PATIENT PLODDERS
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.