It is a melancholy fact that the estimable qualities of patience
and industry do not, by themselves, enable their possessor to
attain eminence in the arts. There is very good reason to suppose
that character, particularly a certain simple type of integrity and
sincerity, is necessary to great artistic achievement, but it is
certain that such gifts are not sufficient; they must be allied with
very unusual mental qualities. In the sciences, however, we often find
work of very great importance being performed by men of quite average
intelligence, but of exceptional tenacity. A pure heart seems to be all
that is necessary. This is not true, of course, of the mathematical
sciences--mathematicians, like musicians, are “born”--but it is very
obviously true of what are called the “observational” sciences. A
history of Astronomy, in particular, is interesting from this point
of view. The fact that the whole of our knowledge of the heavens
comes through the sense of sight, and that we cannot experiment, in
the ordinary way, upon the heavenly bodies, means that the patient
observer, by merely accumulating observations, is performing an
absolutely essential function. There is no other subject which yields
such rich rewards to mere patience. There is no other subject which
has so long a record of valuable discoveries achieved by purely
average ability. It is interesting to notice how often a telescope
and a capacity for sitting still have made their owners immortal. In
the region of stellar astronomy the minuteness of the phenomena which
may be observed has narrowed possible competitors to those possessing
large instruments, and that usually means public institutions and
professional astronomers. But the history of our knowledge of the
nearer heavenly bodies, the sun, the planets and the moon, owes much to
the industrious amateur. No history of planetary and lunar discoveries
would be complete without mention of Schröter, the “Oberamtmann”
of Lilienthal, who watched the moon and planets incessantly for
thirty-four years with a patience only equalled by his enthusiasm. He
died of a “broken heart,” the result of a French atrocity, for after
firing, on the night of April 20, 1813, the Vale of Lilies and thereby
destroying, amongst other things, the whole of Schröter’s books and
writings, the French army under Vandamme broke into and pillaged his
observatory. The old man, then sixty-eight years of age, had not
the means to repair the catastrophe, and, deprived of his one great
interest, he died three years later, leaving, amongst his published
works, some of the most long-winded and entertaining observations in
the history of astronomy.
But although Schröter is undoubtedly the most amusing of all amateur
observers, he has had his prototypes in all countries. Francis Baily,
the “philosopher of Newbury,” is a good example of our more sober
English product. We may have doubts as to what sort of chief magistrate
old Schröter was, but we know that Baily took his profession of
stockbroking with the utmost seriousness. He did not allow astronomy
to interfere with business. Beginning in 1799, he remained on the
Stock Exchange in London for twenty-four years, devoting his leisure
largely to solar observations, particularly those connected with
eclipses. It is with two of these phenomena, the first annular, a
ring of the sun being visible round the moon, and the second total,
that Baily’s name is particularly associated, in each case for the
vivid and accurate account he gave of what he witnessed. The first
phenomenon, a ring of bright points extending round that part of the
moon’s circumference which has just entered on the solar disc, is
merely a consequence of the lunar edge being serrated with mountains.
These “Baily’s beads,” as they were called, were successful, however,
in stimulating interest in the physical aspect of eclipses, with the
result that the next total eclipse, that of 1842, was looked for with
an unprecedented degree of enthusiasm. Astronomers like Airy, Otto
Struve and Arago travelled to Central or Southern Europe to observe
the eclipse, and the indefatigable Mr. Baily accompanied them. He
fitted up his telescope in an upper room of the University of Pavia.
The result was magnificent. At the instant of totality the sun appeared
decorated with a glorious _auréole_, the famous corona. It was
not, of course, an unknown phenomenon, but it had never before excited
so much attention. Mr. Baily, in particular, was moved to write a most
eloquent description of this flaming object. He calls it splendid and
astonishing, but continues: “Yet I must confess that there was at the
same time something in its singular and wonderful appearance that was
appalling; and I can readily imagine that uncivilised nations may
occasionally have become alarmed and terrified at such an object....”
Besides being a specialist on eclipses, Baily was an untiring editor
of star-catalogues, and he also made no fewer than 2,153 laborious
experiments, on Cavendish’s method, to determine the density of the
earth. He was indeed a zealous worker in what Sir John Herschel called
the “archæology of astronomy.” He was noted for his unvarying health,
undisturbed equanimity and methodical habits.
Another testimonial to the importance of such qualities in astronomical
discovery is furnished by the career of Heinrich Schwabe, of Dessau.
In the hope of escaping his fate as an apothecary he bought a small
telescope in 1826, and began to observe the sun, being advised to do
so by a friend. He continued to observe the sun daily (weather and
health permitting) for forty-three years. Every day he counted the
number of spots visible on the surface of the sun. It was a simple
occupation, but it led to important consequences. His immense record of
sun-spot statistics showed that the increase and decrease in the number
of sun-spots did not occur in a random manner, but fell into periods,
maxima alternating with minima, a complete period occupying about ten
years. This figure has been modified since, but the fact of sun-spot
periodicity is established and is at the present time one of the most
suggestive and probably far-reaching of solar phenomena. Schwabe
displayed no striking quality of mind or character beyond an almost
incomprehensible patience. He was buoyed up in his spot-counting,
however, by the hope of discovering a planet between Mercury and the
sun, and in order to distinguish between the tiny disc of the planet
crossing the face of the sun and a sun-spot, he found it necessary, in
virtue of his instrumental equipment, to count the spots. When he found
that, as a consequence of this pastime, he was world-famous, he likened
himself to Saul who, going forth to seek his father’s asses, discovered
a kingdom. His magnificent serenity of body and mind enabled him to
attain the age of eighty-six.
Part of his mantle fell on Richard Carrington (born 1826), who built
an observatory at Redhill with the intention of devoting himself to
a study of sun-spots throughout a complete cycle. He failed to finish
the cycle completely, as the death of his father made it necessary
for him to divert his energies to controlling a brewery. He achieved
results of great importance, however. His observations were concerned
with the positions and movements of the spots, and from a series of
5,290 such observations he was enabled, amongst other things, to clear
up the uncertainties attending the period of rotation of the sun.
Galileo, apparently not appreciating the importance of the matter, had
said that the sun rotated in “about a lunar month,” and a number of
other observers gave figures varying from 27 to 25 days. Carrington
illuminated this darkness by remarking that there is no single period
of rotation for the sun. The polar regions rotate more slowly than
those in the neighbourhood of the equator; the equator rotates in a
little less than twenty-five days, while in latitude 50° the period is
twenty-seven and a-half days. Thus the mystery was cleared up and a
fresh direction given to solar investigation.
It is difficult to say whether Astronomy still offers such rewards
to industry. It is probable, however, that it still yields more to
character, as distinguished from ability, than any other science, and
incomparably more, alas! than the arts.