Part 10

I confess that though Professor Tyndall has shown clearly how the atmosphere of a more distant planet _might_ make up for the deficient supply of solar heat, by more effectively retaining the heat, I know of nothing in either the telescopic or the spectroscopic evidence respecting any of the planets which tends to show, or even renders it likely, that any such arrangement exists,--excepting always the peculiarity in Mars's case which we are now endeavouring to explain. Insomuch that should any other explanation of the difficulty be suggested, and appear to have weight in its favour, I apprehend that the mere possibility of an atmospheric arrangement, such as has been suggested, should not prevent our admitting this other explanation.

I am inclined to think that there is such an explanation. It seems to me that there are good reasons for regarding Mars as a planet which has passed to a much later stage of planetary life than that through which our earth is now passing, and that in this circumstance some of the peculiarities of his appearance find their explanation. As a planet outside the earth, Mars must probably be regarded as one formed somewhat before the earth. As a much smaller planet, he would be not only less heated when first found (whatever theory of planetary formation we adopt), but would also have parted much more rapidly (relatively) with his heat, according to the same law which makes a small mass of metal cool more quickly than a large one. If he has a rarer atmosphere he would be a colder planet on that account also. Being also remoter from the sun, he receives less heat from that orb, and we thus have a fourth reason for regarding Mars as a much colder planet than our earth, both as to inherent heat and as to heat received from without. It seems to me that we may in this consideration find the real meaning of the comparatively limited extension of the Martian snows. It has been well pointed out by Professor Tyndall that for the formation of great glacial masses, not great cold only, but great heat also is required. The snows which fall on mountain slopes, to be compacted into ice and afterwards to form great glaciers, were raised into the air by the sun's heat. Every ice particle represents the action of that heat upon the particles of water at the surface of ocean, sea, or lake, or of wet soil. If the sun's heat suddenly died out, there would prevail an intense cold, and the snows and ice now existing would assuredly remain. The waters also of the earth would congeal. But no new snows would fall. The congealed seas viewed from some remote planet would appear unchanged. For they would not be covered with snow and broken ice, nor therefore white; but would consist of pure ice throughout, retaining the partial transparency and greenish colour of deep-sea water. No winds would disturb the surface of the frozen seas, for winds have their origin in heat, and with the death of the solar heat the winds would utterly die out also.

If we are to choose between these two explanations,--one that the snows and ice have not the great range we should expect, because the temperature is somehow raised despite Mars's greater distance to the same temperature which we experience, and the other that it is not heat but cold which diminishes the quantity of Martian snow, I conceive that there is every reason the case admits of for accepting the latter instead of the former explanation. As extreme cold would certainly prevent glacial masses from being very large and deep, simply because the stores whence the ice was gathered would be less, the snow caps of a very cold planet would vary as readily with varying seasons as those of a planet like our earth. For though less heat would be poured upon them with the returning summer, less heat would be required to melt away their outskirts.

I think we may fairly regard Mars as in all probability a somewhat old and decrepit planet. He is not absolutely dead, like our own moon, where we see neither seas nor clouds, neither snow nor ice, no effects, in fine, of either heat or cold. But I think he has passed far on the road towards planetary death,--that is, towards that stage of a planet's existence when at least the higher forms of life can no longer exist upon the planet's surface.

There is one peculiarity of the planet's appearance which seems strikingly to accord with this view that Mars holds a position intermediate between that of our earth and the moon,--as indeed we might fairly expect from his intermediate proportions. The seas of our earth cover nearly three-quarters of her entire globe. The moon has no visible water on her surface. If we examine the chart of Mars at page 167, we see that the seas and oceans of the planet are much smaller (relatively as well as actually) than are the seas of our own earth. I have carefully estimated their relative extent in the following simple but effective way. I drew a chart such as the above-mentioned, but on a projection of my own invention, in which equal surfaces on a globe are represented by equal surfaces on the planisphere. Then I cut out with a pair of scissors the parts representing land and the parts representing water (leaving the polar parts as doubtful), and carefully weighed these in a delicate balance. I found that they were almost exactly equal: whatever preponderance there was seemed to be in favour of the land. Thus, if we assume that, when in the same stage of planetary existence, Mars had as great a relative extent of water surface as our earth, or that about 72/100 of the surface of Mars were originally water, we should have to admit that the water had so far been withdrawn into the planet's interior as to diminish the water-surface by 22/100 (for there are now barely 50/100). At a very fair assumption as to the slopes of the Martian sea-bottoms, it would follow that more than half the Martian water originally existing above the surface had been withdrawn into the interior, as the planet's mass gradually cooled.

