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The Planet-Girded Suns: Man's View of Other Solar Systems  by Sylvia Engdahl (1974) ~ Page 4 of 8 |
Chapter Three
(Please read the Introduction
if you haven't yet seen it.)The first full-length scientific book about life on other planets appeared in 1698 in both Latin and English editions. It was by the Dutch astronomer and physicist Christian Huygens [pictured above], originator of the wave theory of light, who had died several years earlier. Its title was The Celestial Worlds Discover’ d: or, Conjectures Concerning the Inhabitants, Plants and Productions of the Worlds in the Planets—and Huygens did include many detailed conjectures. His line of reasoning was in many respects not unlike that employed by modern scientists.
Christian Huygens did not really know anything about life on other planets, of course. Yet like the other eminent scientists of his time, he believed in it. He based his conjectures on sound reasoning, not mere fantasy, although he lacked data for drawing valid conclusions. Certainly his opinions were sincere ones. He was well aware that some readers of his book would “laugh at it as a whimsical and ridiculous undertaking,” and began by defending his ideas against objections he knew might arise: “Since then the greatest part of God’s creation, that innumerable multitude of Stars, is plac’d out of the reach of any man’s Eye; and many of them, it’s likely, out of the best Glasses, so that they don’t seem to belong to us; is it such an unreasonable Opinion, that there are some reasonable Creatures who see and admire those glorious Bodies at a nearer distance?
“But perhaps they’ll say, it does not become us to be so curious and inquisitive in these things which the Supreme Creator seems to have kept for his own knowledge . . . But these Gentlemen must be told, that they take too much upon themselves when they pretend to appoint how far and no farther Men shall go in their Searches, and to set bounds to other Mens Industry; just as if they had been of the Privy Council of Heaven . . . If our Forefathers had been at this rate scrupulous, we might have been ignorant still of the Magnitude and Figure of the Earth, or of such a place as America . . . We shall be less apt to admire what this World calls great, shall nobly despise those Trifles the generality of Men set their affections on, when we know that there are a multitude of such Earths inhabited and adorned as well as our own.”
This last argument was frequently used to support the study of other solar systems; indeed it is still being used by thoughtful people today. Very early it was realized that many of the things people care about—and even fight about—would seem quite trivial if viewed from a perspective that included the countless worlds of the universe.
Huygens departed from the common argument that uninhabited worlds would have been made “in vain, without any design or end,” for he felt no one could tell why they were made. Nevertheless he was convinced that no planets were without inhabitants: “Not Men perhaps like ours, but some Creatures or other endued with Reason.” Otherwise, he said, “Our Earth would have too much advantage of them, in being the only part of the Universe that could boast of such a Creature so far above, not only Plants and Trees, but all Animals whatsoever.” For those who might consider mankind nothing to boast about, he added: “Nor let any one say here, that there’s so much Villany and Wickedness in this Man that we have thus magnified, that it’s a reasonable doubt, whether he would not be so far from being the Glory and Ornament of the Planet that enjoys his Company, that he would be rather its Shame and Disgrace . . . The Vices of Men themselves are of excellent use, and are not permitted and allow’d in the World without design.
“We must not think that those different Opinions, and that various multiplicity of Minds were place’d in different Men to no end or purpose: but that this mixture of bad Men with good, and the Consequences of such a mixture, as Misfortunes, Wars, Afflictions, Poverty, and the like, were given us for this very good end, viz, the exercising of our Wits, and sharpening our Inventions . . . And if Men were to lead their whole Lives in an undisturb’d continual Peace, in no fear of Poverty, no danger of War, I don’t doubt they would live little better than Brutes.”
Progress has been made since those words were written, and it is to be hoped that fear of poverty and war can be eliminated; but it could not be eliminated at the time of Huygens. That it led to “sharpening our inventions” is a fact, and one such invention was a means of interplanetary travel. Some people today feel that man might very well be the shame and disgrace of any “planet that enjoys his company,” while others feel that expansion to uninhabited planets—those that otherwise seem to exist in vain—will eventually prove to be the best means of getting rid of poverty and war. In either case, it cannot be said that the thoughts of 1698 are irrelevant to the problems of our time.
