one illustration of what the whole history of Christianity bears out—that the weapons stolen by the infidel from the armoury of science, are invariably wrenched from his hands, and turned against himself. The doctrine of a plurality of worlds, instead of being regarded as the special property of the infidel, is now engrafted on the Christian faith, as a doctrine most congenial to its spirit. Still, the doctrine is not held so strongly or so generally as the delicacy of the anonymous author of the essay would lead us to infer. By the great mass of Christians, the doctrine is still regarded as a fanciful speculation, and only in a few sanguine and exceptional cases does it form a part of a formal creed.
To those acquainted with the literature of the subject, it is somewhat surprising that, in recent discussions, the name of Andrew Fuller, the distinguished Baptist divine, is never alluded to. No one did more to make the doctrine a matter of Christian belief, or, at least, to divest it of its infidel aspect. He met the arguments of Paine in so exhaustive a manner, that he left little for his successors. Chalmers, in his "Astronomical Discourses," took up the arguments of Fuller, and animated them by the fire of genius. Fuller supplied the hard logic, but, in such a form, the subject was only a dry skeleton. The genius of Chalmers gave it body and life; and the work of genius lives, while the dry logic is forgotten. The arguments of the anonymous essayist may he reduced to the following heads:—
1. We cannot conceive of intelligence unaccompanied by human attributes; if there be inhabitants in the stars, they must be men; and they cannot be men unless they have the conditions which, in this globe, develop the intellectual, moral, and religious character of man. This argument has, properly, no reference to the question of the habitableness of other worlds. It is rather a question of metaphysics or psychology. The question is simply. Whether there can be other intelligences than man? Whether there is only one type of mind? And his argument is, that as he cannot conceive of minds different from his own, there cannot be other minds. But this is only the well-understood fallacy of denying to be true what we cannot conceive. The mere power of conceiving of a thing is no criterion of its existence. The argument, pushed to its legitimate length, would ignore the existence of angels, and all those ranks of spiritual intelligences in whose existence we are taught to believe as a part of our Christian faith. This is the grand point which he wishes to establish, and on which the whole argument turns.
2. The next argument is that of analogy. He denies that the analogy is so strong as to warrant the inference, that the other heavenly bodies are inhabited. This is very much a question of fact, but he concedes the point so far, that in some of the planets inferior forms of life may exist—zoophytes in Jupiter, ascending to reptiles in Mars. Now, this concession is the relinquishment of the whole argument; for the grand point to be established is this. Can the planets support animal organisations at all? This is the real question in an astronomical point of view. The question is, Is life possible? Let astronomers determine this point, and the question of intelligence will be settled on totally different grounds. Now, the author is forced to admit that life is possible; but though he admits this, he thinks he has gained his point, as he holds that man could not exist in any of the planets, and that if there be intelligences at all, they must be men. But not holding this absurd conclusion, we feel that it is enough to have the point of life established, for then conception of intelligence is an easy and natural one. Surely it is a most unwarranted supposition to hold that intelligence can only have one material wrapping—one kind of mortal coil; that mind, if it is to be clogged by matter, the clog must be a human clog; that if mind is to work through material machinery, it must have machinery after the human pattern. Surely it is no very unwarrantable assumption to maintain, that there may possibly be organisations widely different from our own, fitted to enclose the spiritual being. What a range of organisation do we see in this world under the same planetary conditions I and though we here see intelligence linked only to one pattern, yet there is no difficulty in understanding how intelligence may be linked to material forms of a far different mould.
3. The author in viewing the question in the light of design says—that this world may be the only perfect world, that all the others may be abortive; and he takes the case of eggs and seeds to illustrate his point. He says, that in the case of plants and animals there is a great waste. More seeds are produced than there is need for, and more eggs. But this is not true, for provision must be made for the necessary destruction, so that no more germs are produced than, in the circumstances, are needed. But he evades the real point in question. The real question is, Are the planets designed for inhabitants? The question is not so much, Are they inhabited at this moment? as. Are they fitted for inhabitants? When we examine the seed or germ, and see the marks of design, we do not hesitate to infer that the design of it is to be developed into an organised being. When we examine a planet, the question is. Is it fitted to be the abode of inhabitants? Is this the manifest design? The chief question we have to answer is not. Is there a tenant in the house? but. Is the house habitable? If we found a house in a desert island, we would naturally come to the conclusion that it had been, or was destined to be, the abode of some tenant; and this is all that is aimed at by the analogy of worlds.
4. The author argues, that geology tells us that there was a period in our world's history when man did not exist, and when, possibly, no living creature existed upon the earth. Now, we admit the force of this argument so far. It shews us that we are not entitled to point to any planet, and say that it is at this moment inhabited; but surely the natural inference is, that if it is not now inhabited, it may in the course of time be inhabited. This is the conclusion to which the analogy of the earth leads.
