WHAT BINDS THE FAMILY TOGETHER?
What is it which binds together all the members of the Solar System?
Ah, what? Why should not the sun at any moment rush away in one
direction, the earth in a second, the planets in half a dozen others?
What is there to hinder such a catastrophe? Nothing--except that
they are all held together by a certain close family tie; or, more
correctly, by the powerful influence of the head of the family.
This mysterious power which the sun has, and which all the planets
have also in their smaller degrees, is called Attraction. Sometimes
it is named Gravitation or Gravity. When we speak, as we often do,
of the _law_ of attraction or gravitation, we mean simply this--that
throughout the universe, in things little and great, is found a certain
wonderful _something_, in constant action, which we call a “law.” What
the “something” may be, man can not tell; for he knows it only by its
effects. But these effects are seen everywhere, on all sides, in the
earth and in the universe. It is well named in being called a “law;”
for we are compelled to obey it. None but the Divine Lawgiver who made
this law can for a single moment suspend its working.
What causes an apple to fall to the ground when it drops from the
branch? Why should it not, instead, rise upwards? Because, of course,
it is heavy, or has weight. But what _is_ weight? Simply this--that
the earth draws or drags everything downwards towards herself by the
power of attraction. Every substance, great or small, light or heavy,
is made up of tiny atoms. Each one of these atoms attracts or draws all
the other atoms towards itself; and the closer they are together, the
more strongly they pull one another.
The atoms in a piece of iron are much closer than the atoms in a piece
of wood; therefore the iron is called the “more _dense_” of the two,
and its weight or “mass” is greater. The more closely the atoms are
pressed together, the greater the number of them in a small space, and
the more strong the drawing towards the earth; for the earth draws each
one of these atoms equally. That is only another way of saying that
a thing is “heavier.” If you drop a stone from the top of a cliff,
will it rise upwards or float in the air? No, indeed. The pull of the
earth’s attraction, dragging and still dragging downward, makes it rush
through the air, with speed quickening each instant, till it strikes
the ground. Every single atom in every single body _pulls_ every other
atom, whether far or near. The nearer it is, the stronger always the
pulling.
We do not always feel this, because the very much greater attraction of
the earth hides--or smothers, as we may say--the lesser attraction of
each small thing for another. But though you and I might stand side by
side upon earth, and feel no mutual attraction, yet if we could mount
up a few thousands of miles, far away from earth, and float in distant
space, there we should find ourselves drawn together, and unable to
remain apart.
Now precisely as an apple falling from a tree and a stone dropping
from a cliff are dragged downward to the earth, just so our earth and
all the planets are dragged downwards towards the sun and towards each
other. The law of the earth’s attraction of all objects on its surface
to itself was indistinctly suspected a very long time ago; but it was
the great Newton who first discovered that this same law was to be
found working among the members of the whole Solar System. The sun
attracts the earth, and the earth attracts the sun. But the enormous
size of the sun compared with our earth--like a great nine-foot globe
beside a tiny one-inch ball--makes our power of attraction to be quite
lost sight of in his, which is so much greater.
The principle of gravitation is of far wider scope than we have yet
indicated. We have spoken merely of the attraction of the earth, and
we have stated that its attraction extends throughout space. But the
law of gravitation is not so limited. Not only does the earth attract
every other body, and every other body attract the earth, but each of
these bodies attracts each other; so that, in its more complete shape,
the law of gravitation announces that “every body in the universe
attracts every other body with a force which varies inversely as the
square of the distance.” It is impossible for us to overestimate the
importance of this law. It supplies the clue by which we can unravel
the complicated movements of the planets. It has led to marvelous
discoveries, in which the law of gravitation has enabled us to
anticipate the telescope, and, indeed, actually to feel the existence
of bodies before those bodies have even been seen.
We come now to another question. If the sun is pulling with such power
at the earth and all her sister planets, why do they not fall down upon
him? What is to prevent their rolling some day into one of those deep
rents in his fiery envelope? Did you ever tie a ball to a string, and
swing it rapidly round and round your head? If you did, you must have
noticed the steady outward pull of the ball. The heavier the ball, and
the more rapid its whirl, the stronger the pull will be. Let the string
slip, and the rush of the ball through the air to the side of the room
will make this yet more plain. Did you ever carry a glass of water
quickly along, and then, on suddenly turning a corner, find that the
water has not turned with you? It has gone on in its former direction,
leaving the glass, and spilling itself on the floor.
The cause in both cases is the same. Here is another “law of nature,”
so-called. Though we can neither explain nor understand why and how
it is so, we see it to be one of the fixed rules of God’s working in
every-day life throughout his universe. The law, as we see it, seems
to be this: Everything which is at rest must remain at rest, until
set moving by some cause outside of, or independent of itself; and
everything which is once set moving, must continue moving in a straight
line until checked.