Going on to discuss the nature of other worlds’ inhabitants, Huygens presented long and detailed arguments for their having minds, knowledge and customs similar to ours. He also argued that their bodies must be in some ways similar. For example, he pointed out that hands are so useful that “the Gentlemen that live there must have Hands, or somewhat equally convenient, which is no easy matter; or else we must say that Nature has been kinder not only to us, but even to Squirrels and Monkeys than them.” He did not, however, feel that they must necessarily look just like us.
“There is a sort of Animals in the World, as Oysters, Lobsters and Crab-fish, whose Flesh is on the inside of their Bones as’twere,” Huygens wrote. “What if the Planetarians should be such? O no, some body will say, it would be a hideous sight, so ugly, that Nature has not made any but her refuse and meaner Creatures of such an odd Composition. As for that, I should not be at all moved with their ugly shape, if it were not that hereby they would be deprived of that quick easy motion of their Hands. For’tis a very ridiculous opinion, that the common people have got among them, that it is impossible a rational Soul should dwell in any other shape than ours.”
Huygens did not assume, as most other speculators did, that inhabitants of other worlds would be superior to man. He considered the question of whether there might be several rational species on a single planet, but decided that if there were, one must be above the others: “For otherwise, were many endued with the same Wisdom and Cunning, we should have them always doing mischief, always quarreling and fighting one another for Empire and Sovereignty, a thing that we feel too much of where we have but one such Creature.” Although he also gave thought to the possibility of their being “so just and good as to be at perpetual Peace,” he concluded that “it’s more likely they have such a medly as we, such a mixture of good with bad . . . If there were no other,’twould be reason enough that we are as good Men as themselves.”
Most of Huygens’ conjectures applied to the planets of our own solar system, but he considered them applicable to extrasolar planets also. He made this very plain: “Let us fancy our selves placed at an equal distance from the Sun and fix’d Stars; we should then perceive no difference between them . . . Why then shall not we make use of the same Judgement that we would in that case; and conclude that our Star has no better attendance than the others? So that what we allow’d the Planets, upon the account of our enjoying it, we must likewise grant to all those Planets that surround that prodigious number of Suns. They must have their Plants and Animals, nay and their rational ones too . . . What a wonderful and amazing Scheme have we here of the magnificent Vastness of the Universe! So many Suns, so many Earths, and every one of them flock’d with so many Herbs, Trees and Animals, and adorned with so many Seas and Mountains!”
It must be remembered that Christian Huygens was not an author of fiction, nor was he merely a visionary; he was one of the most distinguished scientists of his age. Today’s encyclopedias tell of his achievements in physics and astronomy: not only those connected with the theory of light, but formulation of mathematical theorems that aided Newton’s work, invention of the pendulum clock, and discovery of the rings of Saturn. His knowledge of cosmology was incomplete, but his speculations were more objective than most. For instance, about the habitation of the sun, he said, “That the Sun is extremely hot and firy, is beyond all dispute, and such Bodies as ours could not live in such a Furnace. We must make a new sort of Animals then, such as we have no Idea or Likeness of among us, such as we can neither imagine nor conceive: which is as much as to say, that truly we have nothing at all to say.”
Both before and after Huygens, there were a great many philosophers and scientists who were unwilling to admit that they had nothing at all to say on such topics. Yet he, despite beliefs about nearby planets that now seem naive, readily drew the line when his lack of data was evident to him. Concerning the number of extrasolar worlds he wrote: “Some of the Antients, and Jordanus Brunus, carry’d it further, in declaring the Number infinite: he would persuade us that he has prov’d it by many Arguments, tho in my opinion they are none of them conclusive. Not that I think the contrary can ever be made out. Indeed it seems to me certain, that the Universe is infinitely extended; but what God has bin pleas’d to place beyond the Region of the Stars, is as much above our Knowledge, as it is our Habitation.”
During the late seventeenth century and early eighteenth century, educated people gave more and more thought to the inhabitants of extrasolar worlds. New ideas about the universe were mingling with old ones. Science of all types seemed to conflict with certain religious beliefs, and men of faith—whether scientists, authors, or clergymen—were anxious to prove that no real conflict existed.
