CHAPTER V

THE MOON

The 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 Maedler, "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 Maedler described the two craters as being exactly alike eighty years ago, Messier A is now distinctly the larger; but it is very doubtful whether Maedler'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 Linne, 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 Linne 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 deg. Centigrade, considerably exceeding 100 deg. 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.