abuse to which those would be subjected who maintained the dangerous
doctrine that their fruit home had been developed, not created, let us
consider how these creatures would regard the question of other worlds
than their own. At first they would naturally be unwilling to admit the
possibility that other worlds as important as their own could exist. But
if after a time they found reason to believe that their world was only
one of several belonging to a certain tree system, the idea would occur
to them, and would gradually come to be regarded as something more than
probable, that those other fruit worlds, like their own, might be the
abode of living creatures. And probably at first, while as yet the
development of their own world was little understood, they would
conceive the notion that all the fruits, large or small, upon their tree
system were in the same condition as their own, and either inhabited by
similar races or at least in the same full vigour of life-bearing
existence. But so soon as they recognised the law of development of
their own world, and the relation between such development and their own
requirements, they would form a different opinion, if they found that
only during certain stages of their world's existence life could exist
upon it. If, for instance, they perceived that their fruit world must
once have been so bitter and harsh in texture that no creatures in the
least degree like themselves could have lived upon it, and that it was
passing slowly but surely through processes by which it would become one
day dry and shrivelled and unable to support living creatures, they
would be apt, if their reasoning powers were fairly developed, to
inquire whether other fruits which they saw around them on their tree
system were either in the former or in the latter condition. If they
found reason to believe certain fruits were in one or other of these
stages, they would regard such fruits as not yet the abode of life or as
past the life-supporting era. It seems probable even that another idea
would suggest itself to some among their bolder thinkers. Recognising in
their own world in several instances what to their ideas resembled
absolute waste of material or of force, it might appear to them quite
possible that some, perhaps even a large proportion, of the fruits upon
their tree were not only not supporting life at the particular epoch of
observation, but never had supported life and never would--that, through
some cause or other, life would never appear upon such fruits even when
they were excellently fitted for the support of life. They might even
conceive that some among the fruits of their tree had failed or would
fail to come to the full perfection of fruit life.
Looking beyond their own tree--that is, the tree to which their own
fruit world belonged--they would perceive other trees, though their
visual powers might not enable them to know whether such trees bore
fruit, whether they were in other respects like their own, whether those
which seemed larger or smaller were really so, or owed their apparent
largeness to nearness, or their apparent smallness to great distance.
They would be apt perhaps to generalise a little too daringly respecting
these remote tree systems, concluding too confidently that a shrub or a
flower was a tree system like their own, or that a great tree, every
branch of which was far larger than their entire tree system, belonged
to the same order and bore similar fruit. They might mistake, also, in
forgetting the probable fact that as every fruit in their own tree
system had its own period of life, very brief compared with the entire
existence of the fruit, so every tree might have its own fruit-bearing
season. Thus, contemplating a tree which they supposed to be like their
own in its nature, they might say, 'Yonder is a tree system crowded with
fruits, each the abode of many myriads of creatures like ourselves:'
whereas in reality the tree might be utterly unlike their own, might not
yet have reached or might long since have passed the fruit-bearing
stage, might when in that stage bear fruit utterly unlike any they could
even imagine, and each such fruit during its brief life-bearing
condition might be inhabited by living beings utterly unlike any
creatures they could conceive.
Yet again, we can very well imagine that the inhabitants of our fruit
world, though they might daringly overleap the narrow limits of space
and time within which their actual life or the life of their race was
cast, though they might learn to recognise the development of their own
world and of others like it, even from the very blossom, would be
utterly unable to conceive the possibility that the tree itself to which
their world belonged had developed by slow processes of growth from a
time when it was less even than their own relatively minute home.
Still less would it seem credible to them, or even conceivable, that the
whole forest region to which they belonged, containing many orders of
trees differing altogether from their own tree system, besides plants
and shrubs, and flowers and herbs (forms of vegetation of whose use they
could form no just conception whatever), had itself grown; that once the
entire forest domain had been under vast masses of water--the substance
which occasionally visited their world in the form of small drops; that
such changes were but minute local phenomena of a world infinitely
higher in order than their own; that that world in turn was but one of
the least of the worlds forming a yet higher system; and so on _ad
infinitum_. Such ideas would seem to them not merely inconceivable, but
many degrees beyond the widest conceptions of space and time which they
could regard as admissible.
Our position differs only in degree, not in kind, from that of these
imagined creatures, and the reasoning which we perceive (though they
could not) to be just for such creatures is just for us also. It was
perfectly natural that before men recognised the evidences of
development in the structure of our earth they should regard the earth
and all things upon the earth and visible from the earth as formed by
special creative acts precisely as we see them now. But so soon as they
perceived that the earth is undergoing processes of development and has
undergone such processes in the past, it was reasonable, though at
first painful, to conclude that on this point they had been mistaken.
