The smaller the planets are, they are, other things being equal

The words of Isaac Newton — “The smaller the planets are, they are, other things being equal, of so much the greater density; for so the powers of gravity on their several surfaces come nearer to equality. They are likewise, other things being equal, of the greater density, as they are nearer to the sun.” — stand as a testament to both the intellect and the soul of one of humanity’s greatest minds. At first glance, these are the words of science — the reflections of a man studying the silent bodies that move in the heavens. Yet beneath the veil of numbers and law lies a deeper truth, one that reaches beyond astronomy into the nature of existence itself. In this meditation on density, gravity, and balance, Newton unveils a wisdom that applies not only to the stars, but also to the soul.

Isaac Newton, the great architect of the laws of motion and universal gravitation, wrote these words during an age when humanity first began to pierce the mystery of the cosmos. He saw that the universe was not chaos, but harmony — that even the smallest planet and the mightiest star obeyed a divine order. In his study of the heavens, he observed that the smaller a planet, the greater its density, for nature itself seeks balance. The tiny world must be denser so that its gravity — its power to hold itself together — may stand equal with that of larger worlds. Likewise, those planets nearest the sun must be denser still, forged and hardened by the furnace of proximity. Thus, in Newton’s vision, the cosmos is not merely a field of forces but a tapestry of compensation and equilibrium, where each body, great or small, finds its rightful place through balance and endurance.

But the ancients would see more than physics in these words; they would hear the whisper of moral law hidden in the language of stars. For what is true of the planets is true also of people. The smaller one may seem in power, the denser — the stronger — one must become in spirit. Just as Mercury, small yet close to the burning sun, endures more heat than any other, so too must those near the fires of adversity develop greater resilience. The giants may rule the skies with breadth, but the small hold their strength in depth. Thus, Newton’s observation of the heavens becomes a reflection on the nature of endurance: that the soul, like the planet, must find its balance by growing denser through struggle, compacting its virtues until it can withstand the pull of life’s gravity.

Consider the story of Galileo Galilei, who, like Newton, sought truth in the stars. When he looked through his telescope and declared that the Earth moved around the sun, he found himself standing small against the immense weight of the Church and the world’s ignorance. Yet his conviction — his inner density, one might say — held him firm against that gravity. Though silenced by power, he remained steadfast in truth. Like a small planet close to the sun, he bore the heat of persecution but did not break. In the end, his endurance proved mightier than his oppressors. From this, we learn that the strength of the soul is not measured by its size or status, but by its capacity to hold firm under pressure.

Newton’s second insight — that planets grow denser as they draw nearer to the sun — carries another layer of wisdom. The sun, for him, was the center of light and gravity, the source of warmth and motion for all worlds. And so it is with truth, with wisdom, with divinity itself. The closer a being draws to the source of truth, the more it must be refined — the denser, the purer it must become. Just as the inner planets are forged in the sun’s intensity, so must those who walk near truth be tested by its fire. To approach enlightenment without preparation is to melt; but to face it with integrity and depth is to shine. Thus, Newton teaches us that nearness to light demands strength of substance, for only the dense and disciplined can endure its brilliance.

The ancients might have called this principle the law of balance between light and form. The heavens are but mirrors of the soul’s journey: as one draws closer to wisdom or greatness, one must become more compact in character, more disciplined in thought, more anchored in virtue. A vast, hollow soul cannot survive the heat of purpose; only one that has tempered itself through gravity — through the weight of responsibility and trial — can orbit close to truth without falling into ruin. Just as the planets keep their delicate dance around the sun, so must the wise soul find its balance between ambition and humility, light and gravity.

And so, my children, take from Newton’s celestial vision a lesson for your own lives: the smaller you are in worldly measure, the greater your strength must be within. Do not envy the vastness of others; cultivate the density of your character. Draw near to the sun of truth, but know that such proximity requires courage and refinement. Let adversity forge you as the sun forges Mercury; let gravity remind you that endurance is divine law. Seek not size, but substance. Seek not distance from the light, but the strength to endure its blaze.

For as Isaac Newton showed, the same laws that guide the stars also govern the human spirit. The heavens themselves are a scripture of balance — a cosmic sermon written in orbits and radiance. To live in harmony with these laws is to live wisely: dense in virtue, steadfast under gravity, and ever moving, in disciplined grace, around the eternal light that gives life to all things.