According to this a cannon-ball lying on the ground ought to remain
there until it is set in motion; and, once set in motion by being fired
from a cannon, it ought to go on forever. Exactly so--if nothing
stops it. But the earth’s attraction draws the cannon-ball downward,
and every time it strikes the ground it is partly checked. Also each
particle of air that touches it helps to bring it to rest. If there
were no earth and no air in the question, the cannon-ball might rush on
in space for thousands of years.
Why did the water get spilled? Because it necessarily continued moving
in a straight line. Your sudden change of direction compelled the solid
glass to make the same change, but the liquid water was free to go
straight on in its former course; so it obeyed this law, and _did_ go
on. Why did the ball pull hard at the string as you swung it round?
Because at each instant it was striving to obey this same law, and to
rush onward in a straight line. The pull of the string was every moment
fighting against that inclination, and forcing the ball to move in a
circle.
Just such is the earth’s movement in her yearly journey round the sun.
The string holding in the ball pictures the sun’s attraction holding
in the earth. The pulling of the ball outward in order to continue
its course in a straight line, pictures the pulling of our earth each
moment to break loose from the sun’s attraction and to flee away into
distant space.
For the earth is not at rest. Each tick of the clock she has sped
onward over more than eighteen miles of her pathway through the sky.
Every instant the sun is dragging, with the tremendous force of his
attraction, to make her fall nearer to him. Every instant the earth is
dragging with the tremendous force of her rapid rush, to get away from
him. These two pullings so far balance each other, or, more strictly,
so far combine together, that between the two she journeys steadily
round and round in her nearly circular orbit.
If the sun pulled a little harder she would need to travel a little
faster, or she would gradually go nearer to him. If the earth went
faster, and the sun’s attraction remained the same as it is now, she
would gradually widen her distance. Indeed, it would only be needful
for the earth to quicken her pace to about five-and-twenty miles a
second, the sun’s power to draw her being unchanged, and she would then
wander away from him for ever. Day by day we on our earth should travel
farther and farther away, leaving behind us all light, all heat, all
life, and finding ourselves slowly lost in darkness, cold, and death.
For what should we do without the sun? All our light, all our warmth,
come from him. Without the sun, life could not exist on the earth.
Plants, herbage, trees, would wither; the waters of rivers, lakes,
oceans, would turn to masses of ice; animals and men would die. Our
earth would soon be one vast, cold, forsaken tomb of darkness and
desolation.
We may not think so, but everything which moves, circulates, and lives
on our planet is the child of the sun. The most nutritious foods come
from the sun. The wood which warms us in winter is, again, the sun in
fragments. Every cubic inch, every pound of wood, is formed by the
power of the sun. The mill which turns under the impulse of wind or
water, revolves only by the sun. And in the black night, under the rain
or snow, the blind and noisy train, which darts like a flying serpent
through the fields, rushes along above the valleys, is swallowed up
under the mountains, goes hissing past the stations, of which the pale
eyes strike silently through the mist,--in the midst of night and cold,
this modern animal, produced by human industry, is still a child of the
sun. The coal from the earth which feeds its stomach is solar work,
stored up during millions of years in the geological strata of the
globe.
As it is certain that the force which sets the watch in motion is
derived from the hand which has wound it, so it is certain that all
terrestrial power proceeds from the sun. It is its heat which maintains
the three states of bodies--solid, liquid, and gaseous. The last
two would vanish, there would be nothing but solids; water and air
itself would be in massive blocks,--if the solar heat did not maintain
them in the fluid state. It is the sun which blows in the air, which
flows in the water, which moans in the tempest, which sings in the
unwearied throat of the nightingale. It attaches to the sides of the
mountains the sources of the rivers and glaciers, and consequently the
cataracts and the avalanches are precipitated with an energy which
they draw directly from him. Thunder and lightning are in their turn
a manifestation of his power. Every fire which burns and every flame
which shines has received its life from the sun. And when two armies
are hurled together with a crash, each charge of cavalry, each shock
between two army corps, is nothing else but the misuse of mechanical
force from the same star. The sun comes to us in the form of heat,
he leaves us in the form of heat; but between his arrival and his
departure, he has given birth to the varied powers of our globe.
I have spoken before about the old-world notion that our earth was a
fixed plain, with the sun circling round her. When the truth dawned
slowly upon some great minds, anxious only to know what really was the
truth, others made a hard struggle for the older and pleasanter mode
of thinking. It went with many sorely against the grain to give up all
idea of the earth being the chief place in the universe. Also there was
something bewildering and dizzying in the notion that our solid world
is never for one moment still. But truth won the victory at last. Men
consented slowly to give up the past dream, and to learn the new lesson
put before them.
