Planetsx
Planetsx
Inhabited?
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Title: Are the Planets Inhabited?
Author: E. Walter Maunder
Release date: April 23, 2011 [eBook #35937]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARE THE PLANETS
INHABITED? ***
H
CHAPTER V
THE MOON
T HE Sun and Moon offer to our sight almost exactly the same apparent diameters;
to the eye, they look the same size. But as we know the Sun to be 400 times as distant
as the Moon, it is necessarily 400 times as large; its surface must exceed that of the
Moon by the square of 400, or 160,000; its volume by the cube of 400, or 64,000,000.
As the Sun is of low mean density, its mass does not exceed that of the Moon in quite
the same high ratio; but it is equal in mass to
27,000,000 moons.
Compared with the Sun, the Moon is therefore an insignificant little ball—a mere
particle; but as a world for habitation it possesses some advantages over the Sun. The
first glance at it in a telescope is sufficient to assure the observer that he is looking at a
solid, substantial globe. It is not only substantial, it is rugged; its surface is broken up
into mountains, hills, valleys, and plains; the mountains stand out in sensible relief;
it looks like a ball of solid silver boldly embossed and chased.
So far all is to the good for the purpose of habitation. Wherever men are, they must
have a solid platform on which to stand; they must have a stable terrene whereon
their food may grow, and this the Moon could supply. “The Earth’s gloom of iron
substance” is necessary for man here, and the Moon appears to offer a like stability.
Another favourable condition is that we know that the Moon receives from the Sun
a sufficient supply of light and heat. Each square yard of its surface receives, on the
average, the same amount of light and heat that would fall upon a square yard on the
Earth that was presented towards the Sun at the same inclination; and we know from
our own experience that this is sufficient for the maintenance of life.
And the Moon is near enough for us to subject her to a searching scrutiny. Every
part of the hemisphere turned toward us has been repeatedly examined, measured,
and photographed; to that extent our knowledge of its topography is more complete
than of the world on which we live. There are no unexplored regions on our side of
the Moon. The great photographs taken in recent years at the observatories of Paris
and of the University of Chicago have shown thousands of “crater-pits,” not more
than a mile across; and narrow lines on the Moon’s surface have been detected with
a breadth less than one-tenth of this. An elevation on the Moon, if it rose up abruptly
from an open plain, would make its presence apparent by the shadow which it would
cast soon after sunrise or near sunset; in this way an isolated building, if it were as
large as the great pyramid of Ghizeh, would also show itself, and all our great towns
and cities would be apparent as areas of indistinct mottling, though the details of the
cities would not be made out.
But if vegetation took the same forms on the Moon as on the Earth, and passed through
the same changes, we should have no difficulty in perceiving the evidence of its
presence. If we were transported to the Moon and turned our eyes earthward, we
should not need the assistance of any telescope in order to detect terrestrial changes
which would be plainly connected with the seasonal changes of vegetation. The Earth
would present to us a disc four times the apparent diameter of the Moon, and on that
disc Canada would offer as great an area as the whole of the Moon does to us. We
could easily follow with the naked eye the change from the glittering whiteness of
the aspect of Canada when snow-covered in winter, to the brown, green and gold
which would succeed each other during the brighter months of the year. And this type
of change would alternate between the northern and southern hemispheres, for the
winter of Canada is the summer of the Argentine, and conversely.
We ought, therefore, to have no difficulty in observing seasonal changes on the Moon,
if such take place. But nothing of the kind has ever been remarked; no changes
sufficiently pronounced for us to be sure of them are ever witnessed. Here and there
some slight mutations have been suspected, nearly all accomplishing their cycle in
the course of a lunar day; so that it is difficult to separate them from changes purely
apparent, brought about by the change in the incidence of the illumination.
The difference in appearance of a given area on the Moon when viewed under a low
Sun and when the Sun is on the meridian is very striking. In the first case everything
is in the boldest relief; the shadows are long and intensely black; the whole area under
examination in the telescope seems as if it might be handled. Under the high Sun, the
contrasts are gone; the scenery appears flat, many of the large conspicuous markings
are only recognized with difficulty. Thus the terse remark of Mädler, “The full Moon
knows no Maginus,” has become a proverb amongst selenographers; yet Maginus is
a fine walled plain some eighty miles in diameter, and its rampart attains a height in
parts of 14,000 feet. Maginus lies near Tycho, which has been well named “the lunar
metropolis,” for from it radiates the principal system of bright streaks conspicuous
on the full Moon. These white streaks appear when the shadows have vanished or are
growing short; they are not seen under a low Sun.
The changes which appear to take place in the lunar formations owing to the change
in their illumination are much more striking and varied than would be anticipated.