There were two main views of the issue. Some people felt that observation of the universe yielded more religious truth than the Bible did. They did not accept everything the churches taught, and some were not church members at all. Nevertheless, they looked upon astronomy as a subject related to their personal religious beliefs. Many considered it the strongest proof of those beliefs, and wrote a great deal about “natural theology,” which meant the study of God as revealed in nature instead of in scripture. The part of nature that seemed most revealing to them was the distant, mysterious part: the region filled with other suns and unknown planets.
On the other hand, there were people who held the Bible to be authoritative and devoted their efforts to reconciling the new astronomy with what it said. In the Bible, they found passages that they interpreted as statements about life beyond Earth. Words that had once been thought to apply to heaven were applied to the newly discovered physical heavens. This was quite logical, since the heaven of religion had formerly been considered a physical realm as well as a spiritual one. But it led to beliefs about other planets’ inhabitants that most people of today find strange. Frequently, for instance, the other worlds were assumed to be the homes of the angels.
In a book called The Sacred Theory of the Earth, a man named Thomas Burnet mentioned ideas about other worlds that remained current for two hundred years or more. One was the usual argument for their habitation: quoting the Bible, he said, “God himself that formed the Earth, he created it not in vain, he formed it to be inhabited.” And he continued: “This is true, both of the present Earth and the Future, and of every habitable World whatsoever. For to what purpose is it made habitable, if not to be inhabited? . . . We do not build houses that they should stand empty, but look out for Tenants as fast as we can.”
That was something people agreed on whether they cared what the Bible said or not. But Burnet also had more original thoughts. He wrote, “No doubt there are Fixt Stars single, or that have no planets about them . . . nay ,’tis probable, that at first the whole Universe consisted only of such; Globes of liquid Fire, with Spheres about them of pure light and Aether: Earths are but the dirt and skum of the Creation, and all things were pure as they came at first out of the hands of God. But because we have nothing particular taught us, either by the light of Nature or Revelation . . . we leave these Heavenly Systems to the enjoyment and contemplation of higher and more noble Creatures.”
This hypothesis about stars was new to people of Burnet’s era, who thought all heavenly bodies had been created at once. Burnet based it on the old notion that the earth was corrupt in comparison to celestial elements; he called planetary systems “last and lowest.” It was also connected to a widespread belief that the earth was slowly but surely decaying. Mountains, for example, were usually considered deformities in the seventeenth century, since purity was associated with smooth, perfect spheres.
Because the majority opinion was that all worlds were similar to ours, the distinction Burnet made between habitable and uninhabitable ones was scarcely noticed, and he got no credit for it either from later scientists or from most historians. Some of his other ideas soon became conventional. They too were mixtures of old and new concepts, and the new seemed incontestable when blended with the old. Chief among such ideas was the assumption that extraterrestrial beings were superior to man.
“We must not by any means admit or imagine,” wrote Burnet, “that all Nature, and this great Universe, was made only for the sake of Man, the meanest of all Intelligent Creatures that we know of.” It may seem odd that he called man “meanest”—that is, least intelligent—since no species higher than man is yet known. But it is understandable in the light of medieval ideas about angels. For hundreds of years people had felt that they knew a great deal about angels; in theology, literature and art there was a long tradition of classifying them into groups of various ranks. When scientific knowledge no longer permitted a literal belief in the traditional angelic regions, it is not surprising that they were transferred to the realm of other planets.
“We have no reason to believe but that there are, at least, as many orders of Beings above us, as there are ranks of Creatures below us,” Burnet wrote. “There is a greater distance sure betwixt us and God Almighty, than there is betwixt us and the meanest Worm: and yet we should take it very ill, if the Worms of the Earth should pretend that we were made for them.”
This reflects one of the major underlying ideas of European thought: an idea known as the “Great Chain of Being.” For a very long period it was believed that there was a strict ladder of rank among the “creatures”—that is, the creations—of God, and that man’s rank was in the middle. The animals were below him; the angels or extraterrestrial beings were above him. Every step on the ladder was assumed to be filled. Nothing was known of evolution, so there was no question of a species moving up a step. And it seemed self-evident that there must be many degrees of superiority among higher beings.
