Solar Corona and Prominences.Photographed during a total eclipse of the sun, June 8, 1918. (Courtesy, American Museum of Natural History.)
Solar Corona and Prominences.Photographed during a total eclipse of the sun, June 8, 1918. (Courtesy, American Museum of Natural History.)
Venus, Showing Crescent Phase of the Planet.Venus is the earth's nearest neighbor on the side toward the sun. (Photo, Yerkes Observatory.)
Venus, Showing Crescent Phase of the Planet.Venus is the earth's nearest neighbor on the side toward the sun. (Photo, Yerkes Observatory.)
Mars, the Planet Next Beyond the Earth.The photograph shows one of the white polar caps. The caps are thought to be snow or ice and may indicate the existence of atmosphere. (Photo, Yerkes Observatory.)
Mars, the Planet Next Beyond the Earth.The photograph shows one of the white polar caps. The caps are thought to be snow or ice and may indicate the existence of atmosphere. (Photo, Yerkes Observatory.)
Elaborate spectroscopic programs have been carried out at recent eclipses, affording evidence that certain regions are due to incandescent matter of lower temperature than the sun's surface. A small part of the light of the corona is sunlight reflected from dark particles possibly meteoric, but more likely dust particles or fog of some sort. This accounts for the weakened solar spectrum with Fraunhofer absorption lines, and this part of the light is polarized.
Many have been the attempts to see, or photograph, the corona without an eclipse. None of them has, however, succeeded as yet. Huggins got very promising results nearly forty years ago, and success was thought to have been reached; but subsequent experiments on the Riffelberg in 1884 and later convinced him that his results related only to a spurious corona. In 1887 the writer made an unsuccessful attempt to visualize the corona from the summit of Fujiyama, and Hale tried both optical and photographic methods on Pike's Peak in 1893 without success. He devised later a promising method by which the heat of the corona in different regions can be measured by the bolometer, and an outline corona afterward sketched from these results.
Still another method of attacking the problem occurred to the writer in 1919, which has not yet been carried out. It would take advantage of recent advances in aeronautics, and contemplates an artificial eclipse in the upper air by means of a black spherical balloon. This would be sent up to an altitude of perhaps 40,000 feet, where it wouldpartake of the motion of the air current in which it came to equilibrium. Then a snapshot camera would be mounted on an aeroplane, in which the aviator would ascend to such a height that the balloon just covered the sun, as the moon does in a total eclipse. With the center of the balloon in line with the sun's center, he would photograph the regions of the sky immediately surrounding the sun, against which the corona is projected. As the entire apparatus would be above more than an entire half of the earth's atmosphere, the experiment would be well worth the attempt, as pretty much everything else has been tried and found wanting. Needless to say, the importance of seeing the corona at regular intervals whenever desired, without waiting for eclipses of the sun, remains as insistent as ever.
Mars is a planet next in order beyond the earth, and its distance from the sun averages 141½ million miles. It has a relatively rapid motion among the stars, its color is reddish, and, when nearest to us, it is perhaps the most conspicuous object in the sky.
Mars appeared to the ancients just as it does to us to-day. Aristotle recorded an observation of Mars, 356B. C., when the moon passed over the planet, or occulted it, as our expression is. Galileo made the first observations of Mars with a telescope in 1610, and his little instrument was powerful enough to enable him to discover that the planet had phases, though it did not pass through all the phases that Mercury and Venus do. This was obvious from the fact that Mars is always at a greater distance from the sun than we are, and the phase can only be gibbous, or about like the moon when midway between full and quarter.
Many observers in the seventeenth century followed up the planet with such feeble optical power as the telescopes of that epoch provided: Fontana (who made the first sketch), Riccioli and Bianchini in Italy, Cassini in France, Huygens in Holland, and later Sir William Herschel in England.
It was Cassini who first made out the whitish spots or polar caps of Mars in 1666, but not untilafter Huygens had noted the fact that Mars turned round on an axis in a period but little longer than the earth's. Cassini followed it up later with a more accurate value; and observations in our own day, when combined with these early ones, enable us to say that the Martian day is equal to 24 hours 37 minutes 22.67 seconds, accurate probably to the hundredth part of a second.
When we know that a planet turns round on an axis, we know that it has a day. When we know the direction of the axis in space or in relation to the plane of its path round the sun, we know that it has seasons: we can tell their length and when they begin and end. It did not take many years of observation to prove that the axis round which Mars turns is tilted to the plane of its path round the sun by an angle practically the same as that at which the earth's axis is tilted. So there is the immediate inference that on Mars the order and perhaps the character of the seasons is much the same as here on the earth.
At least two things, however, tend to modify them. First, the year of Mars is not 365 days like ours, but 687 days. Each of the four seasons on Mars, therefore, is proportionally longer than our seasons are. Then comes the question of atmosphere—how much of an atmosphere does Mars really possess in proportion to ours, and how would its lesser amount modify the blending of the seasons into one another?