But the question arises whether all the changes that are associated with the progress
of the lunar day can be ascribed to this effect. Thus, Prof. W. H. Pickering writes
concerning a well-known pair of little craters of about nine miles in diameter, “known
as Messier and Messier A, situated side by side not far from the centre of the Mare
Fecunditatis. When the Sun rises first on them, the eastern one, A, is triangular and
larger than Messier, which latter is somewhat pear-shaped. About three days after
sunrise they both suddenly turn white, Messier rapidly grows in size, soon surpasses
A, and also becomes triangular in shape. Six days after sunrise the craters are again
nearly of the same size, owing to the diminution of Messier. The shape of A has
become irregular, and differs in different lunations. At nine days after sunrise the
craters are exactly alike in size and shape, both now being elliptical, with their major
axes lying in a nearly N. and S. direction. Just before sunset A is again the larger,
being almost twice the size of Messier.”[12]
Some observers explain this cycle of changes as due merely to the peculiar contour of
the two objects, the change in the lighting during the lunar day altering their apparent
figures. Prof. W. H. Pickering, on the other hand, while recognizing that some portion
of the change of shape is probably due to the contour of the ground, conceives that, in
order to explain the whole phenomenon, it is necessary to suppose that a white layer of
hoar frost is formed periodically round the two craters. It is also alleged that whereas
Mädler described the two craters as being exactly alike eighty years ago, Messier A is
now distinctly the larger; but it is very doubtful whether Mädler’s description can be
trusted to this degree of nicety. If it could, this would establish a permanent change
in the actual structure of the lunar surface at this point.
There are several other cases of the same order of ambiguity. The most celebrated is
Linné, a white spot about six miles in diameter on the Mare Serentatis. This object
appears to change in size during the progress of the lunar day, and, as with Messier,
some selenographers consider that it has also suffered an actual permanent change in
shape within the last sixty or seventy years. Here again the evidence is not decisive;
Neison is by no means convinced that a change has taken place, yet does not think
it impossible that Linné may once have been a crater with steep walls which have
collapsed into its interior through the force of gravity.
Another type of suspected change is associated with the neighbourhood of
Aristarchus, the brightest formation on the Moon, so bright indeed that Sir William
Herschel, observing it when illuminated by earthshine in the dark portion of the
Moon, thought that he was watching a lunar volcano in eruption. In 1897, on
September 21, the late Major Molesworth noticed that the crater was at that time
under the rays of the setting Sun, and filled with shadow, and the inner terraces, which
should have been invisible, were seen as faint, knotted, glimmering streaks under
both the eastern and western walls, and the central peak was also dimly discernible.
He thought this unusual lighting up of rocks on which the Sun had already set might
be due either to phosphorescence produced by long exposure to the Sun’s rays, or to
inherent heat, or to reflected glare from the western rampart. Still more important,
both Major Molesworth and Mr. Walter Goodacre, each on more than one occasion,
observed what seemed to be a faint bluish mist on the inner slope of the east wall,
soon after sunrise, but this was visible only for a short time. Other selenographers too,
on rare occasions, have made observations accordant with these, relating to various
regions on the Moon.
These, and a few other similar instances, are all that selenography has to offer by
way of evidence of actual lunar change. Of seeming change there is abundance, but
beyond that we have only cases for controversy, and one of the most industrious of
the present-day observers of the Moon, M. Philip Fauth, declares that “as a student of
the Moon for the last twenty years, and as probably one of the few living investigators
who have kept in practical touch with the results of selenography, he is bound to
express his conviction that no eye has ever seen a physical change in the plastic
features of the Moon’s surface.”[13]
In this matter of change, then, the Earth and Moon stand in the greatest contrast to
each other. As we have seen, from the view-point of the Moon, the appearance of
the Earth would change so manifestly with the progress of the seasons that no one
could fail to remark the difference, even though observing with the naked eye. But
from the view-point of the Earth, the Moon when examined by our most experienced
observers, armed with our most powerful telescopes, offers us only a few doubtful
enigmatical instances of possible change confined to small isolated localities; we see
no evidence that the “gloom of iron substance” below is ever concealed by a veil
of changing vegetation, or that “between the burning light and deep vacuity” of the
heavens above, the veil of the flying vapour has ever been spread out. We see the
Moon so clearly that we are assured it holds no water to nourish plant life; we see it
so clearly because there is no air to carry the vapour that might dim our view.
Life is change, and a planet where there is no change, or where that change is very
small, can be no home for life. The “stability and insensibility” are indeed required
in the platform upon which life is to appear, but there must be the presence of “the
passion and the perishing,” or life will be unable to find a home.
We infer the absence of water and air from the Moon not only from the unchanging
character of its features and the distinctness with which we see them; we are able
to make direct observations. Galileo, the first man to observe the Moon to better
advantage than with the naked eye, was not long before he decided that the Moon
contained no water, for though Milton, in a well-known passage, makes Galileo
discover
“Rivers or mountains on her spotty globe,”
Galileo himself wrote: “I do not believe that the body of the Moon is composed of
earth and water.” The name of maria was given to the great grey plains of the Moon
by Hevelius, but this was simply for convenience of nomenclature, not because he
actually believed them to be seas. One observation is, in itself, sufficient to prove
that the maria are not water surfaces. The Moon’s “terminator,” that is to say, the line
dividing the part in sunlight from that in darkness, is clearly irregular when it passes
over the great plains; were they actually sea it would be a bright line and perfectly
smooth. The grey plains are therefore not expanses of water now, nor were they in
time past. It is obvious that in some remote antiquity their surface was in a fluid
condition, but it was the fluidity of molten rock. This is seen by the way in which
the maria have invaded, breached, broken down, and submerged many of the circular
formations on their margins. Thus the Mare Humorum has swept away half the wall
of the rings, Hippalus and Doppelmayer, and far out in the open plain of the Mare
Nubium, great circles like Kies, and that immediately north of Flamsteed, stand up
in faint relief as of half-submerged rings. Clearly there was a period after the age
in which the great ring mountains and walled plains came into existence, when an
invasive flood attacked and partially destroyed a large proportion of them. And the
flood itself evidently became more viscous and less fluid the further it spread from
its original centre of action, for the ridges and crumpling of the surface indicate that
the material found more and more difficulty in its flow.