Unlike most, Burnet believed there were also many worlds inhabited by beings more or less equal to man. He said, “If instead of crossing the Seas, we could waft our selves over to our neighbouring Planets, we should meet with such varieties there, both in Nature and Mankind, as would very much enlarge our thoughts and Souls.” In the case of superior beings, he imagined the old kind of heaven existing within the framework of the new astronomy. Medieval men had not thought of space as dark; they had considered night a shadow cast by the earth. Burnet, too, declared that “those vast spaces that lie beyond these opake Bodies are Regions of perpetual light.” Not knowing that space is unlike air, he explained: “One Hemisphere of a Planet to the other Hemisphere makes night and darkness, but nothing can eclipse the Sun, or intercept the course of his light to these remote Aetherial Regions. They are always luminous, and always pure and serene. And if the worst and Planetary parts of his Dominions be replenisht with Inhabitants, we cannot suppose the better to lie as Desarts, uninjoy’d . . . This system of a Fixt Star, with its Planets (of which kind we may imagine innumerable in the Universe, besides this of the Sun, which is near and visible to us) is of a noble Character and Order, being the habitation of Angels and glorified Spirits, as well as of mortal Men.”
Not long ago many people would have laughed at the ideas of Thomas Burnet and his contemporaries. Today it is unwise to laugh. The conviction that the earth was decaying (which included an assumption that history would soon end) has its counterpart in modem concern about pollution. The question as to why a world is made habitable, if not to be inhabited, is being asked by many who feel that the ultimate answer to pollution and resource depletion lies in the colonization of uninhabited planets. At the beginning of this century the Russian scientist Konstantin Tsiolkovsky wrote about colonizing space itself, describing it as vast and free and full of light; his dreams of life in orbiting stations are no longer fantastic. And as for the Great Chain of Being, scientists today think it probable that the universe is indeed inhabited by races in varying degrees superior to man. Those who define superiority in moral as well as technological terms speak of qualities formerly used only to describe angels. Hypotheses change, but the truth itself does not change. Perhaps men of past ages saw more of the truth than has been supposed.
Not all speculation on astronomy by seventeenth-century religious leaders was based on outdated hypotheses. On December 5th, 1692, a sermon was preached by a young English clergyman, Richard Bentley, who later became a famous scholar. This particular sermon was the last in a series that is well-known because he corresponded with Sir Isaac Newton about it.
Newton’s belief in extrasolar planets was strong. He did not write much about such worlds, but in his book Opticks he said, “Since space is divisible in infinitum, and Matter is not necessarily in all places, it may be also allowed that God is able to create Particles of Matter of several sizes . . . and make Worlds of several sorts in several Parts of the Universe.” In an unpublished manuscript quoted by a nineteenth-century biographer he was more specific. There he said, “For in God’s house (which is the universe) are many mansions, and he governs them by agents which can pass through the heavens from one mansion to another. For if all places to which we have access are filled with living creatures, why should all these immense spaces of the heavens above the clouds be incapable of inhabitants?”
By “agents which can pass through the heavens” Newton must have meant angels. He made a definite distinction between angels and the inhabitants of the planets, and so did Dr. Bentley. Bentley referred to the latter as “planetary people.” His comments about these planetary people began with his conviction that the remote heavenly bodies were not formed merely “to be peeped at through an optic glass.” He continued: “Who will deny but that there are great multitudes of lucid stars even beyond the reach of the best telescopes; and that every visible star may have opaque planets revolve about them, which we cannot discover? Now, if they were not created for our sakes, it is certain and evident that they were not made for their own . . . It remains, therefore, that all bodies were formed for the sake of intelligent minds . . . each for their own inhabitants which have life and understanding. If any man will indulge himself in this speculation, he need not quarrel with revealed religion upon such an account. The holy Scriptures do not forbid him to suppose as great a multitude of systems, and as much inhabited, as he pleases. Neither need we be solicitous about the condition of those planetary people, nor raise frivolous disputes, how far they participate in the miseries of Adam’s fall . . .”
This is exactly what many present-day church leaders have said in the past few decades. But the basic question Richard Bentley discussed was, and still is, of concern to non-Christians as well as to Christians. What he was really talking about was whether or not the inhabitants of other solar systems should be considered human.