All discussion of Mars and the problems of existence of life upon that planet hinge upon the character and extent of Martian atmosphere. The planet seems never to be covered, as the earth usually is, with extensive areas of cloud which toan observer in space would completely mask its oceans and continents. Nearly all the time Mars in his equatorial and temperate zones is quite clear of clouds. A few whitish spots are occasionally seen to change their form and position in both northern and southern latitudes, and they vary with the progress of the day on Mars, as clouds naturally would. But Schiaparelli, perhaps the best of all observers, thought them to be not low-lying clouds of the nimbus type that would produce rains, but rather a veil of fog, or perhaps a temporary condensation of vapor, as dew or hoar frost. But the strongest argument for an atmosphere is based on the temporary darkening or obscuration of well known and permanent markings on the surface of Mars. These are more or less frequently observed and clouds afford the best explanation of their occurrence.
So much for evidence supplied by the telescope alone. When, however, we employ the spectroscope in conjunction with the telescope, another sort of evidence is at hand. Several astronomers have reached the conclusion that watery vapor exists in the atmosphere of Mars, while other astronomers equipped with equal or superior apparatus, and under equally favorable or even better conditions, have reached the remarkable conclusion that the spectra of Mars and the moon are identical in every particular. From this we should be led to infer that Mars has perhaps no more atmosphere than the moon has, that is to say, none whatever that present instruments and methods of investigation have enabled us to detect.
What then, shall we conclude? Simply that the atmosphere of Mars is neither very dense nor extensive.Probably its lower strata close to the planet's surface are about as dense as the earth's atmosphere is at the summits of our highest mountains.
This conclusion is not unwelcome, if we keep a few fundamental facts in clear and constant view. Mars is a planet of intermediate size between the earth and the moon: twice the moon's diameter (2,160 miles) very nearly equals the diameter of Mars (4,200 miles), and twice the diameter of Mars does not greatly exceed the earth's diameter (7,920 miles). As to the weights or masses of these bodies, Mars is about one-ninth, and the moon one-eightieth of the earth. The atmospheric envelope of the earth is abundant, the moon has none as far as we can ascertain; so it seems safe to infer that Mars has an atmosphere of slight density: not dense enough to be detected by spectroscopic methods, but yet dense enough to enable us to explain the varying telescopic phenomena of the planet's disk which we should not know how to account for, if there were no atmosphere whatever. One astronomer has, indeed, gone so far as to calculate that in comparison with our planet Mars is entitled to one-twentieth as much atmosphere as we have, and that the mercurial barometer at "sea level" would run about five and a half inches, as against thirty inches on the earth.
In general, then, the climate of Mars is probably very much like that of a clear season on a very high terrestrial table land or mountain—a climate of wide extremes, with great changes of temperature from day to night. The inequality of Martian seasons is such that in his northern hemisphere the winter lasts 381 days and the summer only 306 days.
Now, the polar caps of Mars, which are reasonably assumed to be due to snow or hoar frost, attain their maximum three or four months after the winter solstice, and their minimum about the same length of time after the summer solstice. This lagging should be interpreted as an argument for a Martian atmosphere with heat-storing qualities, similar to that possessed by the earth.
Upon this characteristic, indeed, depends the climate at the surface of Mars: whether it is at all similar to our own, and whether fluid water is a possibility on Mars or not. While the cosmic relations of the planet in its orbit are quite the same as ours, nevertheless the greater distance of Mars diminishes his supply of direct solar heat to about half what we receive. On the other hand, his distance from the sun during his year of motion around it varies much more widely than ours, so that he receives when nearest the sun about one-half more of solar heat than he does when farthest away.
Southern summers on Mars, therefore, must be much hotter, and southern winters colder than the corresponding seasons of his northern hemisphere. Indeed, the length of the southern summer, nearly twice that of the terrestrial season, sometimes amply suffices to melt all the polar ice and snow, as in October, 1894, when the southern polar cap of Mars dwindled rapidly and finally vanished completely.
Very interesting in this connection are the researches of Stoney on the general conditions affecting planetary atmospheres and their composition. According to the kinetic theory, if the molecules of gases which are continually in motion travel outward from the center of a planet, as they frequentlymust, and with velocities surpassing the limit that a planet's gravity is capable of controlling, these molecules will effect a permanent escape from the planet, and travel through space in orbits of their own.
So the moon is wholly without atmosphere because the moon's gravity is not powerful enough to retain the molecules of its component gases. So also the earth's atmosphere contains no helium or free hydrogen. So, too, Mars is possessed of insufficient force of gravity to retain water vapor, and the Martian atmosphere may therefore consist mainly of nitrogen, argon, and carbon dioxide.
