Great Astronomers - Robert Stawell Ball (the little red hen ebook .TXT) 📗
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Doubtless, also, Copernicus felt a considerable difficulty as to
the nature of the materials from which Ptolemy’s wonderful sphere
was to be constructed. Nor could a philosopher of his penetration
have failed to observe that, unless that sphere were infinitely
large, there must have been space outside it, a consideration
which would open up other difficult questions. Whether infinite
or not, it was obvious that the celestial sphere must have a
diameter at least many thousands of times as great as that of the
earth. From these considerations Copernicus deduced the important
fact that the stars and the other celestial bodies must all be
vast objects. He was thus enabled to put the question in such a
form that it could hardly receive any answer but the correct one.
Which is it more rational to suppose, that the earth should turn
round on its axis once in twenty-four hours, or that thousands of
mighty stars should circle round the earth in the same time, many
of them having to describe circles many thousands of times greater
in circumference than the circuit of the earth at the equator?
The obvious answer pressed upon Copernicus with so much force that
he was compelled to reject Ptolemy’s theory of the stationary
earth, and to attribute the diurnal rotation of the heavens to the
revolution of the earth on its axis.
Once this tremendous step had been taken, the great difficulties
which beset the monstrous conception of the celestial sphere
vanished, for the stars need no longer be regarded as situated at
equal distances from the earth. Copernicus saw that they might
lie at the most varied degrees of remoteness, some being hundreds
or thousands of times farther away than others. The complicated
structure of the celestial sphere as a material object
disappeared altogether; it remained only as a geometrical
conception, whereon we find it convenient to indicate the places
of the stars. Once the Copernican doctrine had been fully set
forth, it was impossible for anyone, who had both the
inclination and the capacity to understand it, to withhold
acceptance of its truth. The doctrine of a stationary earth had
gone for ever.
Copernicus having established a theory of the celestial movements
which deliberately set aside the stability of the earth, it
seemed natural that he should inquire whether the doctrine of a
moving earth might not remove the difficulties presented in other
celestial phenomena. It had been universally admitted that the
earth lay unsupported in space. Copernicus had further shown
that it possessed a movement of rotation. Its want of stability
being thus recognised, it seemed reasonable to suppose that
the earth might also have some other kinds of movements as well.
In this, Copernicus essayed to solve a problem far more difficult
than that which had hitherto occupied his attention. It was a
comparatively easy task to show how the diurnal rising and
setting could be accounted for by the rotation of the earth.
It was a much more difficult undertaking to demonstrate that the
planetary movements, which Ptolemy had represented with so much
success, could be completely explained by the supposition that
each of those planets revolved uniformly round the sun, and that
the earth was also a planet, accomplishing a complete circuit of
the sun once in the course of a year.
[PLATE: EXPLANATION OF PLANETARY MOVEMENTS.]
It would be impossible in a sketch like the present to enter into
any detail as to the geometrical propositions on which this
beautiful investigation of Copernicus depended. We can only
mention a few of the leading principles. It may be laid down in
general that, if an observer is in movement, he will, if
unconscious of the fact, attribute to the fixed objects around
him a movement equal and opposite to that which he actually
possesses. A passenger on a canal-boat sees the objects on the
banks apparently moving backward with a speed equal to that by
which he is himself advancing forwards. By an application of this
principle, we can account for all the phenomena of the movements
of the planets, which Ptolemy had so ingeniously represented by
his circles. Let us take, for instance, the most characteristic
feature in the irregularities of the outer planets. We have
already remarked that Mars, though generally advancing from west
to east among the stars, occasionally pauses, retraces his steps
for awhile, again pauses, and then resumes his ordinary onward
progress. Copernicus showed clearly how this effect was produced
by the real motion of the earth, combined with the real motion of
Mars. In the adjoining figure we represent a portion of the
circular tracks in which the earth and Mars move in accordance
with the Copernican doctrine. I show particularly the case where
the earth comes directly between the planet and the sun, because
it is on such occasions that the retrograde movement (for so this
backward movement of Mars is termed) is at its highest. Mars is
then advancing in the direction shown by the arrowhead, and the
earth is also advancing in the same direction. We, on the earth,
however, being unconscious of our own motion, attribute, by the
principle I have already explained, an equal and opposite motion
to Mars. The visible effect upon the planet is, that Mars has two
movements, a real onward movement in one direction, and an
apparent movement in the opposite direction. If it so happened
that the earth was moving with the same speed as Mars, then the
apparent movement would exactly neutralise the real movement, and
Mars would seem to be at rest relatively to the surrounding stars.
Under the actual circumstances represented, however, the earth is
moving faster than Mars, and the consequence is, that the apparent
movement of the planet backwards exceeds the real movement
forwards, the net result being an apparent retrograde movement.