The infidel objection of Paine is:—"Though it be not a direct article of the Christian faith that the world we inhabit is the whole of the habitable creation, yet it is so worked up therewith, from what is called the Mosaic creation, the story of Eve and the apple, and the counterpart of the story, the death of the Son of God, that to believe otherwise—that is, to believe that God created a plurality of worlds, at least as numerous as what we call stars—renders the Christian faith at once little and ridiculous, and scatters it in the mind like feathers in the air. The two beliefs cannot be held together in the same mind, and he who thinks he believes both has thought but little of either." The force of this argument is based on the contrast between man's littleness, and the greatness, first, of the material universe, and, secondly, of the number of spiritual intelligences in other parts of creation. As to the greatness of the material universe, it is illogical to contrast it with man's moral nature. The things compared are quite disparate. We might as well speak literally of the weight of a sigh, or the length and breadth of a thought, as calculate the value of a soul in material cubic feet.
The chief difficulty lies in the other part of the contrast—viz., man's insignificance, as compared with the world of intelligences in other parts of creation. It is not true, as Paine insinuates, that Scripture denies the existence of intelligences other than man. The existence of angelic beings is prominently taught, and no limit is set to their number. No doubt, theScriptures do not assign material orbs as their special abode; but the difficulty lies, not with the material idea, but with the existence of innumerable other intelligences. The grand objection, then, is this—If man be only a unit in the universe of intelligence, it is incredible that the Son of God should have come to this world, a mere atom in space, to die for man. One answer to this argument is, that the death of Christ, in its effects, is not confined to man, but extends beyond this world, and may be designed to tell on all other intelligences. The difficulty, however, lies in defining the manner in which the death of Christ may bear on other spiritual beings. Chalmers is disposed to hold it possible, that the atonement proper may extend to other worlds which may have fallen like our own. Such a view, however, is inconsistent with the Scripture doctrine, which regards Christ as the second Adam, it being essential to the work of redemption that there should be an identity of nature between the Saviour and the sinner. Sir David Brewster, in his work, "More Worlds than One," holds the same view as Chalmers, but in a more positive manner. It is not with him a surmise that other worlds have fallen, but a fair analogical deduction. This world has sinned, therefore it is probable that other worlds have sinned. This is stretching the analogical argument too far; for sin is an accident, not an essential element of the constitution of man. Having extended sin to other worlds, the direct benefit of Christ's death is also extended to them. The argument is this—If the benefit of Christ's death extends to distant isles of the sea, why should it not extend as well to the globes floating in space? If the earth were to split in two, like Biela's comet, would not the benefit of Christ's death belong to the one half as well as to the other? Why should not this benefit extend to different worlds, as well as to different halves of the same world? This argument, however, overlooks the fact that redemption has to do, not with the matter of the globe, but with mankind—not with the identity of worlds, but of race. If the earth were to split in halves, two distant worlds would be formed, but the race would still be the same. The guilty nature, needing salvation, would, notwithstanding the terrestrial disruption, remain the same. The case is not at all parallel when we deal with different worlds, inhabited by beings of different natures.
Another supposition of the same distinguished author is, that Christ might be supposed going from world to world to die for sinners. He died on our globe, but He afterwards assumed life, and He maydo this in indefinite succession, so that our world does not stand out as an exceptional case. But the same difficulty, as before, is felt. When Christ rose from the dead, it was in the nature of man. A nature different from man's cannot be redeemed by human sufferings and death. To carry out the analogy, it would be necessary to suppose that Christ assumes a new nature, corresponding to that of the intelligences for whom He lays down His life in different worlds. But this supposition is in direct opposition to Scripture, which declares that He will for ever bear His human nature. The objection to all such hypotheses as these is, that they are far more improbable than the simple proposition they are intended to support. The naked doctrine, that there are other intelligences beside man, is far more probable than the hypothesis that Christ goes from world to world laying down His life for sinners. If there is a difficulty in supposing man alone to be benefited by redemption, the difficulty is not at all lessened by such improbable suppositions. Even granting that the benefits of Christ's death did not extend beyond this world, there is no appalling difficulty in the idea that there are other inhabited worlds beyond our own. The fallacy at the root of Paine's argument is the applying to moral subjects the commercial axiom, that abundance depreciates the value of an article. If there were but one soul in the universe, then it would be of sufficient value to warrant the death of Christ; but if there were millions more, it would be out of the question that such a price should be paid for one soul. And so in regard to worlds: if there were no other worlds than ours, it would not be improbable that Christ should die for it, but as there are many other worlds, it is highly improbable that God should esteem it so highly as redeem it at such a cost. But the absurdity of this argument is at once seen in the light even of human feelings. A parent does not love his children less in proportion as their number increases. He does not, by an arithmetical rule, divide his love, as he must often do his slender pittance, among them. His joy in each may be only enhanced by the play of domestic affection in the enlarged family circle; and when one falls, his grief may be all the greater because of the shame and sorrow that come upon all. If man be only one of a large family circle, God does not value his soul the less; and He will not be less disposed to make a sacrifice to redeem him from the sin and sorrow which he has brought upon himself by the fall. If a father were reported to have made a great sacrifice to rescue one member of his family from disgrace, would it be reasonable to doubt the story because he had not made similar sacrifices for his children who had not fallen? Would it at all increase the probability to suppose that all the other members had fallen, and that similar sacrifices had been made? In the same way, it would not at all increase the credibility of the scheme of redemption to suppose that other intelligences had fallen, or, rather, the redemptive act needs no such hypothesis for its support.