As everyone knows, the axis of the earth if extended to the northern heavens would pass very near the north polar star, which on that account is known as Polaris. In a similar manner the axis of Mars pierces the northern heavens about midway between the two bright stars Alpha Cephei and Alpha Cygni (Deneb). The direction of this axis is pretty accurately known, because the measurement of the polar caps of the planet as they turn round from night to night, year in and year out, has enabled astronomers to assign the inclination of the axis with great precision.
These caps are a brilliant white, and they are generally supposed to be snow and ice. They wax and wane alternately with the seasons on Mars, being largest at the end of the Martian winter and smallest near the end of summer. The existence of the polar caps together with their seasonal fluctuations afford a most convincing argument for the reality of a Martian atmosphere, sufficiently dense to be capable of diffusing and transporting vapor.
The northern cap is centered on the pole almost with geometric exactness, and as far as the 85th parallel of latitude. On the other hand, the south polar cap is centered about 200 miles from the true pole, and this distance has been observed to vary from one season to another. No suggestion has been made to account for this singular variation. On one occasion it stretched down to Martian latitude 70 degrees and was over 1,200 miles in diameter.
Pickering watched the changing conditions of shrinking of the south polar cap in 1892 with a large telescope located in the Andes of Peru. Mars was faithfully followed on every night but one from July 13 to September 9, and the apparent alterations in this cap were very marked, even from night to night. As the snows began to decrease, a long dark line made its appearance near the middle of the cap, and gradually grew until it cut the cap in two. This white polar area (and probably also the northern one in similar fashion) becomes notched on the edge with the progress of its summer season; dark interior spots and fissures form, isolated patches separate from the principal mass, and later seem to dissolve and disappear. Possibly if one were located on Mars and viewing our earth with a big telescope, the seasonal variation of our north and south polar caps might present somewhat similar phenomena. All the recent oppositions of Mars have been critically observed by Pickering from an excellent station in Jamaica.
Quite obviously the fluctuations of the polar caps are the key to the physiographic situation on Mars, and they are made the subject of the closest scrutiny at every recurring opposition of the planet. Several observers, Lowell in particular, record abluish line or a sort of retreating polar sea, following up the diminishing polar cap as it shrinks with the advance of summer. It is said that no such line is visible during the formation of the polar cap with the approach of winter. All such results of critical observation, just on the limit of visibility, have to be repeated over and over again before they become part of the body of accepted scientific fact. And in many instances the only sure way is to fall back on the photographic record, which all astronomers, whether prejudiced or not, may have the opportunity to examine and draw their individual conclusions.
Already the approaching opposition of 1924, the most favorable since the invention of the telescope, is beginning to attract attention, and preparations are in progress, of new and more powerful instruments, with new and more sensitive photographic processes, by means of which many of the present riddles of Mars may be solved.
Then there are the so-called canals of Mars, about which so much is written and relatively little known. Faint markings which resemble them in character were first drawn in 1840 and later in 1864, but Schiaparelli, the famous Italian astronomer, is probably their original discoverer, when Mars was at its least distance from the earth in 1877. He made the first accurate detailed map of Mars at this time, and most of the important or more conspicuous canals (canali, he called them in Italian, that is, channels merely, without any reference whatever to their being watercourses) were accurately charted by him.
At all the subsequent close approaches of Mars, the canals have been critically studied by a wide range of astronomical observers, and their conclusions as to the nature and visibility of the canals have been equally wide and varied. The most favorable oppositions have occurred in 1892 and 1894, also in 1907 and 1909. On these occasions a close minimum distance of Mars was reached, that is, about 35 millions of miles; but in 1924 the planet makes the closest approach in a period of nearly a thousand years. Its distance will not much exceed 34 millions of miles.
But although this is a minimum distance for Mars, it must not be forgotten that it is a really vastdistance, absolutely speaking; it is something like 150 times greater than the distance of the moon. With no telescopic power at our command could we possibly see anything on the moon of the size of the largest buildings or other works of human intelligence; so that we seem forever barred from detecting anything of the sort on Mars.
Nevertheless, the closest scrutiny of the ruddy planet by observers of great enthusiasm and intelligence, coupled with imagination and persistence, have built up a system of canals on Mars, covering the surface of the planet like spider webs over a printed page, crossing each other at intersecting spots known as "lakes," and embodying a wealth of detail which challenges criticism and explanation.
To see the canals at all requires a favorable presentation of Mars, a steady atmosphere and a perfect telescope, with a trained eye behind it. Not even then are they sure to be visible. The training of the eye has no doubt much to do with it. So photography has been called in, and very excellent pictures of Mars have already been taken, some nearly half as large as a dime, showing plainly the lights and shades of the grander divisions of the Martian surface, but only in a few instances revealing the actual canals more unmistakably than they are seen at the eyepiece.