We still talk of the sun rising and setting, and of the stars doing the
same. This is, however, merely a common form of speech, which means
just the opposite. For instead of the sun and stars moving, it is the
earth which moves.
The earth has two distinct movements. Indeed, I ought to say that she
has three; but we will leave all thought of the third for the present.
First, she turns round upon her axis once in every twenty-four hours.
Secondly, she travels round the sun once in about every three hundred
and sixty-five days and a quarter. No wonder our ancestors were
startled to learn that the world, which they had counted so immovable,
was perpetually spinning like a humming-top, and rushing through space
like an arrow.
You may gain some clear notions as to the daily rising and setting of
our sun, with the help of an orange. Pass a slender knitting-needle
through the orange, from end to end, and hold it about a yard distant
from a single candle in a room otherwise darkened. Let the needle or
axis slant somewhat, and turn the orange slowly upon it.
The candle does not move; but as the orange turns, the candle-light
falls in succession upon each portion of the yellow rind. Half of the
orange is always in shade, and half is always in light; while at either
side, if a small fly were standing there, he would be passing round out
of shade into candle-light, or out of candle-light into shade.
Each spot on our earth moves round in turn into half-light, full-light,
half-light, and darkness; or, in other words, has morning-dawn,
midday-light, evening twilight, and night. Each spot on our earth would
undergo regularly these changes every twenty-four hours throughout the
year, were it not for another arrangement which so far affects this
that the North and South Poles are, by turns, cut off from the light
during many months together.
Thus the sun is in the center of the Solar System, turning slowly on
his axis; and the earth and the planets travel round him, each spinning
like a teetotum, so as to make the most of his bright warm rays. But
for this spinning movement of the earth, our day and night, instead of
being each a few hours long, would each last six months.
You may notice that, as you turn the orange steadily round, the outside
surface of the skin has to move much more slowly in those parts close
to the knitting-needle, than in those parts which bulge out farthest
from it. Near the North and South Poles the surface of our earth
travels slowly round a very small circle in the course of twenty-four
hours. But at the equator every piece of ground has to travel about
twenty-five thousand miles in the same time; so that it rushes along at
the rate of more than one thousand miles an hour. A man standing on the
earth at the equator is being carried along at this great speed, not
_through_ the air, for the whole atmosphere partakes of the same rapid
motion, but _with_ the air, round and round the earth’s axis.
Now about the other movement of the earth--her yearly journey round the
sun. While she moves, the sun, as seen from the earth, seems to change
his place. First he is observed against a background of one group of
stars, then against a second, then against a third. Not that the stars
are visible in the daytime when the sun is shining, but their places
are well known in the heavens; and also they can be noted very soon
after he sets, or before he rises, so that the constellations nearest
to him may each day be easily found out.
Of course, in old times the sun was thought to be really taking this
journey among the stars, and men talked of “the sun’s path” in the
heavens. This path was named “the Ecliptic,” and we use the word still,
though we know well that the movements are not really his, but ours.
As the earth’s daily movement causes day and night, so the earth’s
yearly movement causes spring, summer, autumn, and winter. A few pages
back I mentioned, in passing, one slight yet important fact which lies
at the root of this matter about the seasons. The earth, journeying
round the sun, travels with her axis _slanting_. Put your candle in the
middle of the table, and stand at one end, holding your orange. Now let
the knitting-needle, with the orange upon it, so slant that one end
shall point straight over the candle, towards the upper part of the
wall at the farther end of the room. Call the upper end so pointing the
North Pole of your orange. You will see that the candle-light falls
chiefly upon the upper half of the orange; and as you turn it slowly,
to picture day and night, you will find that the North Pole has no
night, and the South Pole has no day. That is summer in the northern
hemisphere, and winter in the southern.
Walk round next to one side of the table, towards the right hand,
taking care to let the knitting-needle point steadily still in exactly
the same direction, not towards the same _spot_, for that would alter
its direction as you move, but towards the same _wall_. Stop, and you
will find the candle lighting up one-half of your orange, from the
North to the South Poles. Turn it slowly, never altering the slope of
the axis, and you will see that every part of the orange comes by turns
under the light. This is the Autumnal Equinox, when days and nights all
over the world are equal in length.
Walk on to the other end of the table, still letting the needle slope
and point steadily as before. Now the candle-light will shine upon the
lower or South Pole, and the North Pole will be entirely in the shade.
This is summer in the southern hemisphere, and winter in the northern.
Pass on to the fourth side of the table, and once more you will find
it, as at the second side, equal light from North Pole to South Pole.
This will be the Spring Equinox.
It is an illustration that may be easily practiced. But everything
depends upon keeping the slant of the needle or axis unchanged
throughout. If it be allowed to point first to right, and then to left,
first towards the ceiling, and then towards the wall, the attempt will
prove a failure.