Are we to conclude, then, that the influence of the work of redemption does not extend beyond our world or the human race? By no means. Though the merits of Christ's death be not applicable to the pardon of sin beyond the limits of the human race, yet the influence may be felt by all created intelligences. When a monarch exercises his prerogative of mercy, and pardons the offender, there is only one person pardoned, but thousands may share in the emotions of joy and gratitude. The great act of mercy to man may, in like manner, convey to thousands of bright orbs tidings of great joy. The whole tenor of Scripture sanctions the idea, that while man alone is pardoned, all holy intelligences share his joy. Astronomy has revealed the great truth, that the whole universe is bound together by one all-pervading influence. Worlds, and systems, and firmaments are linked together by the mysterious power of gravitation. No atom in the universe exists merely for itself. The very mote that dances in the sunbeam is allied to the suns burning in the depths of space. There is the universal law of mutual influence, and the universe is one grand unit, one organic whole.
But is this union, this mutual influence, confined to the mere matter of worlds? Have we not reason to believe that a closer bond than gravity will unite all holy intelligences? At present, indeed, we feel that there is no bond of sympathy between us and the inhabitants of other worlds. We are only groping our way to the conviction that there may be other worlds teeming with inhabitants. But why is man doomed to this isolation in space? Why do we dwell apart, and feel that our world is wrenched from the community of worlds that circle in space? We have reason to believe that sin has doomed us to this isolation,—that it has made this world our prisonhouse instead of an abode of liberty, where we might hold intercourse with other pure spirits.
But are we for ever doomed to this isolation? Are we never mare to be linked to the sympathies of the universe around us? No! the yearnings of our hearts tell us, the teachings of our holy faith warrant the belief, that one grand aim of the scheme of redemption is to remedy and perfect the bond of sympathy that was broken by the fall, and to bring us into closer alliance with all the various grades of moral intelligences throughout the universe.
It was a beautiful instinct that made man in other days endow the celestial spheres with music: — "Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubim:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it."
The universe is a great harp, and each orb a string in that harp; but one string, at least, is untuned. Sin has broken that string, and now there is a jarring in the notes that ascend to the throne of the Eternal. One great end of redemption is to re-adjust this jarring string of our world. The whole universe, in some measure, felt the fall of man, just as one discordant string tells upon the harmony of all the strings of a musical instrument; and the whole universe will feel the effects of redemption, when this world is once more put in tune by the hand of love and mercy. Then sweeter melodies and sublimer harmonies will arise than any that have yet ascended to the throne of the Eternal.
This world is no longer the material centre of the universe, but revelation teaches us that it is still the sjnritual centre. From this centre emanate those influences which shall bind for ever all the sons of God into one great family. Well may we exclaim, when we contemplate man's original inferiority in the scale of intelligence, and the meanness of his abode, "What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou shouldest visit him?"— but well may we rejoice and say, "Thou hast crowned him with glory and honour!"—when we remember what he is now.
With the light of revelation and astronomy commingled, we can take a loftier view of the work of redemption. We can see that the decease accomplished on Calvary was not only to save man, but to reunite all the spiritual family of God. Heaven will be the reunion of all holy spirits into one great company. The visions of John in the book of Revelation, naturally force upon us the conviction that heaven will be such a reunion. "I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne, and the living creatures, and the elders, and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand." But amidst the ranks of heaven man will still retain his pre-eminence; he will still be crowned with glory and honour. Man will occupy the inner circle nearest the throne. The redeemed will be kin to Him who sitteth upon the throne, and there will be a bond stronger than any seraph can feel. When we contemplate this glorious reunion, enhanced in wonder by the light of astronomy, what should be the most ardent aspiration of our hearts? what the deepest longing of our souls, and the aim of our life on earth? Must it not be to stand in the midst of that glorious throng, and swell the anthems of the heavenly temple, "Allelujah, Allelujah, for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth! Blessing, and glory, and power, be to Him who sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever!"