The appearance and degree of visibility of the canals are variable: possibly clouds temporarily obscure them. But there is a certain capriciousness about their visibility that is little understood. In consequence of the changing physical aspects, as to season, on Mars and his orbital position with reference to the earth, some of the canals remain fora long time invisible, adding to the intricacy of the puzzle.
For the most part the canals are straight in their course and do not swerve much from a great circle on the planet. But their lengths are very different, some as short as 250 miles, some as long as 4,000 miles; and they often join one another like spokes in the hub of a wheel, though at various angles. As depicted by Lowell and his corps of observers at Flagstaff, Arizona, the canal system is a truly marvelous network of fine darkish stripes. Their color is represented as a bluish green.
Each marking maintains its own breadth throughout its entire length, but the breadth of all the canals is by no means the same: the narrowest are perhaps fifteen to twenty miles wide, and the broadest probably ten times that. At least that must be the breadth of the Nilosyrtis, which is generally regarded as the most conspicuous of all the canals. The Lowell Observatory has outstripped all others in the number of canals seen and charted, now about 500.
What may be the true significance of this remarkable system of markings it is impossible to conclude at present. Schiaparelli from his long and critical study of them, their changes of width and color, was led to think that they may be a veritable hydrographic system for distributing the liquid from the melting polar snows. In this case it would be difficult to escape the conviction that the canals have, at least in part, been designed and executed with a definite end in view.
Lowell went even farther and built upon their behavior an elaborate theory of life on the planet, with intelligent beings constructing and opening new canals on Mars at the present epoch. Pickeringpropounded the theory that the canals are not water-bearing channels at all, but that they are due to vegetation, starting in the spring when first seen and vitalized by the progress of the season poleward, the intensity of color of the vegetation coinciding with the progress of the season as we observe it.
Extensive irrigation schemes for conducting agricultural operations on a large scale seem a very plausible explanation of the canals, especially if we regard Mars as a world farther advanced in its life history than our own. Erosion may have worn the continents down to their minimum elevation, rendering artificial waterways not difficult to build; while with the vanishing Martian atmosphere and absence of rains, the necessity of water for the support of animal and vegetal life could only be met by conducting it in artificial channels from one region of the planet to another.
Interesting as this speculative interpretation is, however, we cannot pass by the fact that many competent astronomers with excellent instruments finely located have been unable to see the canals, and therefore think the astronomers who do see them are deceived in some way. Also many other astronomers, perhaps on insufficient grounds, deny their existencein toto.
Many patient years of labor would be required to consult all the literature of investigation of the planet Mars, but much of the detail has been critically embodied in maps at different epochs, by Kayser, Proctor, Green, and Dreyer. And Flammarion in two classic volumes on Mars has presented all the observations from the earliest time, together with his own interpretation of them. Areography is a term sometimes applied to a descriptionof the surface of Mars, and it is scarcely an exaggeration to say that areography is now better known than the geography of immense tracts of the earth.
For some reason well recognized, though not at all well understood, Mars although the nearest of all the planets, Venus alone excepted, is an object by no means easy to observe with the telescope. Possibly its unusual tint has something to do with this. With an ordinary opera glass examine the moon very closely, and try to settle precise markings, colors, and the nature of objects on her surface; Mars under the best conditions, scrutinized with our largest and best telescope, presents a problem of about the same order of difficulty. There are delicate and changing local colors that add much uncertainty. Nevertheless, the planet's leading features are well made out, and their stability since the time of the earliest observers leaves no room to doubt their reality as parts of a permanent planetary crust.
The border of the Martian disk is brighter than the interior, but this brightness is far from uniform. Variations in the color of the markings often depend on the planet's turning round on its axis, and the relation of the surface to our angle of vision. If we keep in mind these obstacles to perfect vision in our own day, it is easy to see why the early users of very imperfect telescopes failed to see very much, and were misled by much that they thought they saw. Then, too, they had to contend, as we do, with unsteadiness of atmosphere, which is least troublesome near the zenith.
As their telescopes were all located in the northern hemisphere, the northern hemisphere of Marsis the one best circumstanced for their investigation; because at the remote oppositions of Mars, which always happen in our northern winter with the planet in high north declination, it is always the north pole of Mars which is presented to our view. Whereas the close oppositions of the planet always come in our northern midsummer, with Mars in south declination and therefore passing through the zenith of places in corresponding south latitude.
With Mars near opposition, high up from the horizon, a fairly steady atmosphere, and a magnifying power of at least 200 diameters, even the most casual observer could not fail to notice the striking difference in brightness of the two hemispheres: the northern chiefly bright and the southern markedly dark. Formerly this was thought to indicate that the southern hemisphere of Mars was chiefly water and the northern land, much as is the case on the earth: with this difference, however, that water and land on the earth are proportioned about as eleven to four.