With consummate skill, Copernicus showed how the applications of
the same principles could account for the characteristic movements
of the planets. His reasoning in due time bore down all
opposition. The supreme importance of the earth in the system
vanished. It had now merely to take rank as one of the planets.
The same great astronomer now, for the first time, rendered
something like a rational account of the changes of the seasons.
Nor did certain of the more obscure astronomical phenomena escape
his attention.
He delayed publishing his wonderful discoveries to the world
until he was quite an old man. He had a well-founded apprehension
of the storm of opposition which they would arouse. However, he
yielded at last to the entreaties of his friends, and his book was
sent to the press. But ere it made its appearance to the world,
Copernicus was seized by mortal illness. A copy of the book was
brought to him on May 23, 1543. We are told that he was able to
see it and to touch it, but no more, and he died a few hours
afterwards. He was buried in that Cathedral of Frauenburg, with
which his life had been so closely associated.
TYCHO BRAHE.
The most picturesque figure in the history of astronomy is
undoubtedly that of the famous old Danish astronomer whose name
stands at the head of this chapter. Tycho Brahe was alike notable
for his astronomical genius and for the extraordinary vehemence of
a character which was by no means perfect. His romantic career as
a philosopher, and his taste for splendour as a Danish noble, his
ardent friendships and his furious quarrels, make him an ideal
subject for a biographer, while the magnificent astronomical work
which he accomplished, has given him imperishable fame.
The history of Tycho Brahe has been admirably told by Dr. Dreyer,
the accomplished astronomer who now directs the observatory at
Armagh, though himself a countryman of Tycho. Every student of
the career of the great Dane must necessarily look on Dr. Dreyer’s
work as the chief authority on the subject. Tycho sprang from an
illustrious stock. His family had flourished for centuries, both
in Sweden and in Denmark, where his descendants are to be met with
at the present day. The astronomer’s father was a privy
councillor, and having filled important positions in the Danish
government, he was ultimately promoted to be governor of
Helsingborg Castle, where he spent the last years of his life.
His illustrious son Tycho was born in 1546, and was the second
child and eldest boy in a family of ten.
It appears that Otto, the father of Tycho, had a brother named
George, who was childless. George, however, desired to adopt a
boy on whom he could lavish his affection and to whom he could
bequeath his wealth. A somewhat singular arrangement was
accordingly entered into by the brothers at the time when Otto was
married. It was agreed that the first son who might be born to
Otto should be forthwith handed over by the parents to George to
be reared and adopted by him. In due time little Tycho appeared,
and was immediately claimed by George in pursuance of the compact.
But it was not unnatural that the parental instinct, which had
been dormant when the agreement was made, should here interpose.
Tycho’s father and mother receded from the bargain, and refused to
part with their son. George thought he was badly treated.
However, he took no violent steps until a year later, when a
brother was born to Tycho. The uncle then felt no scruple in
asserting what he believed to be his rights by the simple process
of stealing the first-born nephew, which the original bargain had
promised him. After a little time it would seem that the parents
acquiesced in the loss, and thus it was in Uncle George’s home
that the future astronomer passed his childhood.
When we read that Tycho was no more than thirteen years old at the
time he entered the University of Copenhagen, it might be at
first supposed that even in his boyish years he must have
exhibited some of those remarkable talents with which he was
afterwards to astonish the world. Such an inference should not,
however, be drawn. The fact is that in those days it was
customary for students to enter the universities at a much earlier
age than is now the case. Not, indeed, that the boys of thirteen
knew more then than the boys of thirteen know now. But the
education imparted in the universities at that time was of a much
more rudimentary kind than that which we understand by university
education at present. In illustration of this Dr. Dreyer tells us
how, in the University of Wittenberg, one of the professors, in
his opening address, was accustomed to point out that even the
processes of multiplication and division in arithmetic might be
learned by any student who possessed the necessary diligence.
It was the wish and the intention of his uncle that Tycho’s
education should be specially directed to those branches of
rhetoric and philosophy which were then supposed to be a necessary
preparation for the career of a statesman. Tycho, however,
speedily made it plain to his teachers that though he was an
ardent student, yet the things which interested him were the
movements of the heavenly bodies and not the subtleties of
metaphysics.
[PLATE: TYCHO BRAHE.]
On the 21st October, 1560, an eclipse of the sun occurred, which
was partially visible at Copenhagen. Tycho, boy though he was,
took the utmost interest in this event. His ardour and
astonishment in connection with the circumstance were chiefly
excited by the fact that the time of the occurrence of the
phenomenon could be predicted with so much accuracy. Urged by his
desire to understand the matter thoroughly, Tycho sought to
procure some book which might explain what he so greatly wanted
to know. In those days books of
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