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THE TEACHINGS OFF THE STARS.
No. I.
THE MOON—IS IT INHABITED?
In the survey which we mean
to take of the heavens as illustrative of God's glory, we shall first
direct our attention to the moon, our nearest neighbour. The moon will
form the first step in the ladder by which we shall attempt to scale those
heights from which we may command the widest range of the marvellous works
of the Almighty. Although we cannot by searching find out God, although we
are baffled in our attempts to comprehend the Absolute, still there are
stepping-stones across the abyss of space, which enable us to enlarge our
view, and to form a juster conception of the Infinite and the Eternal.
From the satellite we step to the primary planet, from the planet to the
centre of the system, from system to firmament, and while new firmaments
stretch out before us in marvellous form and grouping, we feel that we are
yet far from the throne of the Eternal. The dream of the poet has placed
the special residence of the Godhead in some vast central body, round
which all worlds, and systems, and firmaments, circulate in lowly homage.
The graver thoughts of science have, in connexion with speculations about
light, imagined a limit within which all the play of material action is
confined—a vast globe of ethereal matter, within which all material bodies
are confined, and without which the activities of light, heat, magnetism,
and gravitation, could not exist. These, however, are but the feeble
aspirations of humanity to grasp the incomprehensible. But why should we
repine at our limited knowledge? would not knowledge cease to have charms
if we knew all ? What is it that gives to profound study its fascinations?
is it not that it brings us face to face with the unknown? If there was
not still a beyond, our spirits would shrink within us, and we would feel
as if our destiny were unfulfilled. The oft-quoted saying of Newton, that
he felt he was only a child nicking up pebbles on the margin of the ocean,
is usually taken merely as illustrative of the modesty of genius; but at
the same time, no one can occupy a more enviable position than that which
gives him an unobstructed view of the great ocean of the unknown. Few get
down to its brink at all; the many are satisfied with the little they can
understand, and rather shrink from what reveals their ignorance or
conceit.
In most other sciences, the
mind is frequently so lost in details that it is difficult to stand where
you may gaze freely out upon the unknown. In astronomy, however, you are
brought almost at once to stand face to face with the Infinite. No doubt
you come at last to the unfathomable, when dealing with the molecular
forces of matter, and the mind can be as much lost in atoms, as in suns
and systems; but still the popular mind can more readily deal with the
infinitely great than the infinitely little, and the foot stands more
firmly on systems of worlds than groups of molecules. That the material
universe presents no boundary-wall to limit inquiry, so far from being a
ground for turning from astronomical inquiry, accounts for the charm which
has ever surrounded this study.
The moon is by far our
nearest neighbour. While Neptune is a mile distant, the moon is, on the
same scale, only six inches. And man, even when he could form no idea of
the real distance, ever looked to the moon with a familiarity which he
could feel towards no other heavenly body. While man has bowed to the
lordly sun in devout adoration, he has endowed the moon with the feminine
attributes of gentleness, love, and weakness. This idea of tenderness and
familiarity, is well expressed in the lines of Wordsworth:—
"Wanderer, that stoop'st so
low and comest so near
To human life's unsettled atmosphere;
Who lovest with night and silence to partake,
So might it seem, the cares of them that wake.
The most rude,
Cut off from home and country, may have stood
Even till long gazing hath bedimm'd his eye,
Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh;
With some internal lights to memory dear,
Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast,
Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest.
Gentle awakenings, visitations meek,
A kindly influence whereof few will speak,
Though it can wet with tears the hardest cheek."
The charm of the moon over
the infant mind is described by the same author in the following lines:—
"Oh, still beloved, (for
thine meek power and charms
That fascinate the very babe in arms,
While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright,
Spreading his palms in his glad mother's sight.)
Oh, still beloved, once worshipp'd."