But Mars in its general topography presents no analogy with the present relation of land and water on the earth. There seems no reason to doubt that the northern regions with their prevailing orange tint, in some places a dark red and in others fading to yellow and white, are really continental in character. Other vast regions of the Martian surface are possibly marshy, the varying depth of water causing the diversity of color. If we could ever catch a reflection of sunlight from any part of the surface of Mars, we might conclude that deep water exists on the planet; but the farther research progresses, the more complete becomes the evidence that permanentwater areas on Mars, if they exist at all, are extremely limited.
Since 1877 Mars has been known to possess two satellites, which were discovered in August of that year by Hall at Washington. Moons of this planet had long been suspected to exist and on one or two previous occasions critically looked for, though without success. In the writings of Dean Swift there is a fanciful allusion to the two moons of Mars; and if astronomers had chanced to give serious attention to this, Phobos and Deimos, as Hall named them, might have been discovered long before.
They are very small bodies, not only faint in the telescope, but actually of only ten or twenty miles diameter; and from the strange relation that Phobos, the inner moon, moves round Mars three times while the planet itself is turning round only once on its axis, some astronomers incline to the hypothesis that this moon at least was never part of Mars itself, but that it was originally an inner or very eccentric member of the asteroid group, which ventured within the sphere of gravitation of Mars, was captured by that planet, and has ever since been tributary to it as a secondary body or satellite.
Popular interest in astronomy is exceedingly wide, but it is very largely confined to the idea of resemblances and differences between our earth and the bodies of the sky. The question most frequently asked the astronomer is, "Have any of the stars got people on them?" Or more specifically, "Is Mars inhabited?" The average questioner will not readily be turned off with yes or no for an answer. He may or may not know that it is quite impossible for astronomers to ascertain anything definite in this matter, most interesting as it is. What he wants to find out is the view of the individual astronomer on this absorbing and ever recurring inquiry.
We ought first to understand what is meant by the manifestation here on the earth called life, and agree concerning the conditions that render it possible. Apparently they are very simple. We may or may not agree that a counterpart of life, or life of a wholly different type from ours, may exist on other planets under conditions wholly diverse from those recognized as essential to its existence here. The problem of the origin of life is, in the present state of knowledge, highly speculative and hardly within the domain of science. Here on earth, life is intimately associated with certain chemical compounds, in which carbon is the commonelement without which life would not exist. Also hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen are present, with iron, sulphur, phosphorus, magnesium and a few less important elements besides. But carbon is the only substance absolutely essential. Protoplasm cannot be built without it, and protoplasm makes up the most of the living cell. Closely related to carbon is silica also, as a substitution in certain organic compounds. Protoplasm is able to stand very low temperatures, but its properties as a living cell cease when the temperature reaches 150 Fahrenheit.
Animal life as it exists on the earth to-day appears to have been here many million years. The palæontologists agree that all life originated in the waters of the earth. It has passed through evolutionary stages from the lowest to the highest. Throughout this vast period the astronomer is able to say that the conditions of the earth which appear to be essential to the maintenance of life have been pretty constantly what they are to-day. The higher the type of life, the narrower the range of conditions under which it thrives. Man can exist at the frigid poles even if the temperature is 75 degrees below Fahrenheit zero; and in the deserts and the tropics, he swelters under temperatures of 115 degrees, but he still lives. At these extremes, however, he can scarcely be said to thrive.
We have, then, a relatively narrow range of temperatures which seems to be essential to his comfortable existence and development: we may call it 150 degrees in extent. Had not the surface temperature of the earth been maintained within this range for indefinite ages, in the regions where the human race has developed, quite certainly man would not be here. How this equability of temperature has beenmaintained does not now matter. Clearly the earth must have existed through indefinite ages in the process of cooling down from temperatures of at least 6,000 degrees.
During this stage the temperature of the surface was earth-controlled. Then this period merged very gradually into the stage where life became possible, and the temperature of the surface became, as it now is, sun-controlled. How many years are embraced in this span of periods, or ages, we have no means of knowing. But of the sequence of periods and the secular diminution of temperature, we may be certain.
Then there is the equally important consideration of water necessary for the origination, support, and development of life. We cannot conceive of life existing without it. On the earth water is superabundant, and has been for indefinite ages in the past. There is little evidence that the oceans are drying up; although the commonly accepted view is that the waters of the earth will very gradually disappear. Water can exist in the fluid state, which is essential to life, at all temperatures between 32 degrees and 680 degrees F.
Air to breathe is essential to life also. The atmosphere which envelops the earth is at least 100 miles in depth, and its own weight compresses it to a tension of nearly 15 pounds to the square inch at sea level. This atmosphere and its physical properties have had everything to do with the development of animal life on the planet. Without it and its remarkable property of selective absorption, which imprisons and diffuses the solar heat, it is inconceivable that the necessary equability of surface temperature could be maintained. This appears tobe quite independent of the chemical constituents of the atmosphere, and is perhaps the most important single consideration affecting the existence of life on a planet. If the surface of a planet is partly covered with water, it will possess also an atmosphere containing aqueous vapor.
