Part 9

What effect is to be produced by a work of art, using this word in its highest sense? It should excite and enchain our attention, arouse in us, in easy play, a host of slumbering conceptions and their corresponding feelings, and direct them towards a common object, so as to give a vivid perception of all the features of an ideal type, whose separate fragments lie scattered in our imagination and overgrown by the wild chaos of accident. It seems as if we can only refer the frequent preponderance, in the mind, of art over reality, to the fact that the latter mixes something foreign, disturbing, and even injurious; while art can collect all the elements for the desired impression, and allow them to act without restraint. The power of this impression will no doubt be greater the deeper, the finer, and the truer to nature is the sensuous impression which is to arouse the series of images and the effects connected therewith. It must act certainly, rapidly, unequivocably, and with accuracy if it is to produce a vivid and powerful impression. These essentially are the points which I have sought to comprehend under the name of intelligibility of the work of art.

Then the peculiarities of the painters’ technique (_Technik_), to which physiological optical investigation have led us, are often closely connected with the highest problems of art. We may perhaps think that even the last secret of artistic beauty--that is, the wondrous pleasure which we feel in its presence--is essentially based on the feeling of an easy, harmonic, vivid stream of our conceptions, which, in spite of manifold changes, flow towards a common object, bring to light laws hitherto concealed, and allow us to gaze in the deepest depths of sensation of our own minds.

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE PLANETARY SYSTEM.

_Lecture delivered in Heidelberg and in Cologne, in 1871._

It is my intention to bring a subject before you to-day which has been much discussed--that is, the hypothesis of Kant and Laplace as to the formation of the celestial bodies, and more especially of our planetary system. The choice of the subject needs no apology. In popular lectures, like the present, the hearers may reasonably expect from the lecturer, that he shall bring before them well-ascertained facts, and the complete results of investigation, and not unripe suppositions, hypotheses, or dreams.

Of all the subjects to which the thought and imagination of man could turn, the question as to the origin of the world has, since remote antiquity, been the favourite arena of the wildest speculation. Beneficent and malignant deities, giants, Kronos who devours his children, Niflheim, with the ice-giant Ymir, who is killed by the celestial Asas,[23] that out of him the world may be constructed--these are all figures which fill the cosmogonic systems of the more cultivated of the peoples. But the universality of the fact, that each people develops its own cosmogonies, and sometimes in great detail, is an expression of the interest, felt by all, in knowing what is our own origin, what is the ultimate beginning of the things about us. And with the question of the beginning is closely connected that of the end of all things; for that which may be formed, may also pass away. The question about the end of things is perhaps of greater practical interest than that of the beginning.

[Footnote 23: Cox’s _Aryan Mythology_, vol. i. 372. Longmans.]

Now, I must premise that the theory which I intend to discuss to-day was first put forth by a man who is known as the most abstract of philosophical thinkers; the originator of transcendental idealism and of the Categorical Imperative, Immanuel Kant. The work in which he developed this, the _General Natural Philosophy and Theory of the Heavens_, is one of his first publications, having appeared in his thirty-first year. Looking at the writings of this first period of his scientific activity, which lasted to about his fortieth year, we find that they belong mostly to Natural Philosophy, and are far in advance of their times with a number of the happiest ideas. His philosophical writings at this period are but few, and partly like his introductory lecture, directly originating in some adventitious circumstance; at the same time the matter they contain is comparatively without originality, and they are only important from a destructive and partially sarcastic criticism. It cannot be denied that the Kant of early life was a natural philosopher by instinct and by inclination; and that probably only the power of external circumstances, the want of the means necessary for independent scientific research, and the tone of thought prevalent at the time, kept him to philosophy, in which it was only much later that he produced anything original and important; for the _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_ appeared in his fifty-seventh year. Even in the later periods of his life, between his great philosophical works, he wrote occasional memoirs on natural philosophy, and regularly delivered a course of lectures on physical geography. He was restricted in this to the scanty measure of knowledge and of appliances of his time, and of the out-of-the-way place where he lived; but with a large and intelligent mind he strove after such more general points of view as Alexander von Humboldt afterwards worked out. It is exactly an inversion of the historical connection, when Kant’s name is occasionally misused, to recommend that natural philosophy shall leave the inductive method, by which it has become great, to revert to the windy speculations of a so-called ‘deductive method.’ No one would have attacked such a misuse, more energetically and more incisively, than Kant himself if he were still among us.