We have evidence just as direct that there is no atmosphere. This is very strikingly
shown when the Moon, in its monthly progress among the stars, passes before one
of them and occults it. Such an occultation is instantaneous, and is particularly
impressive when either a disappearance or a reappearance occurs at the defective
limb; that is to say, at the limb which is not illuminated by the Sun, and is therefore
invisible. The observer may have a bright star in the field of view, showing steadily
in a cloudless sky; there is not a hint of a weakening in its light; suddenly it is gone.
The first experience of such an observation is most disconcerting; it is hardly less
disconcerting to observe the reappearance at the dark limb. One moment the field of
view of the telescope is empty; the next, without any sort of dawning, a bright star is
shining steadily in the void, and it almost seems to the observer as if an explosion had
taken place. If the Moon had an atmosphere extending upwards from its surface in all
directions and of any appreciable density, an occultation would not be so exceedingly
abrupt; and, in particular, if the occultation were watched through a spectroscope,
then, at the disappearance, the spectrum of the star would not vanish as a whole, but
the red end would go first, and the rest of the spectrum would be swept out of sight
successively, from orange to the violet. This does not happen; the whole spectrum
goes out together, and it is clear that no appreciable atmosphere can exist on the
Moon. In actual observation so inappreciable is it that its density at the Moon’s
surface is variously estimated as 1⁄300th of that of the Earth by Neison, and as 1⁄10000th by
W. H. Pickering. If the Moon possessed an atmosphere bearing the same proportion
to her total mass as we find in the case of the Earth, she would have a density of one-
fortieth of our atmosphere at the sea level.
The Moon is at the same mean distance from the Sun as the Earth, and therefore,
surface for surface, receives from it on the average the same amount of light and
heat. But it makes a very different use of these supplies. Bright as the Moon appears
when seen at the full on some winter night, it has really but a very low power of
reflection, and is only bright by contrast with the darkness of the midnight sky. If the
full Moon is seen in broad daylight, it is pale and ghost-like. Sir John Herschel has
put it on record that when in South Africa he often had the opportunity of comparing
the Moon with the face of Table Mountain, the Sun shining full upon both, and the
Moon appeared no brighter than the weathered rock. The best determinations of the
albedo of the Moon, that is to say, of its reflective power, give it as 0·17, so that only
one-sixth of the incident light is reflected, the other five-sixths being absorbed. It is
difficult to obtain a good determination of the Earth’s albedo, but the most probable
estimate puts it as about 0·50, or three times as great as that of the Moon. This high
reflective power is partly to be accounted for by the great extent of the terrestrial
polar caps, but chiefly by the clouds and dust layer always present in its atmosphere.
A larger proportion, therefore, of the solar rays are employed in heating the soil of
the Moon than in heating that of the Earth, and in this connection the effect of an
important difference between the two worlds must be noted. The Earth rotates on its
axis in 23 hours 56 minutes 4 seconds, the mean length of its rotation as referred to the
Sun being 24 hours. The rotation of the Moon, on the other hand, takes 27 days 7 hours
43 minutes to accomplish, giving a mean rotation, as referred to the Sun, of 29 days
12 hours 44 minutes. The lunar surface is therefore exposed uninterruptedly to the
solar scorching for very nearly fifteen of our days at a time, and it is, in turn, exposed
to the intense cold of outer space for an equal period. As the surface absorbs heat so
readily, it must radiate it as quickly; hence radiation must go on with great rapidity
during the long lunar night. Lord Rosse and Prof. Very have both obtained measures
of the change in the lunar heat radiation during the progress of a total eclipse of the
Moon, with the result that the heat disappeared almost completely, though not quite
at the same time as the light. Prof. Langley succeeded in obtaining from the Moon, far
down in the long wave lengths of the infra-red, a heat spectrum which was only partly
due to reflection from the Sun; part coming from the lunar soil itself, which, having
absorbed heat from the Sun, radiated it out again almost immediately. In 1898, Prof.
Very, following up Langley’s line of work, concluded that the temperature of the
lunar soil must range through about 350° Centigrade, considerably exceeding 100°
at the height of the lunar day, and falling to about the temperature of liquid air during
the lunar night. So wide a range of temperature must be fatal to living organisms,
particularly when the range is repeated at short, regular intervals of time. But this
range of temperature comes directly from the length of the Moon’s rotation period;
for the longer the day of the Moon, the higher the temperature which may be attained
in it; the longer the night, the greater the cold which will in turn be experienced.
We learn, therefore, that the time of rotation of a planet is an important factor in its
habitability.
CHAPTER VI
THE CANALS OF MARS
B OTH of the two worlds best placed for our study are thus, for different reasons,
ruled out of court as worlds for habitation. The Sun by its vastness, its intolerable
heat and the violence of its changes, has to be rejected on the one hand, while the
Moon, so small, and therefore so rigid, unchanging and bare, is rejected on the other.
Of the other heavenly bodies, the planet Mars is the one that we see to best advantage.
Two other planets, Eros and Venus, at times come nearer to us, but neither offers
us on such occasions equal facilities for their examination. But of Mars it has been
asserted not only that it is inhabited, but that we know it to be the case, since the
evidence of the handiwork of intelligent beings is manifest to us, even across the
tremendous gulf of forty or more million miles of space.