The aspect of the moon to
the unaided eye of man presents a most tantalising appearance. We just see
enough to assure us that there is something more to be seen. In the other
heavenly bodies, we see only a uniform blaze of light, and there is little
to tempt our curiosity. It is not so with the moon; there are diversities
of shade which allure us to form conjectures about their significance. And
in the crescent moon we can readily discover that the concave side
presents a rugged edge. It can hardly be surprising, then, that the
instincts of genius should in this, as in other departments, anticipate
the discoveries of science. Democritus propounded the idea of the spots on
the moon being diversities of surface, consisting of mountains and
valleys, seas and rivers. The Orphic Hymns went further, by giving to the
moon cities teeming with population. It required, however, the power of
the telescope to bring out into relief, on the surface of the moon, the
diversities of surface which make it the counterpart of our own globe.
To those who have not had the opportunity of
examining the moon through a telescope, the stereoscopic pictures of Mr
Warren de la Rue form an admirable substitute. Indeed, to the unpractised
eye, the stereoscopic picture gives a much truer idea of the configuration
of the body. The reason is simple. We have not, in looking through the
telescope, the aids of perfection which we possess when looking at any
terrestrial object; and, consequently, there is difficulty in bringing out
in relief the mountain ranges, peaks, and rims of craters. Sometimes the
moon, to the uninitiated eye, appears a uniform level; at others, the
relief is reversed, the mountain sinks into a cavity, and the sharp peak
into a perforation. The stereoscopic views of the moon, however, remedy
all this; the moon is seen with all its natural roundness, and every
mountain projects as in a model placed only a few inches from the eye. But
how is it that a stereoscopic picture of the moon can be obtained? This,
at first sight, appears impossible, as the moon always turns the same side
to us. When a stereoscopic portrait is taken, two views of the party must
be obtained, and this may be done in two ways. When one picture is taken,
the camera is moved a little to one side and a second taken, the party
sitting immovable all the time; or the camera may be fixed, and the party
may turn his body a little round for the second picture. It is in this
latter way a stereoscopic picture of the moon is obtained. The camera, of
course, cannot be moved sufficiently aside to take a picture from a
different point of view, and it is therefore stationary. The moon,
however, effects the object required by turning her face a very little
round, so that a somewhat different perspective is obtained. This small
movement is called her librature, and, though small, is quite sufficient
to give the required stereoscopic effect. The moon always presents the
same aspect to us, as she rotates on her axis in the same time that she
revolves round the earth ; but these two periods are not perfectly
coincident, and we are therefore permitted to see round the moon a small
way. It is from the circumstance of our being permitted to do so that the
stereoscope gives us so perfect a representation of the moon. If the
student's first acquaintance with the moon be made in this way, he will be
able to understand much more readily the revelations of the telescope.
As soon as we get a glimpse of the mountain
ranges, volcanic craters, and vast plains, the natural inquiry is—Is it
inhabited? There is a sufficient general resemblance at the first glance
to prompt the inquiry; but does minuter inspection countenance the
hypothesis? We do not have the more obvious proofs of habitableness. We do
not find cities with ramifying streets, or such diversities of colour as
would indicate the cultivation of parts of the country; though we have
telescopic power to discover such traces if they existed If peopled with
beings like ourselves, we might naturally expect single buildings which
would be quite discernible by the telescope; for in the moon blocks of
stone could be raised by one man, that would require, in this globe, the
united energies of five men. Here fabrics are limited by the crushing
weight sustained by stone, but there the range would be much wider from
the lightness of the materials. No such buildings, however, no traces of
cities, no proof that the soil has been disturbed by the plough, or that
yellow harvests alternate with green fields, has been discovered.
There is no necessity, however, that the
inhabitants should be after the type of man's bodily constitution; we can
conceive intellect united to a very different corporeal organisation; and
we know that there is a very wide range, even in this globe, in the
conditions necessary to sustain life. Still, we must start from some
essential conditions of life in this globe, if we are to make our argument
one of analogy. No doubt, it may be said that God could, in the case of
the planetary bodies, make life dependent on totally different conditions.
This is true, but it is a totally different question from that of analogy.
The question is one, not of possibility, but of probability, and the
probability is to be derived from the existence of conditions in the moon
similar to those in the earth.