The same hypothesis as to the origin of our planetary system was advanced a second time, but apparently quite independently of Kant, by the most celebrated of French astronomers, Simon, Marquis de Laplace. It formed, as it were, the final conclusion of his work on the mechanism of our system, executed with such gigantic industry and great mathematical acuteness. You see from the names of these two men, whom we meet as experienced and tried leaders in our course, that in a view in which they both agree, we have not to deal with a mere random guess, but with a careful and well-considered attempt to deduce conclusions as to the unknown past from known conditions of the present time.

It is in the nature of the case, that a hypothesis as to the origin of the world which we inhabit, and which deals with things in the most distant past, cannot be verified by direct observation. It may, however, receive direct confirmation, if, in the progress of scientific knowledge, new facts accrue to those already known, and like them are explained on the hypothesis; and particularly if survivals of the processes, assumed to have taken place in the formation of the heavenly bodies, can be proved to exist in the present.

Such direct confirmations of various kinds have, in fact, been formed for the view we are about to discuss, and have materially increased its probability.

Partly this fact, and partly the fact that the hypothesis in question has recently been mentioned in popular and scientific books, in connection with philosophical, ethical, and theological questions, have emboldened me to speak of it here. I intend not so much to tell you anything substantially new in reference to it, as to endeavour to give, as connectedly as possible, the reasons which have led to, and have confirmed it.

These apologies which I must premise, only apply to the fact that I treat a theme of this kind as a popular lecture. Science is not only entitled, but is indeed beholden, to make such an investigation. For her it is a definite and important question--the question, namely, as to the existence of limits to the validity of the laws of nature, which rule all that now surrounds us; the question whether they have always held in the past, and whether they will always hold in the future; or whether, on the supposition of an everlasting uniformity of natural laws, our conclusions from present circumstances as to the past, and as to the future, imperatively lead to an impossible state of things; that is, to the necessity of an infraction of natural laws, of a beginning which could not have been due to processes known to us. Hence, to begin such an investigation as to the possible or probable primeval history of our present world, is, considered as a question of science, no idle speculation, but a question as to the limits of its methods, and as to the extent to which existing laws are valid.

It may perhaps appear rash that we, restricted as we are, in the circle of our observations in space, by our position on this little earth, which is but as a grain of dust in our milky way; and limited in time by the short duration of the human race; that we should attempt to apply the laws which we have deduced from the confined circle of facts open to us, to the whole range of infinite space, and of time from everlasting to everlasting. But all our thought and our action, in the greatest as well as in the least, is based on our confidence in the unchangeable order of nature, and this confidence has hitherto been the more justified, the deeper we have penetrated into the interconnections of natural phenomena. And that the general laws, which we have found, also hold for the most distant vistas of space, has acquired strong actual confirmation during the past half-century.

In the front rank of all, then, is the law of gravitation. The celestial bodies, as you all know, float and move in infinite space. Compared with the enormous distances between them, each of us is but as a grain of dust. The nearest fixed stars, viewed even under the most powerful magnification, have no visible diameter; and we may be sure that even our sun, looked at from the nearest fixed stars, would only appear as a single luminous point; seeing that the masses of those stars, in so far as they have been determined, have not been found to be materially different from that of the sun. But, notwithstanding these enormous distances, there is an invisible tie between them which connects them together, and brings them in mutual interdependence. This is the force of gravitation, with which all heavy masses attract each other. We know this force as gravity, when it is operative between an earthly body and the mass of our earth. The force which causes a body to fall to the ground is none other than that which continually compels the moon to accompany the earth in its path round the sun, and which keeps the earth itself from fleeing off into space, away from the sun.

You may realise, by means of a simple mechanical model, the course of planetary motion. Fasten to the branch of a tree, at a sufficient height, or to a rigid bar, fixed horizontally in the wall, a silk cord, and at its end a small heavy body--for instance, a lead ball. If you allow this to hang at rest, it stretches the thread. This is the position of equilibrium of the ball. To indicate this, and keep it visible, put in the place of the ball any other solid body--for instance, a large terrestrial globe on a stand. For this purpose the ball must be pushed aside, but it presses against the globe, and, if taken away, it still tends to come back to it, because gravity impels it towards its position of equilibrium, which is in the centre of the sphere. And upon whatever side it is drawn, the same thing always happens. This force, which drives the ball towards the globe, represents in our model the attraction which the earth exerts on the moon, or the sun on the planets. After you have convinced yourselves of the accuracy of these facts, try to give the ball, when it is a little away from the globe, a slight throw in a lateral direction. If you have accurately hit the strength of the throw, the small ball will move round the large one in a circular path, and may retain this motion for some time; just as the moon persists in its course round the earth, or the planets about the sun. Now, in our model, the circles described by the lead ball will be continually narrower, because the opposing forces, the resistance of the air, the rigidity of the thread, friction, cannot be eliminated, in this case, as they are excluded in the planetary system.