Yet as we recognise the absurdity of the supposition that, because
fruits and trees grow, and were not made in a single instant as we know
them, therefore there is no Supreme Being, so may we justly reject as
absurd the same argument, enlarged in scale, employed to induce the
conclusion that because planets and solar systems have been developed to
their present condition, and were not created in their present form,
therefore there is no Creator, no God. I do not know that the argument
ever has been used in this form; but it has been used to show that those
who believe in the development of worlds and systems must of necessity
be atheists, an even more mischievous conclusion than the other; for
none who had not examined the subject would be likely to adopt the
former conclusion, but many might be willing to believe that a number of
their fellow-men hold obnoxious tenets, without inquiring closely or at
all into the reasoning on which the assertion had been based.
But it is more important to notice how our views respecting other worlds
should be affected by those circumstances in the evidence _we_ have,
which correspond with the features of the evidence on which the imagined
inhabitants of the fruit world would form their opinion. It was natural
that when men first began to reason about themselves and their home they
should reject the idea of other worlds like ours, and perhaps it was
equally natural that when first the idea was entertained that the
planets may be worlds like ours, men should conceive that all those
worlds are in the same condition as ours. But it would be, or rather it
_is_, as unreasonable for men to maintain such an opinion now, when the
laws of planetary development are understood, when the various
dimensions of the planets are known, and when the shortness of the
life-supporting period of a planet's existence compared with the entire
duration of the planet has been clearly recognised, as it would be for
the imagined inhabitants of a small fruit on a tree to suppose that all
the other fruits on the tree, though some manifestly far less advanced
in development and others far more advanced than their own, were the
abode of the same forms of life, though these forms were seen to require
those conditions, and no other, corresponding to the stage of
development through which their own world was passing.
Viewing the universe of suns and worlds in the manner here suggested, we
should adopt a theory of other worlds which would hold a position
intermediate between the Brewsterian and the Whewellite theories. (It is
not on this account that I advocate it, let me remark in passing, but
simply because it accords with the evidence, which is not the case with
the others.) Rejecting on the one hand the theory of the plurality of
worlds in the sense implying that all existing worlds are inhabited, and
on the other hand the theory of but one world, we should accept a theory
which might be entitled the Paucity of Worlds, only that relative not
absolute paucity must be understood. It is absolutely certain that this
theory is the correct one, if we admit two postulates, neither of which
can be reasonably questioned--viz., first, that the life-bearing era of
any world is short compared with the entire duration of that world; and
secondly, that there can have been no cause which set all the worlds in
existence, not simultaneously, which would be amazing enough, but (which
would be infinitely more surprising) in such a way that after passing
each through its time of preparation, longer for the large worlds and
shorter for the small worlds, they all reached at the same time the
life-bearing era. But quite apart from this antecedent probability,
amounting as it does to absolute certainty if these two highly probably
postulates are admitted, we have the actual evidence of the planets we
can examine--that evidence proving incontestably, as I have shown
elsewhere, that such planets as Jupiter and Saturn are still in the
state of preparation, still so intensely hot that no form of life could
possibly exist upon them, and that such bodies as our moon have long
since passed the life-bearing stage, and are to all intents and purposes
defunct.
But may we not go farther? Recognising in our own world, in many
instances, what to our ideas resembles waste--waste seeds, waste lives,
waste races, waste regions, waste forces--recognising superfluity and
superabundance in all the processes and in all the works of nature,
should it not appear at least possible that some, perhaps even a large
proportion, of the worlds in the multitudinous systems peopling space,
are not only not now supporting life, but never have supported life and
never will? Does this idea differ in kind, however largely to our feeble
conceptions it may seem to differ in degree, from the idea of the
imagined creatures on a fruit, that some or even many fruits excellently
fitted for the support of life might not subserve that purpose? And as
those creatures might conceive (as we _know_) that some fruits, even
many, fail to come to the full perfection of fruit life, may not we
without irreverence conceive (as higher beings than ourselves may
_know_) that a planet or a sun may fail in the making? We cannot say
that in such a case there would be a waste or loss of material, though
we may be unable to conceive how the lost sun or planet could be
utilised. Our imagined insect reasoners would be unable to imagine that
fruits plucked from their tree system were otherwise than wasted, for
they would conceive that their idea of the purpose of fruits was the
only true one; yet they would be altogether mistaken, as we may be in
supposing the main purpose of planetary existence is the support of
life.
In like manner, when we pass in imagination beyond the limits of our
own system, we may learn a useful lesson from the imagined creatures'
reasoning about other tree systems than that to which their world
belonged. Astronomers have been apt to generalise too daringly
respecting remote stars and star systems, as though our solar system
were a true picture of all solar systems, the system of stars to which
our sun belongs a true picture of all star systems. They have been apt
to forget that, as every world in our own system has its period of life,
short by comparison with the entire duration of the world, so each solar
system, each system of such systems, may have its own life-bearing
season, infinitely long according to our conceptions, but very short
indeed compared with the entire duration of which the life-bearing
season would be only a single era.