I am aware the assumption above mentioned is in itself somewhat daring, and is not supported by direct evidence. But, since we have very strong reasons for considering that the moon once had seas, which have been withdrawn in the way suggested, and since Mars unquestionably holds a position midway between the earth and moon as to size and presumably as to age,[13] it seems not unreasonable to find in the character of her seas,--less extended relatively than the earth's, but, unlike the moon's, still existing,--the evidence that she has gone partially through the process through which the moon has long since passed completely.

I think it very likely that the recent discovery of two Martian satellites will lead many to look with more disfavour than ever on the idea that Mars may not at present be the abode of life. For moons seem so manifestly convenient additions to a planet's surroundings, as light-givers, time-measurers, and tide-rulers, that many will regard the mere fact that these conveniences exist as proof positive that they are at this present time subserving the purposes which they are capable of subserving. I would point out, however, that our own moon must have existed for ages before any living creatures, far less any reasoning beings, could profit by her light, or by the regularity of her motions, or by her action in swaying the waters of ocean. And doubtless she will continue to exist for ages after all life shall have passed away from the earth. Again, there can be no question that our earth would present a most attractive scene if she were viewed from the moon, and would be a most useful ornament of the lunar skies. Yet we have every reason to believe that there is not a living creature on the moon at present to profit by her light. The case may well be the same (apart from the actual evidence that it _is_ the same) with Mars. His satellites may long since have served most useful purposes to his inhabitants; but it by no means follows that because if there were inhabitants on Mars now the same purposes would still be subserved, therefore there are inhabitants there.

Let us, however, without considering the question whether the satellites of Mars serve such special purposes for creatures living on the planet, consider briefly the history of their discovery, their nature, and the laws of their motion around the planet.

Astronomers had long examined the neighbourhood of Mars with very powerful telescopes, in the hope of discovering Martian moons. But the hope had so thoroughly been abandoned for many years that the planet had come to be known as "moonless Mars." The construction, however, of the fine telescope which has been mounted at Washington, with an object-glass twenty-six inches in diameter, caused at least American astronomers to hope that after all a Martian moon or two might be discovered. Taking advantage of the exceptionally favourable opportunity presented during the planet's close approach to our earth in the autumn of 1877, Prof. Asaph Hall, of the Washington Observatory, paid special attention to the search for Martian moons. At last, on August 16, 1877, he detected close by the planet a faint point of light, which he was unable to examine further at the time (to see if it behaved as a satellite, or as one of the fixed stars). But on the 18th he saw it again, and determined its nature. He also saw another still fainter point of light closer to the planet; and subsequent observations shewed that this object also was a satellite. During the next few weeks both the moons were observed as closely as possible, in fact, whenever weather permitted, and the result is that we now know the true nature of their paths.

In fig. 23 these paths are shown as they appeared in 1877. Of course the paths themselves are not seen; but if the satellites left behind them a fine train or wake of light, the shape of this train would be as shown in fig. 23. The satellites themselves could not be shown at all in a picture on so small a scale--the diameter of either would certainly be less than the cross-breadth of the fine elliptical line representing its track. The size of the planet is correctly indicated, and the true pose of the planet in 1877 is shown in the figure, his southern pole being somewhat bowed towards the earth. This is the uppermost pole; for the figure represents the planet and his satellites' orbits as they would appear in an astronomical telescope, which inverts objects.

The outer satellite is probably not more than ten miles or so in diameter, the inner one, perhaps, the same; but neither can be measured. In the most powerful telescopes they appear as mere points of light. Nor is it easy to determine, from their lustre, or rather from their faintness, their true dimensions; for we cannot compare them directly in this respect with objects of known size, because their visibility is partly affected by the proximity of the planet, whose overpowering light dims their feeble rays. This remark applies with special force to the inner satellite.

The distance of the outer satellite from Mars's centre is about 14,300 miles, from Mars's surface about 12,000 miles. The inner travels at a distance of about 5,750 miles from the centre, and about 3,450 miles from the surface of Mars.