If the path about the attracting centre is exactly circular, the attracting force always acts on the planets, or on the lead sphere, with equal strength. In this case, it is immaterial according to what law the force would increase or diminish at other distances from the centre in which the moving body does not come. If the original impulse has not been of the right strength in both cases, the paths will not be circular but elliptical, of the form of the curved line in Fig. 5. But these ellipses lie in both cases differently as regards the attracting centre. In our model, the attracting force is stronger, the further the lead sphere is removed from its position of equilibrium. Under these circumstances, the ellipse of the path has such a position in reference to the attracting centre, that this is in the centre, _c_, of the ellipse. For planets, on the contrary, the attracting force is feebler the further it is removed from the attracting body, and this is the reason that an ellipse is described, one of whose foci lies in the centre of attraction. The two foci, _a_ and _b_, are two points which lie symmetrically towards the ends of the ellipse, and are characterised by the property that the sum of their distances, _am_ + _bm_, is the same from any given points.

Kepler had found that the paths of the planets are ellipses of this kind; and since, as the above example shows, the form and position of the orbit depend on the law according to which the magnitude of the attracting force alters, Newton could deduce from the form of the planetary orbits the well-known law of the force of gravitation, which attracts the planets to the sun, according to which this force decreases with increase of distance as the square of that distance. Terrestrial gravity must obey this law, and Newton had the wonderful self-denial to refrain from publishing his important discovery until it had acquired a direct confirmation; this followed from the observations, that the force which attracts the moon towards the earth, bears towards the gravity of a terrestrial body the ratio required by the above law.

In the course of the eighteenth century the power of mathematical analysis, and the methods of astronomical observation, increased so far that all the complicated actions, which take place between all the planets, and all their satellites, in consequence of the mutual action of each upon each, and which astronomers call disturbances--disturbance, that is to say, of the simpler elliptical motions about the sun, which each one would produce if the others were absent--that all these could be theoretically predicted from Newton’s law, and be accurately compared with what actually takes place in the heavens. The development of this theory of planetary motion in detail was, as has been said, the merit of Laplace. The agreement between this theory, which was developed from the simple law of gravitation, and the extremely complicated and manifold phenomena which follow therefrom, was so complete and so accurate, as had never previously been attained in any other branch of human knowledge. Emboldened by this agreement, the next step was to conclude that where slight defects were still constantly found, unknown causes must be at work. Thus, from Bessel’s calculation of the discrepancy between the actual and the calculated motion of Uranus, it was inferred that there must be another planet. The position of this planet was calculated by Leverrier and Adams, and thus Neptune, the most distant of all known at that time, was discovered.

But it was not merely in the region of the attraction of our sun that the law of gravitation was found to hold. With regard to the fixed stars, it was found that double stars moved about each other in elliptical paths, and that therefore the same law of gravitation must hold for them as for our planetary system. The distance of some of them could be calculated. The nearest of them, α, in the constellation of the Centaur, is 270,000 times further from the sun than the earth. Light, which has a velocity of 186,000 miles a second, which traverses the distance from the sun to the earth in eight minutes, would take four years to travel from α Centauri to us. The more delicate methods of modern astronomy have made it possible to determine distances which light would take thirty-five years to traverse; as, for instance, the Pole Star; but the law of gravitation is seen to hold, ruling the motion of the double stars, at distances in the heavens, which all the means we possess have hitherto utterly failed to measure.

The knowledge of the law of gravitation has here also led to the discovery of new bodies, as in the case of Neptune. Peters of Altona found, confirming therein a conjecture of Bessel, that Sirius, the most brilliant of the fixed stars, moves in an elliptical path about an invisible centre. This must have been due to an unseen companion, and when the excellent and powerful telescope of the University of Cambridge, in the United States, had been set up, this was discovered. It is not quite dark, but its light is so feeble that it can only be seen by the most perfect instruments. The mass of Sirius is found to be 13·76, and that of its satellite 6·71, times the mass of the sun; their mutual distance is equal to thirty-seven times the radius of the earth’s orbit, and is therefore somewhat larger than the distance of Neptune from the sun.

Another fixed star, Procyon, is in the same case as Sirius, but its satellite has not yet been discovered.