Let us take one of the most essential
conditions of life on our globe, viz., the existence of air; air is less
essential to some creatures than to others, but we have no reason to
believe that any creature can exist in our globe under a total deprivation
of it. It may be argued that God could create beings capable of existing
without air, and that, even though no air should be discerned in the moon,
it is still possible that living creatures may exist there. The question
is, however, not, what is within the compass of God's power? but, What has
likely been the exercise of His power in the moon, from our knowledge of
His power in our globe? and, to have any ground of probability to stand
upon, the astrono mical argument must prove that the conditions essential
to life here are also found in the moon; or, at least, that the existence
of such conditions is probable.
Every possible test has been applied, but no
trace whatever of air has been found in the moon. Eclipses and
occultations have been watched with the utmost care, but all in vain; some
of the tests are so delicate, that if there was an atmosphere capable of
raising the mercury one-sixteenth of an inch in the barometer, it would
have been detected. If there is an atmosphere after all, how evanescent it
must be compared with ours, which raises the mercury to about thirty
inches. Could we conceive life to exist in the moon without air, how
strange must the condition of life be there ! Let us only conceive that in
the moon life moves on very much as it does here, with the only
difference, that there is no air; we have only to conceive such a state of
things to see how wondrously our nature is accommodated to the physical
condition in which we are placed. Most people probably think little of the
functions of the atmosphere, except when it is pressed on their attention
by the danger of suffocation, or by witnessing the terrible mechanical
effects of the storm. But think how strange life must be in the moon
without an atmospheric medium! Eternal silence must reign there ! A huge
rock may be precipitated from the lofty cliffs of the moon, but no noise
is heard—it falls noiselessly as a flock of wool. The inhabitants can
converse only by signs. The musician in vain attempts to elicit sweet
music from his stringed instrument; no note ever reaches the ear. Armies
in battle array do not hear the boom of the cannon, though rifled arms,
from the low trajection of the ball, must acquire a fatal precision and
range. No moving thing can live aloft; the eagle flaps its wings against
the rocks in vain attempts to rise. The balloon, instead of raising the
car, crushes it with the weight of its imprisoned gas.
Again, the inhabitants being deprived of an
atmosphere to shelter them from the sun, and to stem all its heat, must
recoil with terror from its fierce rays. During its long day, the ground
must become as burning marl, from which the scorched feet shrink with
pain. During the long night, the ground must be colder than frozen
mercury. No fuel will burn to mitigate the rigour of the cold, and none
but the electric light will avail to dispel the darkness.
Then as to light, how strange are the
conditions ! At noon-day the sky is as black as pitch, except in the
region of the sun; and the stars shine out as at midnight. When the sun
disappears in the horizon, darkness is as sudden as the darkness of an
eclipse, or the extinguishing of a candle in a room. The inhabitants on
the shady side of a range of mountains must be in total darkness, though
the sun is above the horizon; and a room lighted by windows in the roof,
will be in the same predicament, except when the sun shines directly down.
No clouds float overhead; and the murky atmosphere and the dense clouds of
smoke hanging over our manufacturing towns must be to them
incomprehensible, as they watch our globe making its fourteen revolutions
on its axis before descending below the horizon. These are a few of the
results involved in the loss of an atmosphere, apart altogether from the
incompatibility of such loss with life. We are every moment bathed in this
fluid, which ministers to our wants in a thousand ways; and yet how little
are we conscious of its benefits! How seldom do we think of Him who has so
wondrously adapted the medium in which we move to the necessities of our
nature! It will be
then said, that the moon must be abandoned as an argument for the
plurality of worlds, seeing that it fails to exhibit the prime condition
of life. The advocate of this doctrine, after fruitless endeavour to educe
an argument, gave it up in despair. A recent discovery has, however,
entirely changed the aspect of matters; and the moon—our moon—may be
appealed to as probably furnishing a theatre for the display of all the
activities of animated and intelligent beings. This discovery, while
curious in reference to its bearing on this question, also presents one of
the most brilliant achievements of science in modern times. |