Heat, water, and air: these three essentials determine whether there is life on a planet or not. Of course there must be nutrition suitable to the organism; mineral for the vegetal, and vegetal for the animal. But the narrow range of variation appears to be the striking thing: relatively but a few degrees of temperature, and a narrow margin of atmospheric pressure. If this pressure is doubled or trebled, as in submarine caissons, life becomes insupportable. If, on the other hand, it is reduced even one-third, as on mountains even 13,000 feet high, the human mechanism fails to function, partly from lack of oxygen necessary in vitalizing the blood, but mainly because of simple reduction of mechanical pressure.
If, then, we conceive of life in other worlds and it is agreed that life there must manifest itself much as it does here, our answer to the question of habitability of the planets must follow upon an investigation of what we know, or can reasonably surmise, about the surface temperatures of these bodies, whether they have water, and what are the probable physical characteristics of their atmospheres.
We may inquire about each planet, then, concerning each of these details.
The case of Mercury is not difficult. At an average distance of only 36 million miles from the sun, and with a large eccentricity of orbit which brings it a fifth part nearer, conditions of temperaturealone must be such as to forbid the existence of life. The solar heat received is seven times greater than at the earth, and this is perhaps sufficient reason for a minimum of atmosphere, as indicated by observation. If no air, then quite certainly no water, as evaporation would supply a slight atmosphere. But according to the kinetic theory of gases, the mass of Mercury, only a very small fraction of that of the sun, is inadequate to retain an atmospheric envelope. If, however, the planet's day and year are equal, so that it turns a constant face to the sun, surface conditions would be greatly complicated, so that we cannot regard the planet as absolutely uninhabitable on the hemisphere that is always turned away from the sun.
Venus at 67 millions of miles from the sun presents conditions that are quite different. She receives double the solar heat that we do, but possessing an atmosphere perhaps threefold denser than ours, as reliably indicated by observations of transits of Venus, the intensity of the heat and its diffusion may be greatly modified. What the selective absorption of the atmosphere of Venus may be, we do not know. Nor is the rotation time of the planet definitely ascertained: if equal to her year, as many observations show and as indicated by the theory of tidal evolution, there may well be certain regions on the hemisphere perpetually turned away from the sun where temperature conditions are identical with those on the tropical earth, and where every condition for the origin and development of life is more fully met than anywhere else in the solar system. Whether Venus has water distributed as on the earth we do not know, as her surface is never seen, owing to dense clouds under which sheis always enshrouded. Her cloudy condition possibly indicates an overplus of water.
Is the moon inhabited? Quite certainly not: no appreciable air, no water, and a surface temperature unmodified by atmosphere—rising perhaps to 100 degrees F. during the day, which is a fortnight in length, and falling at night to 300 degrees below zero, if not lower.
Is Mars inhabited? The probable surface temperature is much lower than the earth's, because Mars receives only half as much solar heat as we do; and more important still, the atmosphere of Mars is neither so dense nor so extensive as our own. Seasons on Mars are established, much the same as here, except that they are nearly twice as long as ours; and alternate shrinking and enlarging of the polar caps keeps even pace with the seasons, thereby indicating a certainty of atmosphere whose equatorial and polar circulation transports the moisture poleward to form the snow and ice of which the polar caps no doubt consist.
There is a variety of evidence pointing to an atmosphere on Mars of one-third to one-half the density of our own: an atmosphere in which free hydrogen could not exist, although other gases might. The spectroscopic evidence of water vapor in the Martian atmosphere is not very strong. It is very doubtful whether water exists on Mars in large bodies: quite certainly not as oceans, though the evidence of many small "lakes" is pretty well made out. With very little water, a thin atmosphere and a zero temperature, is Mars likely to be inhabited at the present time? The chances are rather against it. If, however, the past development of the planet has progressed in the way usuallyconsidered as probable, we may be practically certain that Mars has been inhabited in the past, when water was more abundant, and the atmosphere more dense so as to retain and diffuse the solar heat.
Biologists tell me that they hardly know enough regarding the extreme adaptability of organisms to environment to enable them to say whether life on such a planet as Mars would or would not keep on functioning with secular changes of moisture and temperature. The survival of a race might be insured against extremely low temperatures by dwelling in sub-Martian caves, and sufficient water might be preserved by conceivable engineering and mechanical schemes; but the secular reduction of the quantity and pressure of atmosphere—it is not easy to see how a race even more advanced than ourselves could maintain itself alive under serious lack of an element so vital to existence. Both Wallace, the great biologist, and Arrhenius, the eminent chemist (but biologist, astronomer, and physicist as well), both reject the habitation theory of Mars, regarding the so-called canals as quite like the luminous streaks on the moon; that is, cracks in the volcanic crust caused by internal strains due to the heated interior. Wallace, indeed, argues that the planet is absolutely uninhabitable.