Lastly, though men may daringly overleap the limits of time and space
within which their lives are cast, though they may learn to recognise
the development of their own world and of others like it even from the
blossom of nebulosity, they seem unable to rise to the conception that
the mighty tree which during remote aeons bore those nebulous blossoms
sprang itself from cosmical germs. We are unable to conceive the nature
of such germs; the processes of development affecting them belong to
other orders than any processes we know of, and required periods
compared with which the inconceivable, nay, the inexpressible periods
required for the development of the parts of our universe, are as mere
instants. Yet have we every reason which analogy can afford to believe
that even the development of a whole universe such as ours should be
regarded as but a minute local phenomenon of a universe infinitely
higher in order, that universe in turn but a single member of a system
of such universes, and so on, even _ad infinitum_. To reject the belief
that this is possible is to share the folly of beings such as we have
conceived regarding their tiny world as a fit centre whence to measure
the universe, while yet, from such a stand-point, this little earth on
which we live would be many degrees beyond the limits where for them the
inconceivable would begin. To reject the belief that this is not only
possible, but real, is to regard the few short steps by which man has
advanced towards the unknown as a measurable approach towards limits of
space, towards the beginning and the end of all things. Until it can be
shown that space is bounded by limits beyond which neither matter nor
void exists, that time had a beginning before which it was not and tends
to an end after which it will exist no more, we may confidently accept
the belief that the history of our earth is as evanescent in time as the
earth itself is evanescent in space, and that nothing we can possibly
learn about our earth, or about the system it belongs to, or about
systems of such systems, can either prove or disprove aught respecting
the scheme and mode of government of the universe itself. It is true now
as it was in days of yore, and it will remain true as long as the earth
and those who dwell on it endure, that what men know is nothing, the
unknown infinite.
VI.
_SUNS IN FLAMES._
In November 1876 news arrived of a catastrophe the effects of which must
in all probability have been disastrous, not to a district, or a
country, or a continent, or even a world, but to a whole system of
worlds. The catastrophe happened many years ago--probably at least a
hundred--yet the messenger who brought the news has not been idle on his
way, but has sped along at a rate which would suffice to circle this
earth eight times in the course of a second. That messenger has had,
however, to traverse millions of millions of miles, and only reached our
earth November 1876. The news he brought was that a sun like our own was
in conflagration; and on a closer study of his message something was
learned as to the nature of the conflagration, and a few facts tending
to throw light on the question (somewhat interesting to ourselves)
whether our own sun is likely to undergo a similar mishap at any time.
What would happen if he did, we know already. The sun which has just met
with this disaster--that is, which so suffered a few generations
ago--blazed out for a time with several hundred times its former lustre.
If our sun were to increase as greatly in light and heat, the creatures
on the side of our earth turned towards him at the time would be
destroyed in an instant. Those on the dark or night hemisphere would not
have to wait for their turn till the earth, by rotating, carried them
into view of the destroying sun. In much briefer space the effect of his
new fires would be felt all over the earth's surface. The heavens would
be dissolved and the elements would melt with fervent heat. In fact no
description of such a catastrophe, as affecting the night half of the
earth, could possibly be more effective and poetical than St. Peter's
account of the day of the Lord, coming 'as a thief in the night; in the
which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements
shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are
therein being burned up;' though I imagine the apostle would have been
scarce prepared to admit that the earth was in danger from a solar
conflagration. Indeed, according to another account, the sun was to be
turned into darkness and the moon into blood, before that great and
notable day of the Lord came--a description corresponding well with
solar and lunar eclipses, the most noteworthy 'signs in the heavens,'
but agreeing very ill with the outburst of a great solar conflagration.
Before proceeding to inquire into the singular and significant
circumstances of the recent outburst, it may be found interesting to
examine briefly the records which astronomy has preserved of similar
catastrophes in former years. These may be compared to the records of
accidents on the various railway lines in a country or continent. Those
other suns which we can stars are engines working the mighty mechanism
of planetary systems, as our sun maintains the energies of our own
system; and it is a matter of some interest to us to inquire in how many
cases, among the many suns within the range of vision, destructive
explosions occur. We may take the opportunity, later, to inquire into
the number of cases in which the machinery of solar systems appears to
have broken down.
The first case of a solar conflagration on record is that of the new
star observed by Hipparchus some 2000 years ago. In his time, and indeed
until quite recently, an object of this kind was called a new star, or a
temporary star. But we now know that when a star makes its appearance
where none had before been visible, what has really happened has been
that a star too remote to be seen has become visible through some rapid
increase of splendour. When the new splendour dies out again, it is not
that a star has ceased to exist; but simply that a faint star which had
increased greatly in lustre has resumed its original condition.