You thus see that in gravitation we have discovered a property common to all matter, which is not confined to bodies in our system, but extends, as far in the celestial space, as our means of observation have hitherto been able to penetrate.

But not merely is this universal property of all mass shared by the most distant celestial bodies, as well as by terrestrial ones; but spectrum analysis has taught us that a number of well-known terrestrial elements are met with in the atmospheres of the fixed stars, and even of the nebulæ.

You all know that a fine bright line of light, seen through a glass prism, appears as a coloured band, red and yellow at one edge, blue and violet at the other, and green in the middle. Such a coloured image is called a spectrum--the rainbow is such a one, produced by the refraction of light, though not exactly by a prism; and it exhibits therefore the series of colours into which white sunlight can thus be decomposed. The formation of the prismatic spectrum depends on the foot that the sun’s light, and that of most ignited bodies, is made up of various kinds of light, which appear of different colours to our eyes, and the rays of which are separated from each other when refracted by a prism.

Now if a solid or a liquid is heated to such an extent that it becomes incandescent, the spectrum which its light gives is, like the rainbow, a broad coloured band without any breaks, with the well-known series of colours, red, yellow, green, blue, and violet, and in no wise characteristic of the nature of the body which emits the light.

The case is different if the light is emitted by an ignited gas, or by an ignited vapour--that is, a substance vaporised by heat. The spectrum of such a body consists, then, of one or more, and sometimes even a great number, of entirely distinct bright lines, whose position and arrangement in the spectrum is characteristic for the substances of which the gas or vapour consists, so that it can be ascertained, by means of spectrum analysis, what is the chemical constitution of the ignited gaseous body. Gaseous spectra of this kind are shown in the heavenly space by many nebulæ; for the most part they are spectra which show the bright line of ignited hydrogen and oxygen, and along with it a line which, as yet, has never been again found in the spectrum of any terrestrial element. Apart from the proof of two well-known terrestrial elements, this discovery was of the utmost importance, since it furnished the first unmistakable proof that the cosmical nebulæ are not, for the most part, small heaps of fine stars, but that the greater part of the light which they emit is really due to gaseous bodies.

The gaseous spectra present a different appearance when the gas is in front of an ignited solid whose temperature is far higher than that of the gas. The observer sees then a continuous spectrum of a solid, but traversed by fine dark lines, which are just visible in the places in which the gas alone, seen in front of a dark background, would show bright lines. The solar spectrum is of this kind, and also that of a great number of fixed stars. The dark lines of the solar spectrum, originally discovered by Wollaston, were first investigated and measured by Fraunhofer, and are hence known as Fraunhofer’s lines.

Far more powerful apparatus was afterwards used by Kirchhoff, and then by Angström, to push the decomposition of light as far as possible. Fig. 6 represents an apparatus with four prisms, constructed by Steinheil for Kirchhoff. At the further end of the telescope B is a screen with a fine slit, representing a fine slice of light, which can be narrowed or widened by the small screw, and by which the light under investigation can be allowed to enter. It then passes through the telescope B, afterwards through the four prisms, and finally through the telescope A, from which it reaches the eye of the observer. Figs. 7, 8, and 9 represent small portions of the solar spectrum as mapped by Kirchhoff, taken from the green, yellow, and golden-yellow, in which the chemical symbols below--Fe (iron), Ca (calcium), Na (sodium), Pb (lead)--and the affixed lines, indicate the positions in which the vapours of these metals, when made incandescent, either in the flames or in the electrical spark, would show bright lines. The numbers above them show how far these fractions of Kirchhoff’s map of the whole system are apart from each other. Here, also, we see a predominance of iron lines. In the whole spectrum Kirchhoff found not less than 450.

It follows from this, that the solar atmosphere contains an abundance of the vapours of iron, which, by the way, justifies us in concluding what an enormously high temperature must prevail there. It shows, moreover, how our figs. 7, 8, and 9 indicate iron, calcium, and sodium, and also the presence of hydrogen, of zinc, of copper, and of the metals of magnesia, alumina, baryta, and other terrestrial elements. Lead, on the other hand, is wanting, as well as gold, silver, mercury, antimony, arsenic, and some others.

The spectra of several fixed stars are similarly constituted; they show systems of fine lines which can be identified with those of terrestrial elements. In the atmosphere of Aldebaran in Taurus there is, again, hydrogen, iron, magnesium, calcium, sodium, and also mercury, antimony, and bismuth; and, according to H. C. Vogel, there is in α Orionis the rare metal thallium; and so on.