The asteroids, or minor planets? We may dismiss them with the simple consideration that their individual masses are so insignificant and their gravity so slight that no atmosphere can possibly surround them. Their temperatures must be exceedingly low, and water, if present at all, can only exist in the form of ice.
Jupiter, the giant planet, presents the opposite extreme. His mass is nearly a thousandth part ofthe sun's, and is sufficient to retain a very high temperature, probably approximating to the condition we call red-hot. This precludes the possibility of life at the outset, although the indications of a very dense atmosphere many thousand miles in depth are unmistakable.
Of Saturn, one thirty-five hundredth the mass of the sun, practically the same may be said. Proctor thought it quite likely that Saturn might be habitable for living creatures of some sort, but he regarded the planet as on many accounts unsuitable as a habitation for beings constituted like ourselves. Mere consideration of surface temperature precludes the possibility of life in the present stage of Saturn's development; but the consensus of opinion is to the effect that life may make its appearance on these great planets at some inconceivably remote epoch in the future when the surface temperature is sufficiently reduced for life processes to begin. Discoveries of algæ flourishing in hot springs approaching 200 degrees Fahrenheit make it possible that these beginnings may take place earlier and at much higher temperatures than have hitherto been thought possible.
A century ago, when the ring of Saturn was believed to be a continuous plane, this was a favorite corner of the solar system for speculation as to habitability; but now that we know the true constitution of the rings, no one would for a moment consider any such possibility. Conditions may, however, be quite different with Saturn's huge satellite Titan, the giant moon of the solar system. Its diameter makes it approximately the size of the planet Mars; and although it is much farther removed from the sun, its relative nearness to thehighly heated globe of Saturn may provide that equability of temperature which is essential to life processes.
Also the three inner Galilean moons of Jupiter, especially III which is about the size of Titan, are excellently placed for life possibilities, as far as probable temperature is concerned, but we have of course no basis for surmising what their conditions may be as to air and water, except that their small mass would indicate a probable deficiency of those elements.
Uranus and Neptune are planets so remote, and their apparent disks are so small, that very little is known about their physical condition. They are each about one-third the diameter of Jupiter, and the spectrum of Uranus shows broad diffused bands, indicating strong absorption by a dense atmosphere very different from that of the earth. Indications are that Neptune has a similar atmosphere.
It is possible that the denser atmospheres of these remote planets may be so conditioned as to selective absorption that the relatively slender supply of solar heat may be conserved, and thus insure a relatively high surface temperature when the sun comes into control. If our theories of origin of the planets are to be trusted, we may rather suppose that Uranus and Neptune are still in a highly heated condition; that life has not yet made its appearance on them, but that it will begin its development ages before Saturn and Jupiter have cooled to the requisite temperature.
Comets? In hisLettres Cosmologiques(1765) Lambert considers the question of habitability of the comets, naturally enough in his day, because he thought them solid bodies surrounded by atmosphere,and related to the planets. The extremes of temperature at perihelia and aphelia to which comets are subjected did not bother him particularly.
After calculating that the comet of 1680, "being 160 times nearer to the sun than we are ourselves, must have been subjected to a degree of heat 25,600 times as great as we are," Lambert goes on to say: "Whether this comet was of a more compact substance than our globe, or was protected in some other way, it made its perihelion passage in safety, and we may suppose all its inhabitants also passed safely. No doubt they would have to be of a more vigorous temperament and of a constitution very different from our own. But why should all living beings necessarily be constituted like ourselves? Is it not infinitely more probable that amongst the different globes of the universe a variety of organizations exist, adapted to the wants of the people who inhabit them, and fitting them for the places in which they dwell, and the temperatures to which they will be subjected? Is man the only inhabitant of the earth itself? And if we had never seen either bird or fish, should we not believe that the air and water were uninhabitable? Are we sure that fire has not its invisible inhabitants, whose bodies, made of asbestos, are impenetrable to flame? Let us admit that the nature of the beings who inhabit comets is unknown to us; but let us not deny their existence, and still less the possibility of it."
Little enough is really known about the physical nature of comets even now, but what we do know indicates incessant transformation and instability of conditions that would render life of any type exceedingly difficult of maintenance.
A word about Sir William Herschel's theory of the sun and its habitability. He thought the core of the sun a dark, solid body, quite cold, and surrounded by a double layer, the inner one of which he conceived to act as a sort of fire screen to shield the sun proper against the intense heat of the outer layer, or photosphere by which we see it. Viewed in this light, the sun, he says, "appears to be nothing else than a very eminent, large and lucid planet, evidently the first, or, in strictness of speaking, the only primary one of our system…. It is most probably also inhabited, like the rest of the planets, by beings whose organs are adapted to the peculiar circumstances of that vast globe." But physics and biology were undeveloped sciences in Herschel's days.