A claim so remarkable almost captures the position by its audacity. There is a natural
desire among men to believe the marvellous, and the very boldness of the assertion
goes no small way to overcome incredulity. And when we consider how puny are men
as we see them on this our planet, how minute their greatest works, how superhuman
any undertaking would be which could demonstrate our existence to observers on
another planet, we must admit that it is a marvel that there should be any evidence
forthcoming that could bear one way or another on the solution of a problem so
difficult.
The first fact that we have to remember with regard to the planet Mars is the smallness
of its apparent size. To the eye it is nearly a star—a point of light without visible
surface. It is almost twice the size of the Moon in actual diameter, but as its mean
distance from the Earth is 600 times that of the Moon, its mean apparent diameter
is 300 times smaller. We cannot, however, watch Mars in all parts of its orbit; it is
best placed for observation, and, therefore, most observed, when in opposition, and
oppositions may be favourable or unfavourable. At the most favourable opposition,
Mars is 140 times as distant as the Moon; at the least favourable, 260 times; so that
on such occasions its apparent size varies from 1⁄70th of the diameter of the Moon to
1⁄130th. But a telescope with a magnifying power of 70 could never, under the most
perfect conditions, show Mars, even in the closest opposition, as well as the Moon is
seen with the naked eye, for the practical magnifying power of a telescope is never as
great as the theoretical. In practice, a child’s spy-glass magnifying some six diameters
will show the full Moon to better advantage than Mars has ever been seen, even in
our most powerful telescopes.
The small apparent size of the planet explains how it was that Galileo does not seem to
have been able to detect any markings upon it. In 1659, Huyghens laid the foundation
stone of areography by observing some dark spots, and determining from their
apparent movements that the planet had a rotation on its axis, which it accomplished
in about the same time as the Earth. Small and rough as are the drawings that
Huyghens made, the identification of one or two of his spots is unmistakable. Seven
years later, in 1666, both Cassini and Hooke made a number of sketches, and those
by Hooke have been repeatedly used in modern determinations of the rotation period
of the planet. The next great advance was made by Sir William Herschel, who, during
the oppositions of 1777, 1779, 1781, and 1783, determined the inclination of the
axis of Mars to the plane of its orbit, measured its polar and equatorial diameters,
and ascertained the amount of the polar flattening. He paid also special attention to
two bright white spots upon the planet, and he showed that these formed round the
planet’s poles and increased in size as the winter of each several hemisphere drew
on and diminished again with the advance of summer, behaving therefore as do the
snow caps of our own polar regions.
The next stage in the development of our knowledge of Mars must be ascribed to the
two German astronomers, Beer and Mädler, who made a series of drawings in the
years 1830, 1832 and 1837, by means of a telescope of 4 inches aperture, from which
they were able to construct a chart of the entire globe. This chart may be considered
classic, for the features which it represents have been observed afresh at each
succeeding opposition. Mars, therefore, possesses a permanent topography, and some
of the markings in question can be identified, not only in the rough sketches made
by Sir William Herschel, but even in those made by Hooke and Cassini as far back
as the year 1666. In the forty years that followed, the planet was studied by many of
the most skilled observers, particularly by Mr. J. N. Lockyer in 1862, and the Rev.
W. R. Dawes in 1864. In 1877, the late Mr. N. E. Green, drawing-master to Queen
Victoria, and a distinguished painter in water colours, made a series of sketches of
the planet from a station in the island of Madeira 2000 feet above sea-level. When
the opposition was over, Mr. Green collected together a large number of drawings,
and formed a chart of the planet, much richer in detail than any that had preceded it,
and from his skill, experience and training as an artist he reproduced the appearance
of the planet with a fidelity that had never been equalled before and has never been
surpassed since. At this time it was generally assumed that Mars was a miniature of
our own world. The brighter districts of its surface were supposed to be continents,
the darker, seas. As Sir William Herschel had already pointed out long before, the
little world evidently had its seasons, its axis being inclined to the plane of its orbit at
much the same angle as is the case with the Earth; it had its polar caps, presumably
of ice and snow; its day was but very little longer than that of the Earth; and the only
important difference seemed to be that it had a longer year, and was a little further off
the Sun. But the general conclusion was that it was so like the Earth in its conditions
that we had practically found out all that there was to know; all that seemed to be
reserved for future research was that a few minor details of the surface might be filled
in as the power of our telescopes was increased.
But fortunately for progress, this sense of satisfaction was to be rudely disturbed. As
Mars, in its progress round the Sun, receded from the Earth, or rather as the Earth
moved away from it, the astronomers who observed so diligently during the autumn
of 1877 turned their attention to other objects. One of them, however, Schiaparelli, the
most distinguished astronomer on the continent of Europe, still continued to watch
the planet, and, as the result of his labours, he published some months later the first of
a magnificent series of Memoirs, bringing to light what appeared to be a new feature.
His drawings not only showed the “lands” and “seas,” that is to say the bright and dark
areas, that Green and his predecessors had drawn, but also a number of fine, narrow,
dark lines crossing the “lands” in every direction. These narrow lines are the markings
which have since been so celebrated as the “canals of Mars,” and the discussion as
to the real nature of these canals has focussed attention upon Mars in a way that,
perhaps, nothing else could have done. Before 1877 the study of planetary markings
was left almost entirely to the desultory labours of amateurs, skilled though many of
them were; since 1877, the most powerful telescopes of the great public observatories
of the world have been turned upon Mars, and the most skilful and experienced of
professional astronomers have not been ashamed to devote their time to it.