The motions of the satellites as seen from Mars must be very different from those of our own moon. Thus, our moon moves so slowly among the stars that she requires nearly an hour to traverse a distance equal to her own apparent diameter. The outer moon of Mars traverses a similar distance--that is, not her own apparent diameter, but an arc on the stellar heavens equal to our moon's apparent diameter--in about two and a half minutes, while the inner moon moves so rapidly as to traverse the same distance in about forty seconds. To both moons, therefore, but to the inner in particular, Job's description of our moon as "walking in brightness" would seem singularly applicable, so far at least as the rapidity of their motions is concerned. Their brightness, however, cannot be comparable to our moon's. For notwithstanding their much greater proximity, it is easily shown that they must present much smaller discs, and being illuminated by a more distant sun, their discs cannot shine so brightly as our moon's. That is, not only are the discs smaller, but their intrinsic brightness is less. Assuming the outer moon to be ten miles, the inner fifteen miles in diameter, it is easily shown that the two together, if full at the same time, can hardly give one-twelfth as much light to Martians as our moon gives to us.

Yet there can be no doubt that the Martian moons must be (or _have been_) most useful additions to the Martian skies. They do not give a useful measure of time intermediate in length between the day and the year, as our moon does; for the outer travels round the planet in about thirty and a quarter hours, the inner in about seven and a half hours. Nor can they exert an influence upon the Martian seas corresponding to that exerted by our own moon in generating the lunar tidal wave. But their motions must serve usefully to indicate the progress of time, both by night and by day, for they must be visible by day unless very close to the sun. They must be even more useful than our moon in indicating the longitude of ships at sea, seeing that the accuracy with which a moon indicates longitude is directly proportional to her velocity of motion among the stars.

I have said that there does not seem to be any valid reason for considering that now is the accepted time with these moons; their services may have been of immense value in long past ages, and now be valueless for want of any creatures to be benefited by them. But those who not only believe that no object in nature was made without some special purpose, but that we are able to assign to each object its original purpose, should be well satisfied if they find reason for believing that, during millions of years long, long ago, the moons lately discovered by our astronomers were measuring time for past races of Martians, swaying tides in wider seas than those which now lave the shores of Martian continents, and enabling Martian travellers to guide their course over the trackless ocean and arid desert with far greater safety than can our voyagers by sea and land despite all the advances of modern science.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Brown is not the right word for the tint of red where the visible spectrum begins. I know, however, of no word properly expressing the colour.

[12] Suppose there are two planets A and B of equal density, of which A has a diameter twice as great as that of B. Then the volume of A is eight times greater than B's volume. So that if the volume of its atmosphere exceed the volume of B's air in the same degree, the planet A has eight times as much air as the planet B. But the surface of A is only four times as great as the surface of B; so that if A had only four times as much air as B, there would be the same quantity of air above each square mile of A's surface as above each of B's surface. Since then A has eight times--not merely four times--as much air as B, it follows that A has twice as much air over each square mile of surface as B has. And similarly in all such cases, the general law being that the larger planet has more air over each square mile of surface in the same degree that its diameter exceeds that of the other.

[13] By age here I do not mean absolute age, but relative age. I speak of Mars and the Moon as older than the earth in the same sense that I should speak of a fly in autumn as older than a five-year-old raven.

X.

_THE PLANET JUPITER._

Two or three years ago I had occasion to consider in the _Day of Rest_ the giant planet Jupiter, the largest and most massive of all the bodies circling around the sun. I then presented a new theory respecting Jupiter's condition, to which I had been led in 1869, when I was visiting other worlds than ours. Since then, in fact within the last few months, observations have been made which place the new theory on a somewhat firm basis; and I propose now briefly to reconsider the subject in the light of these latest observations.

In the first place I would call the reader's attention to the way in which modern science has altered our ideas respecting time as well as space, though the change has only been noticed specially as it affects space. In former ages men regarded the region of space over which they in some sense had rule as very extensive indeed. This earth was the most important body in the universe, all others being not only made for the service of the earth, but being in all respects, in size, in range, and so forth, altogether subordinate to it. Step by step men passed from this to an entirely different conception of our earth's position in space. Shown first to be a globe within the domain of the heavenly bodies, then to be a globe subordinate to the sun, then to be a member of one family among thousands each with its ruling sun, then to belong to a galaxy of suns which is but one among myriads of millions of such galaxies, and lastly shown to the eye of reason, though not to direct observation, as belonging to a galaxy of galaxies itself but one among millions of the same order, which in turn belong to higher and higher orders endlessly, the earth has come to be regarded, despite its importance to ourselves, as but a point in space. The minutest particle by which a mathematician might attempt to picture the conception of a mathematical point, comparing that particle with any near object however large, a house, a mountain, the earth itself, would be but the grossest representation of a point, by comparison with the massive earth, when she is considered with reference to the universe of the fixed stars or rather to that portion of the universe, itself but a point in space, over which the survey of the astronomer extends.