Herschel knew, however, that the stars are all suns, so that he must have conceived that they are inhabited also, quite independently of the question whether they possess retinues of planets, after the manner of our solar system.
This again is a question to which the astronomer of the present day can give no certain answer. So immensely distant are even the nearest of these multitudinous bodies that no telescope can ever be built large enough or powerful enough to reveal a dark planet as large as Jupiter, alongside even the nearest fixed star. Whatever may be the process of stellar evolution, there doubtless is an era of many hundreds of millions of years in the life of a star when it is passing through a planet-maintaining stage. This would likely depend upon spectral type, or to be indicated by it; and as about half of the stars are of the solar type, it would be a reasonable inference that at least half of the stars may have planets tributary to them.
In such a case, the chances must be overwhelmingly in favor of vast numbers of the planets of other stellar systems being favorably circumstanced as to heat and moisture for the maintenance of life at the present time. That is, they are habitable, and if habitable, then thousands of them are no doubt inhabited now. But astronomers know absolutely nothing about this question, nor are they able to conceive at present any way that may lead them to any definite knowledge of it. There is, indeed, one piece of quasi-evidence which might reasonably be interpreted as implying that it is more likely that the stars are not attended by families of planets than that they are.
Along toward the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, astronomers were leading a quiet unexcited life. Sir William Herschel had been knighted by King George for his discovery of the outer planet Uranus, and practically everything seemed to be known and discovered in the solar system with a single exception. Between Mars and Jupiter there existed an obvious gap in the planetary brotherhood.
Could it be possible that some time in the remote cosmic past a planet had actually existed there, and that some celestial cataclysm had blown it to fragments? If so, would they still be traveling round the sun as individual small planets? And might it not be possible to discover some of them among the faint stars that make up the belt of the zodiac in which all the other planets travel?
So interesting was this question that the first international association of astronomers banded themselves together to carry on a systematic search round the entire zodiacal heavens in the faint hope of detecting possible fragments of the original planet of mere hypothesis.
The astronomers of that day placed much reliance on what is known as Bode's law—not a law at all, but a mere arithmetical succession of numbers which represented very well the relative distancesof all the planets from the sun. And the distance of the newly found Uranus fitted in so well with this law that the utter absence of a planet in the gap between Mars and Jupiter became very strongly marked.
Quite by accident a discovery of one of the guessed-at small planetary bodies was made, on January 1, 1801, in Palermo, Sicily, by Piazzi, who was regularly occupied in making an extensive catalogue of the stars. His observations soon showed that the new object he had seen could not be a fixed star, because it moved from night to night among the stars. He concluded that it was a planet, and named it Ceres (1), for the tutelary goddess of Sicily.
Other astronomers kept up the search, and another companion planet, Pallas (2) was found in the following year. Juno (3) was found in 1804, and Vesta (4), the largest and brightest of all the minor planets, in 1807. Vesta is sometimes bright enough when nearest the earth to be seen with the naked eye; but it was the last of the brighter ones, and no more discoveries of the kind were made till the fifth was found in 1845. Since then discoveries have been made in great abundance, more and more with every year till the number of little planets at present known is very near 1,000.
The early asteroid hunters found the search rather tedious, and the labor increased as it became necessary to examine the increasing thousands of fainter and fainter stars that must be observed in order to detect the undiscovered planets, which naturally grow fainter and fainter as the chase is prolonged. First a chart of the ecliptic sky had to be prepared containing all the stars that the telescopeemployed in the search would show. Some of the most detailed charts of the sky in existence were prepared in connection with this work, particularly by the late Dr. Peters of Hamilton College. Once such charts are complete, they are compared with the sky, night after night when the moon is absent. Thousands upon thousands of tedious hours are spent in this comparison, with no result whatever except that chart and sky are found to correspond exactly.
But now and then the planet hunter is rewarded by finding a new object in the sky that does not appear on his chart. Almost certainly this is a small planet, and only a few night's observation will be necessary to enable the discoverer to find out approximately the orbit it is traveling in, and whether it is out-and-out a new planet or only one that had been previously recognized, and then lost track of.
Nearly all the minor planets so far found have had names assigned to them principally legendary and mythological, and a nearly complete catalogue of them, containing the elements of their orbits (that is, all the mathematical data that tell us about their distance from the sun and the circumstances of their motion around him) is published each year in the "Annuaire du Bureau des Longitudes" at Paris. But these little planets require a great deal of care and attention, for some astronomers must accurately observe them every few years, and other astronomers must conduct intricate mathematical computations based on these observations; otherwise they get lost and have to be discovered all over again. Professor Watson, of the University of Michigan and later of the University of Wisconsin, endowed the 22 asteroids of his own discovery, leaving to the National Academy of Sciences a fund for prosecuting this work perpetually, and Leuschner is now ably conducting it.