There is no need to pass in review the whole of the immense mass of observations that
have been accumulated since Schiaparelli brought out the first of his great Memoirs.
That Memoir gave rise to an immediate controversy, for many astronomers of skill
and experience had observed the planet in 1877 without detecting the network of
lines which Schiaparelli had revealed, and it was natural that they should feel some
reluctance in accepting results so strange and novel. But little by little this controversy
has passed. We now know that the “canals” vary much in their visibility, and
“curiously enough the canals are most conspicuous, not at the time the planet is
nearest to the Earth and its general features are in consequence best seen, but as
the planet goes away the canals come out. The fact is that the orbital position and
the seasonal epoch conspire to a masking of the phenomena.” This was the chief
reason why Schiaparelli’s discoveries seemed at first to stand so entirely without
corroboration; the “canals” did not become conspicuous until after most observers
had desisted from following the planet. Another reason was that, in 1877, Mars was
low down in the sky for northern observatories, and good definition is an essential
for their recognition. But the careful examination of drawings made in earlier
oppositions, especially those made by Dawes and Green, afforded confirmation of
not a few of Schiaparelli’s “canals”; even in 1877 a few of the easiest and most
conspicuous had been delineated by other astronomers before any rumour of
Schiaparelli’s work had come abroad, and as Mars came under observation again
and again at successive oppositions, the number of those who were able to verify
Schiaparelli’s discoveries increased. It has now long been known that the great Italian
astronomer was not the victim of a mere optical illusion; there were actual markings
on the planet Mars where he had represented them; markings which, when seen under
like conditions and with equal instrumental equipment, did present the appearance of
straight, narrow lines. The “canals of Mars” are not mere figments of the imagination,
but have a real objective basis.
As this controversy has passed away, another and a very different one has arisen
out of an unfortunate mistranslation of the term chosen by Schiaparelli to indicate
these linear streaks. In conformity with the type of nomenclature adopted by previous
areographers who had divided Mars into “seas,” “continents,” “islands,” “isthmuses,”
“straits” and the like, Schiaparelli had called the narrow lines he detected “canali”,
that is to say “channels,” but without intending to convey the idea of artificial
construction. Indeed, he himself was careful to point out that these designations “were
not intended to prejudge the nature of the spot, and were nothing but an artifice for
helping the memory and for shortening descriptions.” And he added, “We speak in
the same way of the lunar seas, although we well know that there are no true seas on
the Moon.” But “canali” was unhappily rendered in English as “canals,” instead of
“channels.” “Channel” would have left the nature of the marking an open question,
but, in English, “canal” means an artificial waterway. Here then the question as to
whether or no Mars is inhabited comes definitely before us. Have we sufficient
grounds for believing that the “canals” are artificial constructions, or may they be
merely natural formations?
In 1894, Mr. Percival Lowell founded at Flagstaff, Arizona, U.S.A., a well-equipped
observatory for the special study of Mars, and he has continued his scrutiny of the
planet from that time to the present with the most unrelaxing perseverance. The chief
results that he has obtained have been the detection of many new “canals”; the
discovery of a number of dark, round dots, termed by him “oases,” at the junctions of
the “canals”; and the demonstration that the “canals” and certain of the dusky regions
are subject to strictly seasonal change, as really as the polar caps themselves. In
addition, he has formed the conclusion, which he has supported with much ingenuity
and skill, that the regularity of the “canals” and “oases” quite precludes the possibility
of their being natural formations. Hence there has arisen the second controversy: that
on the nature of the “canals”; for Mr. Lowell considers that their presence proves the
existence of inhabitants on Mars, who, by means of a Titanic system of irrigation, are
fighting a losing battle against the gradual desiccation of their planet.
In a paper published in the International Scientific Review, “Scientia,” in January,
1910, Mr. Lowell gave a summary of his argument.
“Organic life needs water for its existence. This water we see exists on
Mars, but in very scant amount, so that if life of any sort exists there,
it must be chiefly dependent on the semi-annual unlocking of the polar
snows for its supply, inasmuch as there are no surface bodies of it over
the rest of the planet. Now the last few years, beginning with Schiaparelli
in 1877, and much extended since at Flagstaff, have shown:
“The surface of the planet to be very curiously meshed by a fine network
of lines and spots.
“Now if one considers first the appearance of this network of lines and
spots, and then its regular behaviour, he will note that its geometrism
precludes its causation on such a scale by any natural process and, on the
other hand, that such is precisely the aspect which an artificial irrigating
system, dependent upon the melting of the polar snows, would assume.
Since water is only to be had at the time it is there unlocked, and since for
any organic life it must be got, it would be by tapping the disintegrated
cap, and only so, that it could be obtained. If Mars be inhabited,
therefore, it is precisely such a curious system we should expect to see,
and only by such explanation does it seem possible to account for the
facts.
“These lines are the so-called canals of Mars. It is not supposed that what
we see is the conduit itself. On the contrary, the behaviour of these lines
indicates that what we are looking at is vegetation. Now, vegetation can
only be induced by a water-supply. What we see resembles the yearly
inundation of the Nile, of which to a spectator in space the river itself
might be too narrow to be seen, and only the verdured country on its
banks be visible. This is what we suppose to be the case with Mars.