All this has been admitted. Men have fully learned to recognise, though they are quite unable to conceive, the utter minuteness, one may say the evanescence, of their abode in space.

But along with the extension of our ideas respecting space, a corresponding extension has been made, or should have been made, in our conceptions respecting time. We have learned to recognise the time during which our earth has been and will be a fit abode for living creatures as exceedingly short compared with the time during which she was being fashioned into fitness for that purpose, and with the æons of æons to follow, after life has disappeared from her surface. This, however, is but one step towards the eternities to which modern science points. The earth is but one of many bodies of a system; and though it has been the custom to regard the birth of that system as if it had been effected, if one may so speak, in a single continuous effort (lasting millions of millions of years, mayhap, but bringing all the planets and their central sun simultaneously into fitness for their purpose), there is no reason whatever for supposing this to have been really the case, while there are many reasons for regarding it as utterly unlikely. It seems as though men could not divest themselves of the idea that our earth's history is the history of the solar system and of the universe. Precisely as children can hardly be brought to understand, for a long time, what history really means, how generation after generation of their own race has passed away, and how their own race has succeeded countless others, so science, still young, seems scarcely to appreciate the real meaning of its own discoveries. It follows directly from these that world after world like our earth, in this our own system or among the millions peopling space, has had its day, and that the systems themselves, on which such worlds attend, are but the existent representatives of their order, and succeed countless other systems which have long since served their purpose.

Yet, strangely enough, students of science continue for the most part to speak of other worlds, and other suns, and other systems, as though this present era, this "bank and shoal of time," were the sole period to which to refer in considering the condition of those worlds and suns and systems. It does not seem to occur to them that,--not possibly or probably, but most certainly,--myriads among the celestial bodies must be passing through stages preceding those which are compatible with the existence or support of life, while myriads of others must long since have passed that stage. And thus ideas appear strange and fanciful to them which, rightly apprehended, are alone in strict accordance with analogy. To consider Jupiter or Saturn as in the extreme youth of planetary existence, still glowing with such heat as pervaded the whole frame of our earth before she became a habitable world, still enveloped in cloud masses containing within them the very oceans of those future worlds, all this is regarded as fanciful and sensational. Yet those who so regard such theories do not hesitate to admit that every planet must once in its life pass through the fiery stage of planetary existence, nor are they prepared to show any reason why the stage must be regarded as past in the case of every planet or even of most of the planets. Seeing that, on the other hand, there are abundant reasons for believing that planets differ very widely as regards the duration of the various stages of their life, and that our earth is by no means one of the longest lived, we may very fairly expect to find among the planets some which are very much younger than our earth,--not younger, it will be understood, in years, but younger in the sense of being less advanced in development. When we further find that all the evidence accords with this view, we may regard it as the one to which true science points.

All that we know about the processes through which our earth has passed suggests the probability, I will even say the certainty, that planets so much larger than she is as are Jupiter and Saturn must require much longer periods for every one of those processes. A vast mass like Jupiter would not cool down from the temperature which our earth possessed when her surface was molten to that which she at present possesses in the same time as the earth, but in a period many times longer.

Supposing Bischoff to be right in assigning 340,000,000 years to that era of our earth's past, I have calculated that Jupiter would require about seven times and Saturn nearly five times as long, or about 2,380,000,000 and 1,500,000,000 years respectively, and by these respective periods would they be behind the earth as respects this stage of development. Suppose, however, on the other hand, that Bischoff has greatly overrated the length of that era--and I must confess that experiments on the cooling of small masses of rock, such as he dealt with, seem to afford very unsatisfactory evidence respecting the cooling of a great globe like our earth. Say that instead of 340,000,000 years we must assign but a tenth part of that time to the era in question. Even then we find for the corresponding era of Jupiter's existence about 238,000,000 years, and for that of Saturn's 150,000,000 years, or in one case more than 200,000,000 years longer, in the other more than 110,000,000 years longer than in our earth's case.