The definition of “human” has been debatable ever since the idea of intelligent extraterrestrial life was first conceived. Dr. Bentley’s discussion of it was one of the earliest. “What is a man? not a reasonable animal merely, for that is not an adequate and distinguishing definition . . . A mind of superior or meaner capacities than human would constitute a different species, though united to a human body in the same laws of connexion; and a mind of human capacities would make another species, if united to a different body in different laws of connexion . . . So that we ought not upon any account to conclude, that if there be rational inhabitants in the moon or Mars, or any unknown planets of other systems, they must therefore have human nature, or be involved in the circumstances of our world.”
Some years after Dr. Bentley’s sermons, another well-known series was presented by a clergyman named William Derham. He too dealt with nature, but he did not say as much about astronomy as the public wanted to hear. Afterward, therefore, he wrote an entire book entitled Astro-Theology, which was first published in 1715 and was extremely popular. William Derham was evidently an amateur astronomer who had studied the subject thoroughly. He was one of the few writers to make an accurate distinction between the original Copernican hypothesis, which “supposeth the firmament of the fixt stars to be the bounds of the universe, and to be placed at equal distance from its center the Sun,” and what he called the “new system.” The latter, he said, “supposeth there are many other systems of Suns and planets, besides that in which we have our residence: namely, that every fixt star is a Sun, and encompassed with a system of planets.”
Possibly it was from books like Dr. Derham’s that the idea of people considering the center of the universe the best place was obtained by later writers. Describing one of his diagrams, Derham said, “The Solar system is set in the center of the universe, and figured as a more grand and magnificent part thereof. And so it may be looked upon by us, by reason of its proximity and relation to us. But whether it be really so, whether it be in the center of the universe, and whether, among all the noble train of fixt stars, there be no system exceeding ours in its magnificent retinue of planets . . . is a difficulty out of the reach of our glasses.’’
By this, he meant that he had necessarily drawn our solar system in the center of the diagram and made it look more grand and magnificent than all the stars he drew around the edge, “for want of room to lay out all the several systems in due proportion.” Moreover, he was speaking not of the earth, but of the whole solar system, when he suggested that central position might give an impression of magnificence. Readers of Derham’s era were familiar with books such as Bishop Wilkins’, which referred to the old Aristotelian idea that the least perfect body must be in the center; but many later ones were not.
Dr. Derham, like most of his educated contemporaries, believed that “As myriads of systems are more for the glory of God . . . than one, so it is no less probable than possible, there may be many besides this which we have the privilege of living in.” He too declared that planets would be of no use if not inhabited, but he made no guesses about what the inhabitants were like. The reader who was interested, he suggested, might “find a pleasant entertainment in the great Mr. Christian Huygens’s Cosmotheros . . . To which I shall refer him, rather than give either him or myself any farther trouble about these matters, which are merely conjectural.”
Most of Astro-Theology was devoted to long descriptions of the vastness of the universe, and of the order in it shown by the arrangement and movement of planets. Dr. Derham wondered that there could be “any found, among rational Beings, so stupid, so vile, so infatuated with their own vices, as to deny these works to be God’s, and ascribe them to a necessity of nature, or indeed a mere nothing, namely, chance!” In part, this was an attempt to make plain that belief in many worlds did not mean agreement with the other ideas of the ancient Greek philosopher Democritus, who had indeed believed that worlds were created by chance; ever since medieval times association with Democritus had been a serious handicap to the whole plurality of worlds concept. But the vehemence of William Derham’s attack shows that people of his own time were beginning to interpret scientific discoveries in a more modern way. They were speculating not only about chance, but about “necessity of nature.”
At the very end of Astro-Theology, William Derham wrote of an idea that seems to have been widespread in eighteenth-century England, and that frequently appeared in poetry of the era: “We are naturally pleased with new things; we take great pains, undergo dangerous voyages, to view other countries: with great delight we hear of new discoveries in the Heavens, and view those glorious bodies with great pleasure thro’ our glasses. With what pleasure then shall happy departed souls survey the most distant regions of the universe, and view all those glorious globes thereof, and their noble appendages with a nearer view?”
That departed souls visit other planets after death is not a traditional doctrine of the Christian religion, but it is easy to see why it appealed to people. So much was being said about all the glorious worlds of the universe that the thought of never seeing them had become, to the enthusiasts, nearly unbearable.