However the water be conducted, whether in covered conduits, which
seems probable, or not, science is not able to state, but the effects of it are
so palpable and so exactly in accord with what such a system of irrigation
would show, that we are compelled to believe that such is indeed its vera
causa.”
Beside the bulky Memoirs in which Prof. Lowell has published the scientific results
obtained at his observatory at Flagstaff, and papers and articles appearing in various
scientific journals, he has brought out three books of a more popular character:
“Mars”; “Mars and its Canals”; and “Mars as the Abode of Life.” In these he shows
that to the assiduity of the astronomer he adds the missionary’s zeal and eagerness
for converts as he pleads most skilfully for the acceptance of his chosen doctrine
of the presence of men on Mars. In the last of the three books mentioned, he deals
directly with “Proofs of Life on Mars.” The presence of vegetation may be inferred
from seasonal changes of tint, just as an observer on the Moon might with the naked
eye watch effects on the Earth. But though “vegetable life could thus reveal itself
directly, animal life could not. Not by its body but by its mind would it be known.
Across the gulf of space it could be recognized only by the imprint it had made on
the face of Mars.”
“Confronting the observer are lines and spots that but impress him the
more, as his study goes on, with their non-natural look. So uncommonly
regular are they, and on such a scale as to raise suspicions whether they
can be by nature regularly produced” (p. 188).
“... Unnatural regularity, the observations showed, betrays itself in
everything to do with the lines: in their surprising straightness, their
amazing uniformity throughout, their exceeding tenuity, and their
immense length” (p. 189).
“As a planet ages, its surface water grows scarce. Its oceans in time dry
up, its rivers cease to flow, its lakes evaporate (p. 203).... Now, in the
struggle for existence, water must be got.... Its procuring depends on the
intelligence of the organisms that stand in need of it.... As a planet ages,
any organisms upon it will share in its development. They must evolve
with it, indeed, or perish. At first they change only, as environment offers
opportunity, in a lowly, unconscious way. But, as brain develops, they
rise superior to such occasioning.... The last stage in the expression of
life upon a planet’s surface must be that just antecedent to its dying of
thirst.... With an intelligent population this inevitable end would be long
foreseen.... Both polar caps would be pressed into service in order to
utilize the whole available supply and also to accommodate most easily
the inhabitants of each hemisphere” (pp. 204-11).
“That intelligence should thus mutely communicate its existence to us
across the far reaches of space, itself remaining hid, appeals to all that
is highest and most far-reaching in man himself. More satisfactory than
strange this; for in no other way could the habitation of the planet have
been revealed. It simply shows again the supremacy of mind.... Thus,
not only do the observations we have scanned lead us to the conclusion
that Mars at this moment is inhabited, but they land us at the further one
that these denizens are of an order whose acquaintance was worth the
making” (p. 215).
For the moment, let us leave Prof. Lowell’s argument as he puts it. Whether we accept
it or not, it remains that it is a marvellous achievement of the optician’s skill and the
observer’s devotion that from a planet so small and so distant as Mars any evidence
should be forthcoming at all that could bear upon the question of the existence of
intelligent organisms upon its surface. But it is of the utmost significance to note that
the whole question turns upon the presence of water—of water in the liquid state, of
water in a sufficient quantity; and the final decision, for Mr. Lowell’s contention, or
against it, must turn on that one point. The search for Life on Mars is essentially a
search for Water; a search for water, not only in the present state of Mars, but in its
past as well. For, without water in sufficient quantities in the past, life on Mars could
not have passed through the evolutionary development necessary to its attaining its
highest expression,—that where the material living organism has become the
tabernacle and instrument of the conscious intelligent spirit.
CHAPTER VII
THE CONDITION OF MARS
T HE planet Mars is the debatable ground between two opinions. Here, the two
opposing views join issue; the controversy comes to a focus. The point in debate is
whether certain markings—some linear, some circular—are natural or artificial. If, it
is argued, some are truly like a line, without curve or break, as if drawn with pen, ink,
and ruler; or others, so truly circular, without deviation or break, as if drawn with pen,
ink, and compass; if, moreover, when we obtain more powerful telescopes, erected
in better climates for observing, these markings become more truly lines and circles
the better we see them; then they are artificial, not natural structures.
But artificial structures imply artificers. And if the structures are so designed as to
meet the needs of a living organism, it implies that the living organism that designed
them must have a reasonable mind lodged in a natural body. If, then, the “lines” and
“circles” that Prof. Lowell and his disciples assert to be artificial canals and oases are
really such, they premise the order of being that we call Man. But these canals and
oases also premise the liquid that we call Water—water that flows and water utilized
in cultivation. In this chapter we will leave out of count the first premiss—Man—
and only deal with what concerns the second premiss—Water; with water that flows
and is utilized in vegetation.
PLANETARY STATISTICS
Minor
Inner Planets.
Planets.
Ceres Moon Mercury Mars Venus Ear
P
Velocity, in miles per second 11·1 18·5 9·7 15·0 21·9 18
Eccentricity 0·0763 0·0168 0·2056 0·0933 0·0068 0·01
Aphelion Distance, Perihelion = 1 1·157 1·034 1·517 1·207 1·013 1·0
This is a principle which applies to worlds anywhere; not merely within the limits
of the solar system but wherever they exist. Everywhere the surface must vary with
the square of the diameter; the volume with the cube; everywhere the smaller planet
must have the rarer atmosphere, and with a rare atmosphere the extreme range of
temperature must be great, while the range of temperature within which water will
flow will be restricted. Our Earth stands as the model of a world of the right size
for the maintenance of life; much smaller than our Earth would be too small; much
larger, as we shall see later, would be too large.