Hipparchus's star must have been a remarkable object, for it was visible
in full daylight, whence we may infer that it was many times brighter
than the blazing Dog-star. It is interesting in the history of science,
as having led Hipparchus to draw up a catalogue of stars, the first on
record. Some moderns, being sceptical, rejected this story as a fiction;
but Biot examining Chinese Chronicles[32] relating to the times of
Hipparchus, finds that in 134 B.C. (about nine years before the date of
Hipparchus's catalogue) a new star was recorded as having appeared in
the constellation Scorpio.
The next new star (that is, stellar conflagration) on record is still
more interesting, as there appears some reason for believing that before
long we may see another outburst of the same star. In the years 945,
1264, and 1572, brilliant stars appeared in the region of the heavens
between Cepheus and Cassiopeia. Sir J. Herschel remarks, that, 'from the
imperfect account we have of the places of the two earlier, as compared
with that of the last, which was well determined, as well as from the
tolerably near coincidence of the intervals of their appearance, we may
suspect them, with Goodricke, to be one and the same star, with a period
of 312 or perhaps of 156 years.' The latter period may very reasonably
be rejected, as one can perceive no reason why the intermediate returns
of the star to visibility should have been overlooked, the star having
appeared in a region which never sets. It is to be noted that, the
period from 945 to 1264 being 319 years, and that from 1264 to 1572 only
308 years, the period of this star (if Goodricke is correct in supposing
the three outbursts to have occurred in the same star) would seem to be
diminishing. At any time, then, this star might now blaze out in the
region between Cassiopeia and Cepheus, for more than 304 years have
already passed since its last outburst.
As the appearance of a new star led Hipparchus to undertake the
formation of his famous catalogue, so did the appearance of the star in
Cassiopeia, in 1572, lead the Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe to construct
a new and enlarged catalogue. (This, be it remembered, was before the
invention of the telescope.) Returning one evening (November 11, 1572,
old style) from his laboratory to his dwelling-house, he found, says Sir
J. Herschel, 'a group of country people gazing at a star, which he was
sure did not exist an hour before. This was the star in question.'
The description of the star and its various changes is more interesting
at the present time, when the true nature of these phenomena is
understood, than it was even in the time when the star was blazing in
the firmament. It will be gathered from that description and from what I
shall have to say farther on about the results of recent observations on
less splendid new stars, that, if this star should reappear in the next
few years, our observers will probably be able to obtain very important
information from it. The message from it will be much fuller and more
distinct than any we have yet received from such stars, though we have
learned quite enough to remain in no sort of doubt as to their general
nature.
The star remained visible, we learn, about sixteen months, during which
time it kept its place in the heavens without the least variation. 'It
had all the radiance of the fixed stars, and twinkled like them; and was
in all respects like Sirius, except that it surpassed Sirius in
brightness and magnitude.' It appeared larger than Jupiter, which was at
that time at his brightest, and was scarcely inferior to Venus. _It did
not acquire this lustre gradually_, but shone forth at once of its full
size and brightness, 'as if,' said the chroniclers of the time, 'it had
been of instantaneous creation.' For three weeks it shone with full
splendour, during which time it could be seen at noonday 'by those who
had good eyes, and knew where to look for it.' But before it had been
seen a month, it became visibly smaller, and from the middle of December
1572 till March 1574, when it entirely disappeared, it continually
diminished in magnitude. 'As it decreased in size, it varied in colour:
at first its light was white and extremely bright; it then became
yellowish; afterwards of a ruddy colour like Mars; and finished with a
pale livid white resembling the colour of Saturn.' All the details of
this account should be very carefully noted. It will presently be seen
that they are highly characteristic.
Those who care to look occasionally at the heavens to know whether this
star has returned to view may be interested to learn whereabouts it
should be looked for. The place may be described as close to the back of
the star-gemmed chair in which Cassiopeia is supposed to sit--a little
to the left of the seat of the chair, supposing the chair to be looked
at in its normal position. But as Cassiopeia's chair is always inverted
when the constellation is most conveniently placed for observation, and
indeed as nine-tenths of those who know the constellation suppose the
chair's legs to be the back, and _vice versa_, it may be useful to
mention that the star was placed somewhat thus with respect to the
straggling W formed by the five chief stars of Cassiopeia. There is a
star not very far from the place here indicated, but rather nearer to
the middle angle of the W. This, however, is not a bright star; and
cannot possibly be mistaken for the expected visitant. (The place of
Tycho's star is indicated in my School Star-Atlas and also in my larger
Library Atlas. The same remark applies to both the new stars in the
Serpent-Bearer, presently to be described.)
[Illustration]