Enthusiasm for other worlds was by no means limited to scientists and clergymen in eighteenth-century England. For several decades it was so strong among laymen that it might almost be called a fad. The interest of women aroused by Fontenelle’s book about the Countess grew and grew. Fashionable ladies who could afford them had their own telescopes, and those who could not nevertheless became amateur astronomers to the extent of reading and discussing other books on the subject. One of the best known books was Newtonianism for Ladies, a science book translated from Italian by a young Englishwoman who was among the most learned ladies of her time. It has been said that the topic of extrasolar planets may have contributed more than any other to the development of education for women in that period.
To be sure, large numbers of eighteenth-century people did not have much education. Schooling was not free, and few working men could obtain it for themselves, much less for their daughters. They did not read the things popular in literary circles or attend lectures where such ideas were discussed. Therefore, it cannot be said that the majority of the population either knew or cared about astronomy. However, among educated people, it was unquestionably a major field of interest.
This is shown by the literary newspapers of the era. Probably the most famous paper is The Spectator, which contained essays instead of news but was published daily. One of its editors was Joseph Addison. Among many other things, Addison wrote the familiar hymn, “The Spacious Firmament on High,” which is sung in many churches today but which first appeared in The Spectator on August 23, 1712. Because the hymn does not mention other worlds, it is sometimes thought that phrases such as “Spangled Heav’ns, a Shining Frame” mean that Addison thought in terms of the old cosmology. But only a few weeks earlier, on July 12, he had said in The Spectator: “If we yet rise higher, and consider the fixt Starrs as so many vast Oceans of Flame, that are each of them attended with a different Sett of Planets, and still discover new Firmaments and new Lights, that are sunk farther in those unfathomable depths of Ether, so as not to be seen by the strongest of our Telescopes, we are lost in such a Labyrinth of Suns and Worlds, and confounded with the Immensity and Magnificence of Nature.”
These words prove that to Addison the “Shining Frame” did encompass solar systems other than ours. Also, in one Spectator issue he remarked that Fontenelle drew a very good argument for “the peopling of every planet.” And in another he used the Great Chain of Being concept to argue for the existence of races superior to man. In the paper for July 9, 1714, he wrote: “When I considered that infinite Hoste of Stars, or, to speak more Philosophically, of Suns, which were then shining upon me, with those innumerable Sets of Planets or Worlds, which were moving round their respective Suns, I could not but reflect on that little insignificant Figure which I my self bore amidst the Immensity of God’s Works.”
Feelings like this did trouble many people, and many overcame them—as Addison did—by the belief that God cared for “every thing that has Being” on all worlds of all solar systems. Then too, some thought it would be a good thing if such feelings were more widespread. George Berkeley, one of the most notable philosophers of the time, wrote in another paper, The Guardian: “It were to be wished a certain prince, who hath encouraged the study of it in his subjects, had been himself proficient in astronomy. This might have shown him how mean an ambition . . . terminated in a small part of what is itself but a point in respect of that part of the universe which lies within our view.” Berkeley was referring to King Louis XIV of France, who had spent large sums of his people’s tax money building a luxurious palace for himself.
Even political leaders were interested enough in planets of other solar systems to write about them. One, Lord Bolingbroke, discussed them in several essays, in one of which he said: “The planets of our solar system, and the same may be assumed of a multitude of other solar systems which the immensity of the universe contains, are worlds that have an analogy with ours, and the habitations of animals that have an analogy with us . . . Shall we be so absurd and so impertinent now as to imagine that all these . . . are confined to the same degree of intelligence, or even to the same manner of knowing? Or rather than believe that they are in these, and perhaps other respects, superior to us, shall we assert that there are no such beings, and deny that they exist, though we discover some of their habitations? . . .
“We cannot discern a gradation of beings in other planets by the help of our telescopes . . . but the gradation of sense and intelligence in our own from animal to animal . . . as well as the very abrupt manner, if I may say so, in which this evidently unfinished intellectual system stops at the human species, gives great reason to believe that this gradation is continued upwards in other systems, as we perceive it to be downwards in ours. We may well suspect that ours is the lowest, in this respect, of all mundane systems . . . and there may be as much difference between some other creature of God, without having recourse to angels and archangels, and man, as there is between a man and an oyster.”