So far we have dealt with Mars as if it received the same amount of light and heat
from the Sun that the Earth does. But, as the Table shows, from its greater distance
from the Sun, Mars receives per unit of surface only about three-sevenths of the light
and heat of that received by the Earth.
The inclination of the axis of Mars is almost the same as that of the Earth, so that
the general character of the seasons is not very different on the two planets, and the
torrid, temperate, and frigid zones have almost the same proportions. The length of
the day is also nearly the same for both, the Martian day being slightly longer; but
the most serious factor is the greater distance of Mars, and the consequent diminution
in the light and heat received from the Sun. The light and heat received by the Earth
are not so excessive that we could be content to see them diminished, even by 5 per
cent, but for Mars they are diminished by 57 per cent. How can we judge the effect
of so important a difference?
The mean temperature of our Earth is supposed to be about 60°F., or 16°C. Three-
sevenths of this would give us 7°C. as the mean temperature of Mars, which would
signify a planet not impossible for life. But the zero of the Centigrade scale is not
the absolute zero; it only marks the freezing-point of water. The absolute zero is
computed to be -273° on the Centigrade scale; the temperature of the Earth on the
absolute scale therefore should be taken as 289°, and three-sevenths of this would
give 124° of absolute temperature. But this is 149° below freezing-point, and no life
could exist on a planet under such conditions.
But the mean temperature of Mars cannot be computed quite so easily. The hotter
a body is the more rapidly it radiates heat; the cooler it is the slower its radiation.
According to Stefan’s Law, the radiation varies for a perfect radiator with the 4th
power of the absolute temperature; so that if Mars were at 124° abs., while the Earth
were at 289° abs., the Earth would be radiating its heat nearly 30 times faster than
Mars. The heat income of Mars would therefore be in a much higher proportion than
its expenditure; and necessarily its heat capital would increase until income and
expenditure balanced. Prof. Poynting has made the temperature of the planets under
the 4th power law of radiation the subject of an interesting enquiry, and the figures
which he has obtained for Mars and other planets are included in the Table.
The equatorial and average temperatures are given under the assumption that Mars
possesses an atmosphere as efficient as our own in equalizing the temperature of the
whole planet. If, on the other hand, its atmosphere has no such regulating power, then
under the zenith Sun the upper limit of the temperature of a portion of its surface
reflecting one-eighth would be, as shown in the Table, 64°C. This would imply that
the temperature on the dark side of the planet was very nearly at the absolute zero.
“If we regard Mars as resembling our Moon, and take the Moon’s effective average
temperature as 297° abs., the corresponding temperature for Mars is 240° abs., and
the highest temperature is four-fifths of 337° = 270° abs. But the surface of Mars has
probably a higher coefficient of absorption than the surface of the Moon—it certainly
has for light—so that we may put his effective average temperature, on this
supposition, some few degrees above 240° abs., and his equatorial temperature some
degrees higher still. It appears as exceedingly probable, then, that whether we regard
Mars as like the Earth or, going to the other extreme, as like the Moon, the temperature
of his surface is everywhere below the freezing-point of water.”[14] As the
atmospheric circulation on Mars must be languid, and the atmosphere itself is very
rare, the general condition of the planet will approximate rather to the lunar type than
to the terrestrial, and the extremes, both of heat and cold, will approach those which
would prevail on a planet without a regulating atmosphere.
There is another way of considering the effect on the climate of Mars and its great
distance from the Sun, which, though only rough and crude, may be helpful to some
readers. If we take the Earth at noonday at the time of the equinox, then a square yard
at the equator has the Sun in its zenith, and is fully presented to its light and heat.
But, as we move away from the equator, we find that each higher latitude is less fully
presented to the Sun, until, when we reach latitude 64½°—in other words just outside
the Arctic Circle—7 square yards are presented to the Sun so as to receive only as
much of the solar radiation as 3 square yards receive at the equator. We may take,
then, latitude 64½° as representing Mars, while the equator represents the Earth. Or,
we may take it that we should compare the climate of Archangel with the climate
of Singapore.
Now the mean temperature of latitude 64½°, say the latitude of Archangel, is just
about freezing-point (0°C.), while that of the equator is about 28°C. We should
therefore expect from this a difference between the mean temperatures of the Earth
and Mars of 28°; that is to say, as the Earth stands at 16°C, Mars would be at -12°C.
But, on the Earth, the evaporation and precipitation is great, and the atmospheric
circulation vigorous. Evaporation is always going on in equatorial regions, and the
moisture-laden winds are continually moving polewards, carrying with them vast
stores of heat to be liberated as the rain falls. The oceanic currents have the same
effect, and how great the modification which they introduce may be seen by
comparing the climates of Labrador and Scotland. There appear to be no great oceans
on Mars. The difference of 28° which we find on the Earth between the equator and
the edge of the Arctic Circle is a difference which remains after the convection
currents of air and sea have done much to reduce the temperature of the equator and
to raise that of high latitudes. If we suppose that their effect has been to reduce this
difference to one half of what it would have been were each latitude isolated from the
rest, we shall not be far wrong, and we should get a range of 56° as the true equivalent
difference between the mean temperatures of Singapore and Archangel; i.e. of the
Earth and Mars; and Mars would stand at -40°C. The closeness with which this figure
agrees with that reached by Prof. Poynting suggests that it is a fair approximation to
the correct figure.
The size of Mars taught us that we have in it a planet with an atmosphere of but one
half the density of that prevailing on the top of our highest mountain; the distance
of Mars from the Sun showed us that it must have a mean temperature close to that
of freezing mercury. What chance would there be for life on a world the average
condition of which would correspond to that of a terrestrial mountain top, ten miles
high and in the heart of the polar regions? But Mars in the telescope does not look
like a cold planet. As we look at it, and note its bright colour, the small extent of the
white caps presumed to be snow, and the high latitudes in which the dark markings—
presumed to be water or vegetation—are seen, it seems difficult to suppose that the
mean temperature of the planet is lower than that of the Earth. Thus on the wonderful
photographs taken by Prof. Barnard in 1909, the Nilosyrtis with the Protonilus is seen
as a dark canal. Now the Protonilus is in North Lat. 42°, and on the date of observation
—September 28, 1909—the winter solstice of the northern hemisphere of Mars was
just past. There would be nothing unusual for the ground to be covered with snow
and the water to be frozen in a corresponding latitude if in a continental situation on
the Earth. Then, again, in the summer, the white polar caps of Mars diminish to a far
greater extent than the snow and ice caps of the Earth; indeed, one of the Martian
caps has been known to disappear completely.
Yet, as the accompanying diagram will show, something of this kind is precisely what
we ought to expect to see. The diagram has been constructed in the following manner:
A curve of mean temperatures has been laid down for every 10° of latitude on the
Earth, derived as far as possible from accepted isothermals in continental countries
in the northern hemisphere. From this curve ordinates have been drawn at each 10°,
upward to show average deviation from the mean temperature for the hottest part
of the day in summer, downward for the deviation for the coldest part of the night
in winter. Obviously, on the average, the range from maximum to minimum will
increase from the equator to the poles. The mean temperature of the Earth has been
taken as 16°C, and as representing that prevailing in about 42° lat. The diagram shows
that the maximum temperature of no place upon the Earth’s surface approaches the
boiling-point of water, and that it is only within the polar circle that the mean
temperature is below freezing-point. Water, therefore, on the Earth must be normally
in the liquid state.
Larger Image
T
CHAPTER XI
WHEN THE MAJOR PLANETS COOL
T HE question has been asked: “It is evident that life cannot exist at the present
time on the outer planets, since they are in a highly heated and quasi-solar condition;
but when they cool down, as cool they must, and a solid crust is formed, may not
a time come when they will be habitable? It seems impossible to think that worlds
so beautiful to our eyes and so vast in scale are destined never to be peopled by
intelligent beings.”
It is clearly difficult to answer satisfactorily a question that requires so deep a plunge
into the recesses of the unknown future; yet, so far as our knowledge goes, there is no
reason to think that Jupiter will be more habitable then than it is now. The difficulty
of the small supply of light and heat received from the Sun would apparently still
remain, if indeed, the cooling of the Sun itself would not increase it. We do not know
of any means by which our Sun could so increase its radiation as to supply to Jupiter
from 25 to 30 times as much heat as it now receives, and this would be necessary to
place it in the same favoured condition as the Earth. If so great a change were to take
place in the Sun, life would be scorched out of existence on all planets nearer than
Jupiter, and, similarly, if the solar emission were increased to meet the necessities of
Uranus or Neptune, even Jupiter would fall a victim.
But we may consider it as a conceivable case that a planet of the exact dimensions of
Jupiter may be revolving in an annual period of the same length as his, round some
star that is capable of affording it adequate nourishment; and so with the three other
giant planets. The actual Jupiter and Saturn of the solar system have, so far as we can
tell, neither present nor future as habitable worlds, but we can consider what would
be the case of imaginary bodies of similar dimensions in systems where the supply of
heat would be sufficient. Or we can neglect the question of temperature altogether,
as we did at first in the case of Mars.
All the four planets must shrink much in volume before their solidification will take
place. Their average density at present but little exceeds that of water; indeed, Saturn
is not so dense as water; yet we must suppose that the same elements are in general
common to the Earth and to them all. If we assume, then, that the four planets all
cool to the point of solidification, their densities must be much increased, and their
volumes correspondingly diminished. Since all four greatly exceed the Earth in mass,
it is but natural to expect that, when they have assumed the terrestrial condition, they
will be more closely compacted than the Earth, and their densities in consequence
will be greater. It will, however, be simpler if we assume exactly the same density for
them as for the Earth. Jupiter will then have shrunk to about one-fourth of its present
volume, and the statistics for the four planets will run as in the following Table:
S
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH
ARTHUR HOLMES
THE AGE OF THE EARTH
And Associated Problems. Illustrated
Gives us the result of the latest research into
this field of enquiry. The radioactive minerals
are shown to be recording their own age with
the exquisite accuracy of a chronometer—
their records checking physical,
astronomical, and geological methods of
computation.
PROF. A. W. BICKERTON
THE BIRTH OF WORLDS
AND SYSTEMS
Illustrated
Preface by Prof. Ernest Rutherford, F.R.S.
A graphic account of the formation of new
stars from the collision of dead suns or other
celestial bodies. The theory throws light on
many astronomical problems, and with its
conception of an immortal cosmos, is of great
philosophical importance.
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