By far the most frequent mention of extrasolar worlds, at least in eighteenth-century writings that have survived, came in poetry. The poets of the era, both famous ones and those who are not so famous, were enraptured by the idea. At that time poems were frequently many pages long; in fact they sometimes filled whole volumes. The passages of verse at the beginnings of the chapters in this book [which online, are on the Early Space Poetry page rather than here] are merely short excerpts. They represent only a fraction of the pertinent things poets said about other planets and the beings that might inhabit them.
Most of this verse is not considered great poetry today. Yet when it was newer, it was popular and much admired. Of Edward Young’s Night Thoughts, one nineteenth-century writer said: “Editions have been multiplied from every press in the country. It is to be seen of the shelf of the cottager, with the Family Bible and Pilgrim’s Progress; and it ranks among the first and favourite materials of the poetical library.” This writer also remarked that Napoleon was said to be particularly fond of it.
Night Thoughts was a long book with the entire last section devoted to astronomy. Edward Young found the thought of an immense universe full of worlds exhilarating. He titled the astronomical section “The Consolation” because in the rest of the poem he had dwelt on the gloomier aspects of life, and he really believed that contemplation of the stars was the best consolation for the evils of Earth. “Nothing can satisfy but what confounds,” he wrote. The awe and wonder inspired by countless suns supported his faith.
About the inhabitants of those suns’ worlds Edward Young wrote a great deal; he alternated between viewing them as angels, and wondering whether they had problems similar to ours. He even phrased sections of the poem as if he were speaking to them. “You never heard of man,” he said ruefully. “Or earth, the bedlam of the universe! . . . Has the least rumour of our race arrived?” This emotion was much like that shared by many people today. So was this:
The soul of man was made to walk the skies;
Delightful outlet of her prison here!
There, disincumbered from her chains, the ties
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large . . .
By the time Edward Young wrote Night Thoughts, in 1745, there had already been a great many poems dealing with extrasolar worlds. Even Alexander Pope’s well-known Essay on Man devoted a few lines to the subject:
Thro’ worlds unnumber’d tho’ the God be known,Those lines are sometimes quoted today as if they were an exceptional case of early interest in other solar systems. Not many people realize that Alexander Pope was criticizing the common practice of his contemporaries. That poetry should concentrate on our own world was a novel suggestion; dozens of minor poets described the “worlds unnumber’d” and their inhabitants at tedious length. They also described imaginary cosmic voyages—not voyages in spaceships, but dream trips and journeys of the soul after death.
’Tis ours to trace him only in our own.
He who thro’ vast immensity can pierce,
See worlds on worlds compose one universe,
Observe how system into system runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
What varied being peoples every star,
May tell why Heav’n has made us as we are.
Poems of this last type were particularly popular following the death of Sir Isaac Newton. Many people could not believe that so great a man as Newton would not have a chance to view suns and their planets at close range before entering heaven. One woman wrote:
With faculties enlarg’d, he’s gone to proveThis example is typical of feelings widespread in that age, when people were beginning to discover the limitations of science. In the old days, they had been content with the closed Aristotelian universe and had not aspired to see beyond its bounds. That was no longer true. Some were satisfied to merely read about distant worlds, but others had become a bit wistful; imaginary accounts were not enough for them. The idea of space travel as a potential reality had not yet occurred to anybody, for the brief comments of Kepler and Bishop Wilkins had not been taken seriously [and the former had appeared only in a private letter]. More in keeping with the hopes of the era were words like these—from Robert Gambol’s Beauties of the Universe—that told of a time when the soul
The laws and motions of yon worlds above;
And the vast circuits of th’expanse survey,
View solar systems in the Milky Way.
Unbounded in its ken, from prison free
Will clearly view what here we darkly see:
Those planetary worlds, and thousands more,
Now veil’d from human sight, it shall explore.
The spiritual concept of heaven was still blended with the physical one.
The two had been separated by scientists, but not yet by poets or the
general public. Today, people who believe in a life after death do not
usually envision it as a means of seeing faraway planets. The hope of seeing
them has found other channels of expression; it has become a hope for
mankind’s future instead of for one’s personal future. Yet the
longing to know more of those worlds has remained the same.
Lots more that I have written, or collected, about space! |
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